The Singular

This man is the exception, an aberration, the singular among the general, an enemy of convention. He is an idiosyncrasy of civilization, the remainder after society has balanced its register. He is external to every community, and a black sheep in every family. He is the consummate social deviant. The kink in the garden hose of society. The needle in the haystack of humanity.

This man sits atop the highest, thinnest branches on the tree of consciousness.  He has sailed his boat to the remotest ocean of wisdom.  His moral compass points to his own North.

 

This man is the king of his world. Its master. He eats what he wants, when he wants. He goes where he wants, how he wants. 13th story skyscraper with two pools and a sauna? Free please. Singapore in three days? 50 bucks.
This man can thrive on scarcity. And he can indulge in excess. He digs up the diamonds in every ruff.  He feeds on the artifice and the organic alike. He draws energy from within and without.  From passion and intellect each.  He’ll let this world poison him and nourish him.  He’ll smoke cigarettes and eat vegetarian.  He’ll suck in pollution, then summit a mountain.  Nap under a thunderous downpour, then run at full moon on a tropical beach.

Oh! Right…  Now he‘ll cross the tropics. Because it’s right there between him and the Himalayas.

 

Thank you for reading.

 

-C

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