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Poet Introduction
The big picture. reverse psychology, brutal transparency, and the taboo; 1st soprano, 2nd soprano, mezzo-soprano, and contralto respectively... like a quartet of singing siren's, their harmonies weave and meddle with my gullible heart and horny head.
Favorite Poets/Writers
Edna St.Vincent Millay/John Keats/Amanda Goreman/Nietzsche/Dr.Seuss/Reiner Rilke/Elizabeth GilbertAbout Me
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I'll write a bunch of clever sounding malarkey here, simply because it's fun to flatter oneself, and to return often to one's own profile like ya do to a mirror, twerking and fussing and imagining that maybe, if I delete this or rephrase that or insert another purview, someone just might look at me today with some measure of desirability.
From the cornfields of Upstate New York, now a freshly minted retiree living a pretty surreal life of voluntary simplicity in a non-tourist region of Thailand. Don't even ask me how I ended up here. I can't explain it but I'm in love with my new life among these unassuming people, sans American taxes, American prices, American baggage, American control issues, and American contact-sport politics. Thin-skinned, confirmation biased and entitled bullshit. Top heavy with rights with an aversion to personal accountability. Not all certainly, but many. I could go on but I've digressed enough.
Baldy Brown is a pseudonym, because I value what those whom I give a damn think of me. Perception is reality so I'd like to keep the illusion alive at least until I'm maggot food. It's like "Curly" in reverse, plus it was my father's nick name. "Brown" comes from the last name of the lady who, in seven short weeks and without even knowing, transformed my understanding about sexually intelligent adulthood at the impressionable age of 55.
My bachelors is in Evangelical Christian Theology (EEK!) but now I'm just a long-haired agnostic and dirty old man, trying to set up residence in the Deep Field, and desperately, feebly trying to talk about it.
Someday soon my ADHD will make me give this up, like every other thing I've almost succeeded at. I say shit that makes me sound fucked, not because I think I am, but because sounding fucked up is the new zeitgeist, however old that ghost actually is. The reality is that I have been confused, naive, and fantastically misunderstood since before the cool kids made it sound cool.
Like a gyroscope, the sordid and the sacred along with fate and chance spin their oscillating quadranged way chaotically inside of me; yet another quartet that plays itself out in a singularly unconventional song called my life. Every life is a story worth telling, they say. Someday I might find the rationale to believe that and write mine down. Until then it'll be these random and disconnected blitherings, posted herein for the time being. My main issue is that in 3D I don't say a damn thing, but then I belly up to the keyboard I can't seem to shut my ever-loving pseudo-magniloquent pie hole, else what is the reason for being there to begin with.
I'm convinced I'm the only one that is remotely like this on the planet.
From the cornfields of Upstate New York, now a freshly minted retiree living a pretty surreal life of voluntary simplicity in a non-tourist region of Thailand. Don't even ask me how I ended up here. I can't explain it but I'm in love with my new life among these unassuming people, sans American taxes, American prices, American baggage, American control issues, and American contact-sport politics. Thin-skinned, confirmation biased and entitled bullshit. Top heavy with rights with an aversion to personal accountability. Not all certainly, but many. I could go on but I've digressed enough.
Baldy Brown is a pseudonym, because I value what those whom I give a damn think of me. Perception is reality so I'd like to keep the illusion alive at least until I'm maggot food. It's like "Curly" in reverse, plus it was my father's nick name. "Brown" comes from the last name of the lady who, in seven short weeks and without even knowing, transformed my understanding about sexually intelligent adulthood at the impressionable age of 55.
My bachelors is in Evangelical Christian Theology (EEK!) but now I'm just a long-haired agnostic and dirty old man, trying to set up residence in the Deep Field, and desperately, feebly trying to talk about it.
Someday soon my ADHD will make me give this up, like every other thing I've almost succeeded at. I say shit that makes me sound fucked, not because I think I am, but because sounding fucked up is the new zeitgeist, however old that ghost actually is. The reality is that I have been confused, naive, and fantastically misunderstood since before the cool kids made it sound cool.
Like a gyroscope, the sordid and the sacred along with fate and chance spin their oscillating quadranged way chaotically inside of me; yet another quartet that plays itself out in a singularly unconventional song called my life. Every life is a story worth telling, they say. Someday I might find the rationale to believe that and write mine down. Until then it'll be these random and disconnected blitherings, posted herein for the time being. My main issue is that in 3D I don't say a damn thing, but then I belly up to the keyboard I can't seem to shut my ever-loving pseudo-magniloquent pie hole, else what is the reason for being there to begin with.
I'm convinced I'm the only one that is remotely like this on the planet.
My Groups
Poets I Follow
Nizana
BITS
BaldyBrown (Sordid and Sacred)
Lost Thinker