Men I (would) trust

Show me a man who cares not for pretense, who has no desire for hard erotics, who has his share in love a loan, and who witnesses the beauty of this life. Indeed! Show me him at once! Then, and only then, would I dare admit my love of him! Either as friend or as lover!

What’s to be said of muscles? What’s to be said of height? How am I to feel of such things? I don’t feel anything whatever. What’s to be said of breasts? Of hips? What worth are they alone? I might as well admire a rotund tree stump!

What’s to be said of softness? What’s to be said of attraction? I want nothing other than admittance of the manifold falsehood of existence, the supreme emptiness of everything, the plenary potential existent in it all nonetheless – it waiting to be released in fervor whenever the time may come for something beyond petty trifles. Who can want other than to be appreciated, loved, and desired for his thoughts? How could someone go about interacting with a passĂ© attitude, one which exhibits a mere floating through life like a whimsical vessel, a museum on wheels, holding nothing really but expressing in light of showy circumstance? Ha! A dusty display you are, your Pleistocene artifacts, your remnants of ancient man, little more than social tools to advance your ends! I don’t think I’ll be buying any tickets to admit myself to such sanctimony! Drama, gossip, glib talking? What a sham! I don’t know about anyone but myself and, for me, I sense nothing but pretense, show, meagerness, and empty nothinghood.

I want only a kind of simple love, one doesn’t have all the grimy, rotten pretense of social show, which doesn’t make me feel like an acrobat performing. Why is that so much to ask? I don’t want to juggle all of your emotions! Let you be their bearer, let me bear my own! I don’t want to walk a tightrope across eggshells to make sure I say such and such! Bah! For what purpose? All I care about is myself and, so long as I harm no one, what more can be said of that? Let me find someone who only cares of himself or herself, who doesn’t want display, and who is simply content in his or her own skin.

Indeed! Let me find a chimera!

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