Boris

I am Boris the Angry Bohemian. I am not a slob. This is a lifestyle choice. I am unconventional, an artist. My hygiene is peripheral to my philosophy. I do not whine about inequality. My concerns are not whether I am of the 1% or the 99%. Nothing is permanent, especially money and grapes. I establish my own criteria for living and none of it has to do with social acceptance.
I am the edge of cutting edge. My history is unimportant. My education is what I perceive. Whether you afford me your attention is not my concern. I am my own reality show. I will paint for 14 hours straight or I may not paint for days. I am walking poetry. I despise your middle class values, except skiing. I embrace cross country skiing. But I wear Bohemian outfits and if I fall I will contemplate the entire process, lying in the snow, and reaching weighty conclusions.
Yes, I can be ponderous, usually after a few beers in Bohemian-tinged bars. Our circle deconstructs politics, power and sex, not in that order. My God has never forsaken me, although occasionally He seems preoccupied. In the past, I have prayed for soap and shampoo and He has answered. Hand sanitizer is for cowards.
These are anti-establishment flies buzzing around me. I can smell myself just fine and it is sublime. I do not panhandle. My art sustains me. I ponder the void that is the universe, as well as the do-nut hole in Medicare prescription coverage. As long as I can ignore the bourgeoisie underpinnings of our society I will be separate and apart from the rest. Except other Bohemians, one of whom stole my sleeping bag. Bastard.