Thoughts after a week or so here... and after many critical messages. I have energy only for the broadest of points and counter-argument, sorry.
I suppose, in your terms, I am somewhat dubious of character; as I tend to believe less in the efficacy of commitment and formal involvement; preferring, in contrast, more profane relations predicated upon, say, spirited inappropriation and concerned misrememberings. These define my own collection, at any rate; and fortune favours me either way. That, really, is all I know. Meanwhile, there is your world of disrepair and intractable irreplacement: withering approximations, imprecisely soiled by the slut whose boots you tend with your tongue. You are a factor of one. You are all holes. I currently own nothing similar, and I am not seeking to change that situation.
I'm only cataloguing my happy man.