Lovelorn Poet in Pittsburgh, PA: I Have A Huge…

I have a huge... bag of kale!

I have a huge… bag of kale!

I have a huge… bag of kale!
Let me put it in you!?!?
Raw preferably, if you’re into that 😉

I don’t got no rice, bags of kale are the only thing that I like.

All you pretty dark haired, evil eyed women from larryville, bloomfield, polish hill, highland park…
I wanna share this healthy experience with all yinz.
Plenty of it to go around.

P.S. I have beer, weed and some crappy music that you probably are into as well.

Her Two Cents

 

 

baklava huge hog fee i a!
utility menu poet!?!?
weatherproof tributary nay elf i 😉

doctoring note i, breathtakingly flesh ego no a tiki lathe

parrotlike duty hear lady, informally volleyed we river me, foible mold, hill oh lips, drank high pal…
wariness hath in a capitalizer lynx wheel ye thin he.
underplaying foot toot.

overemphasis bean weeded articulatory pays by chump bop owners ail tale.

 

 

 

 

Lovelorn Poet in Maine: A Bear Lion

Managing wildlife is simple. A kid could do it. by woodleywonderworks

Managing wildlife is simple. A kid could do it. by woodleywonderworks

I sleep like a bear when not up like a lion. I seldom dream while sleeping. If I eat mushrooms, I dream that night. Odd places but not people I know. I have coffee-colored, cotton 1200 sheets. I have a fan and a radio. No TV. My vision is excellent, except when I first wake up or for fine print.

 

Her Two Cents

 

 


I (verb) like a (noun) when not (adverb) like a (noun).
I seldom (verb) while (verb)-ing.
If I (verb) (noun), I (verb) that (noun).
Odd (noun) but not (noun) I (verb).
I have (adjective), (noun) (number) (noun).
I have a (noun) and a (noun).
No (noun).
My (noun) is (adjective), except when I (adverb) (verb) or for (adjective) (noun).

 

 

Lovelorn Poet in Paris, FR: May I Help You?

Making Magic Is Simple, Really bu Lotus Carroll

Making Magic Is Simple, Really by Lotus Carroll

 

– Oh, this rent*!…
I should sleep in a tent!
No! I’ll ask for a hand.
– Yes, if you accept to use my… magic wand :-)
Composed by a 50ish gentleman.
Single, well mannered, respectful, well educated.
Generous. Good sense of humor.
Art (Venus of Urbino…),
literature (Fanny Hill…),
travelling (Aphrodite’s island…),
music (Liebestraum…),
gastronomy (oysters…).
Niveau de français : C2+ :-)
Escorts etc: no, thanks.

(*) non-limitative example

Her Two Cents

Lovelorn Poets Her Two Cents IconI few months back I decided to follow a few of the European Missed Connections feeds. On a whole, they’re not widely used and the posts that do appear are more in-line with Casual Encounters/NSA. However, this poetic attempt at fishing for “romance” in Paris prompted a bit of a chuckle (esp. the line about the magic wand). That’s probably not the response our poet was hoping for, but it ain’t me he’s looking for, babe…

Lovelorn Poet in Portland, OR: First Date

Lovelorn Poets Her Two Cents IconHer Two Cents

The weekend is here and that means it’s time for the mating and dating rituals of the single (and single-minded) to begin! Hopefully your endeavors in bringing sexy back work out better than this sad story from Portlandia. Remember, just because plentyofish/okcupid/zoosk/eHarmony says you’re “a perfect match” doesn’t mean it’s true! Consolation prize? You might just get some good material for a story that you can post to missed connections. Cheers! :-)

Missed Connections in Portland

First Date

beauty

First Date

“We live in a world fueled by illusions.” I said. “People just believe whatever is necessary to continue living as selfishly as they can. They don’t want truth, they want what feels good. They want the fog, not the light”

“I like ice cream and sand castles and my best friend is a balloon.” she said.

“Yup.” I said. Seriously hoping, but very much unsure, that she was being sarcastic.

“I know what you mean, but can you blame people for that?” She said.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out.” I said.

“I don’t know, what do you think?” She said.

“I guess you can’t blame people for coping with what can be a very brutal world…I think that people are a mix. Some beautiful and shining most of the time and some ugly and manipulative most of the time, most are somewhere in the middle….I’ve experienced too much of the harsh side.” I said. “But I can’t live my life that way. I have to believe that people are mostly good. If I didn’t, I might as well curl up and die.”

Her eyes kind of glazed over.

“I thought we were gonna talk about favorite drinks and tell stupid jokes.” She said.

“Whiskey and coke, and how many Paul Walker look-alikes does it take to drive…..”

“Ahhh…..toooo soooon.” She said, with genuine concern.

“Really? Do you know how many other people died on that day?” I said.

“No, but I bet you’re gonna tell me.” She said.

“155,000” I said. “Why does this guy matter?”

“Well, he’s famous, he’s rich, and he’s hot.” She said. “What’s the matter, you jealous?”

“No, I’m none of those things but I don’t want to be any of those things either. He captures their attention because they are told to pay attention to him.” I said. “People don’t think for themselves, they are told what to feel, how to feel, and what to pay attention too. This is what matters. I overheard a couple in line at the store talking about him like they knew him. Its wild…why are they mourning a stranger and not the 155,000 others? Do we worship media so much that we have actually tricked ourselves into believing that these people are intimate parts of our lives? Something is terribly wrong with all of this….people are actually living these illusions, everyday.”

“You think too much.” She said, her posture becoming defensive. “And you’re obviously not rich.”

Uh-Oh, I thought, maybe she knows Paul Walker.

“Maybe you don’t think enough.” I said. “And how do you know I am not rich?”
“Because you’re not, look at you.” She said, her face now resembling an exasperated cartoon.

Pause.

Silence.

I wanted to like her.

I was very quickly not liking her.

When I met her at the grocery store, she seemed so good hearted and smart. But here and now, she just seemed shallow and uninteresting. I realized that I had done it again, I had taken what she said when we met and made it into what I wanted it to be, instead of the nonsense that it actually was. I’ve done this before. Not often, but its happened.

Why?

I don’t know. The deepest attraction for me is in the mind and personality. I have to be at least somewhat physically attracted to a woman, but to really be invested there has to be a light on somewhere. A real connection. Its so hard to find, so rare, and I crave it so badly, that I create it for myself just to fill the void. I was living my own illusion!!!!

“Where are you from?” I said.

“Lake Oswego.” She said.

I started laughing. And I couldn’t stop. I had beer dripping out of my nose by the end of it. I felt like a total and complete asshole, but I couldn’t for the life of me stop. Her face became confused and then curious and then angry, but that just made me laugh harder.

She pulled her cell phone out of her purse. Then she said, pretending to have just received a text, “I have to go, thanks for the drink, dick.” I didn’t say anything because I couldn’t stop laughing. I managed to sqeak out “I’m Sorry!!!! I have a condition!!!” as she marched away almost tripping over her high heels, to be driven home fast and furiously by the ghost of Paul Walker.

Dating is hard :)

Lovelorn Poet in NYC: Various Yoga Positions

Airline ticket counters, Washington National Airport, Washington, D. C.

Airline ticket counters, Washington National Airport: Boston Public Library Archives

Various Yoga Positions
Missed Connections in Manhattan

The goat cheese melted in the summer heat before I could make a sandwich.
So much for the so called soft cheeses.
Then I remembered the advertisement for bottomless pitchers of sangria and unlimited fish tacos at the captains club for $19.95.

I waited for you by the window watching the planes land and take off, sitting on a blue upholstered modern danish classic now known as mid century.
I decided I’d rather sleep here tonight on the blue seat in terminal 23 by the window just watching.
How zen is that.

I’d drink in the air of excitement along with some mini bottles and soak in the dreams of my fellow travelers.
I might even buy a souvenir or two so I can feel like a foreigner.
Because airports are open 24 hours a day I settled on a tee shirt that said, I love New York, it was three a.m in the morning.

I decided to take some snapshots of myself in various yoga poses eating mediocre overpriced airport food.
For a few minutes I even forgot who or what I was waiting for, but the feeling arrived.
I felt like a stranger on vacation.

 

Lovelorn Poets Her Two Cents IconHer Two Cents

Isn’t it interesting how airplane travel has transformed from a rarefied experience to something resembling a trip on the cross-town bus? In looking through the old airport postcards on the BPL’s Flickr site, it’s notable how much attention was given to airport restaurants, coffee shops, and creating an elite, leisurely experience for the jet-age traveler. It’s a far cry from today’s duty-free shopping and Starbucks, but if you absolutely have to endure the modern day airport experience, there’s nothing like wading and waiting at JFK. Everybody loves New York.