Post-Bohemian

I live in the center of North Carolina. Durham is one of the more liberal places in a largely conservative state. I’ve lived in several of America’s largest cities. San Francisco before here. I thought I’d found true love, we grew weary of the city and decided to move to an best known for the three universities (Duke of Lacrosse fame and two very successful state universities).

By the time she left me for another man I owned a used bookshop (that sells used CDs and comic books as well). That kept me in Durham.

I’m not cut out to be a merchant prince so I’ve never made much money. But have had the gifts of almost total personal freedom and lots of time under my own control. (Due to a complicated sequence I’m flat broke and struggle to get by. I’m working on that but my efforts will take time should they even succeed.)

I’m what you might call post-bohemian. To meet me you’d think you’d met another woefully average Wal-Mart shopper. To know me deeply might make your skin crawl. (Sounds like the newspaper description of a serial killer.)

Deep in the core I’m one of the most coolly detached people you might ever meet. The indifference of the universe to humankind and its works bothers me not at all. Reality’s failure to live up to my childhood expectations has never driven me to that reverse idealism popularly called cynicism.

Though I’m often aloof - even from myself: everyone should learn to appreciate themselves as comedian in a farce - a life without passion, empathy, tenderness and pity doesn’t seem worth living. I’m a mild guy who mostly wishes to be left alone and ignored. And wishes everyone else love, happiness and appreciation of beauty.

I like being a strong shoulder for someone to lean on. And often despise myself for weakness. The former doesn’t contradict D/s nor the latter relate to my need to be enslaved.

Not what I expected to write. This is long enough. Maybe I’ll follow it up with another.