Erotism · Philosophy · Art · Poetry
Free Dan Man is the pen name of Daniel A. Freedman — writer, poet, and philosopher of eros. His work treats desire not as distraction but as a discipline: a lens for looking at the body, time, and the universe at once.
Poetry
I was ready to swear that even the flowers, she was passing by came into full bloom, smelling as sweet and pleasant as they could.
Free Dan Man Poetry
The two most important things in my life. Life of a man of Bohemia. The bed and the writing-table.
Everything is in bloom like then, on the first day. The very first one… Out of the mother’s womb.
Approaching Eternity
Spilling sand through my fingers I’m standing on the shore…
In No Haste
I was in no haste… As far as I already realised! Time has a surprising ability to pass without my assistance…
Gathering Dust…
The breath of the Universe I follow… And gather dust, that shakes the world and our Earth…
Music
The candle is burning down and its flame is composing a song…
I Walk…
Step by step… From star to star
Direction
The Moon was shining with desire, indicating to us the right way…
A sweet serenade, sung with perfect harmony
In her presence, the world feels alive, bathing in the warmth of her velvety vibe.
Her eyes, pools of warmth, deep and sincere. A world of emotions, waiting to unfold.
Her voice, a velvety low timbre so rare, enveloping in its rich, mellifluous swell.
When a man is in the role of a prisoner of matriarchy.
I only needed to see her once.
Once I saw it, I felt the fidelity of the form and the power of the unearthly Eros.
Unthinkable in the world of modern urbanization, a mind-blowingly developed body,
it seemed to have been cast into shape by the ingenious skill of an entire generation of sculptors. Dragon. An astrological phenomenon for me: bull according to the stars, love. And in Life. Living together with them, women…
Exposing her face to the heavens, serving as her receiving antenna, she seemed to draw energy directly from Space.
With some special sensuality, even love prepared herself and her vagina separately to copulation.
Touching the realms of the extraordinary
There was an enigmatic allure to her, an aura of mystery that whispered of profound introspection and contemplation. As she gazed into the distance, lost in the labyrinth of her own thoughts, one couldn’t help but be captivated by the sheer depth of her being—a beacon of inspiration in a world hungry for meaning and connection.
Hidden artistry somewhere between central Europe and Hollywood
A mousetrap for a man of any age, which he cannot bypass in order not to get caught.
Flowers of sense and life
Baby sleep… It’s like lying on the edge of a forest, bathed in the sun, after a long battle… Scents of Joy…
Some kind of magnetic thread or a parable about karmic plexuses
Some kind of magnetic thread… I have already made a conclusion about her complete natural suitability for conception. To the conception of our child with her. My imagination clearly pictured a ripe fruit inside the pear-shaped volume of the two halves of her butt. I somehow instinctively felt that her thighs were capable of ensuring the safety of our future baby at any moment…
Between Her Thighs, or a Marathon Thousands of Years Long
I won’t court. I don’t even want to. It is from this that I derive delight. Expectation of expectation. In the reticence of courtship. In making court without a single word. At a distance… It tears the spirit apart. The state of overflowing with raw material. This material moves my body aside from within. To the brink of impossibility. I lack ozone, capable to fill my volume.
How small the Universe is! It has to come true finally! Silent bashful wet languor directs its stream towards me, and its benumbed and stiffened thighs capture my volcano, which starts to crush it with the might of increasing strikes. The material, that in the form of a resin has stuck to the inner walls of this mightiest chemical laboratory, abruptly starts into motion and, melting, shoots hot scum into the air so that then – oh, heavens! – to rush forwards and fill her with a steady beat of erupted lava.
Silence… Calm. Here, between her thighs, it feels good. Extraordinarily good.
I stay still… I am in safety… Like then… When I uttered my first cry, pushed out into this world by mother’s being…
Moisture and warmth… Candles are flickering… No, these are torches already. We are dancing round the fire. She chooses me. Such is the ritual. And such is the law. The law of the ancient tribe, from which both of us made our way into the XX century. But at this moment – “ladies are to invite for a dance”. It is she, the girl, who is to choose a man. Such has been the decision of the Council of the Elders. I already know: she will choose me.
In order to perform an act on the bank of a mountain stream in the silence of the night, in the mystery of a torch burning over our heads. The act of copulation. The first small brick of the future thousand-year foundation.
Here, you must have already guessed… There is no need for me to court today. The hand of the compass never makes a mistake. The only thing left is to choose the direction. Heavens be praised! The stars have favoured me.
12 chimes of the bell can be heard through the window opening. It’s midday. This time I am waiting for her to come at midday. We are in no need of the night’s help, like then. Near the fire…
A writing-table. The script is nearly finished. The final chords of the symphony coming from the waiting room render the feeling of the completeness of the form to me. Take the world as if you took a woman! I am speaking to myself, paraphrasing the words of a great magician in music Alexander Nikolayevich Scriabin.
The doorbell rings. She is at the threshold. Now I know. Everything I have been worrying about all those years, has suddenly dispersed and instantly vanished. So it should have happened: the form found the content. The worry has passed. This time the studio won’t reject it. It will have both the form and the content. There is some time left before midnight. I choose the content. So that after midnight I might be crazy about the form again… Have I missed something? Oh, yes… The author’s fee! What a loafer you are, Reader! After all, you can take care of it yourself… Don’t interfere! The progress and the rhythm of the day cannot be harmlessly disturbed.
She spread her legs… One could say, to the whole world… This was no frivolous act for her… But a sacred Universal deed…
Women from all sides. Up to the most endless horizon. Started!
Her fruit… Split by the sacrament of a vertical line… The taste of whose entrails I was destined to learn much later… The soft completeness of the mysterious shape, located in the hidden place…
One day, having inhaled a certain fresh aroma from a woman I met, I discovered new horizons, and in them different colours and sounds.
Books
Take the World as if You Took a Woman (2020)
Can sex be treated as a philosophy? A collection of erotic poetry and prose that fuses desire, longing, and cosmic scale into a single act.
And Suddenly I Saw Myself
A meditation on self-recognition through the mirror of art — tracing a lineage of poets, philosophers, and visionaries in whom the self is suddenly, startlingly seen.
The Moth’s Notebook
A homage to László Krasznahorkai — fragments and marginalia tracing the moth’s blind flight toward the flame, written in the shadow of his prose.
Bandmaster of the World (I Am in Ecstasy All the Way)
A film-book about Alexander Scriabin — inventor of colour music — and the constellation of artists around him: Kandinsky, Malevich, Diaghilev, and the Silver Age of Russian art.
Sex as Philosophy Through a Truncated Prism
A short essay-brochure examining sex not as act but as argument — refracted, fragmented, seen through a prism cut short of its full spectrum.
Atlas of Happiness
A cartography of joy — mapping the small, sacred coordinates where happiness is actually found.