Man Seeks...
I'm in the process of writing a profile for a popular online dating service. No, it isn't a rehash of all the depressing shit you are likely to read in recent entries of this blog. Most of that is crud, grime, waste: scrapings from the greasetrap of my mind that have been deposited here like unwanted sweat. No, this profile is sweet, honest and hardened, it's an off-frame snapshot, a mystery confessional, a pixeled introduction of a pixeled boy to pixeled girls whose pixels might live within ten miles of me. Nearby girls who might be lucky enough to get to know me.
I've put in a bit of time writing it, stringing together words that are intended to intrigue and attract browsers. I'm not going to lie and pretend it has all poured out of me. This isn't mere poetry of the soul. It is poetry of the future, poetry of promise, poetry of hope. And so I deliberate, reveal, delete, rewrite, charm, ponder, smile and welcome. I enjoy the process of designing my billboard.
I'm completely revamping my approach from the last time I attempted such online hijinks. Back then I was younger and slightly dumber. I suppose you could say I was successful. Dated a few girls, found a delightful complex mermaid to explore, enjoyed the enjoyment of each other, shelved a lot of great memories, but our roads diverged and life went on, the forest of intrigue separated our ferns.
Back then I was foolish, this time I'm a bit less, just a bit. I'm fueled by hope and naiveté-- a condition I don't ever expect to completely shake.
It's been too long without: too long without eyes made across a room, without knowing smiles, seeking fingers, eager embraces, weekday fits of desire, weekend marathons of the same that are never long enough. Too long without an exploring partner, a motivator, a challenger-in-chief, a bed-warmer, a leg-locker, a mind that enchants, a body I can have, another's rhythm, a selfish thought who craves me. A complex woman in whom to be lost, and hopefully to be found.
I am a healed heart. A deserving, insistent soul. I am ready to love. I have love to give.
It is about wanted sweat.
I've put in a bit of time writing it, stringing together words that are intended to intrigue and attract browsers. I'm not going to lie and pretend it has all poured out of me. This isn't mere poetry of the soul. It is poetry of the future, poetry of promise, poetry of hope. And so I deliberate, reveal, delete, rewrite, charm, ponder, smile and welcome. I enjoy the process of designing my billboard.
I'm completely revamping my approach from the last time I attempted such online hijinks. Back then I was younger and slightly dumber. I suppose you could say I was successful. Dated a few girls, found a delightful complex mermaid to explore, enjoyed the enjoyment of each other, shelved a lot of great memories, but our roads diverged and life went on, the forest of intrigue separated our ferns.
Back then I was foolish, this time I'm a bit less, just a bit. I'm fueled by hope and naiveté-- a condition I don't ever expect to completely shake.
It's been too long without: too long without eyes made across a room, without knowing smiles, seeking fingers, eager embraces, weekday fits of desire, weekend marathons of the same that are never long enough. Too long without an exploring partner, a motivator, a challenger-in-chief, a bed-warmer, a leg-locker, a mind that enchants, a body I can have, another's rhythm, a selfish thought who craves me. A complex woman in whom to be lost, and hopefully to be found.
I am a healed heart. A deserving, insistent soul. I am ready to love. I have love to give.
It is about wanted sweat.
posted by ET @ 10:31 PM
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