N an age of clone candidates whose teeth, hair and political platforms are often indistinguishable, even if they purport to be from different parties, James Morrison has fearlessly walked where few will follow.

As the Democratic candidate for the State Senate in the 24th District in northwest New Jersey, he has lambasted the complacency of his own party and taken on campaign finance, real estate developers, defense contractors, the war in Iraq, insurance companies, draconian drug laws and the refusal to provide national health insurance.

He won't accept any soft money, not that it looks as if any is about to come his way, or even stoop to wear a coat and tie. He will campaign in the clothing he buys in vintage shops, speak as he likes and raise issues that in his heavily Republican district have been absent from the political debate.

"I am," he said, "the anti-candidate."

He's not kidding. After it was revealed in New Jersey newspapers that he had entered a contest several years ago in a gay bar in the East Village where he was required to pose naked, many in Sussex County's Democratic Party said they would like it very, very much if he withdrew from the race.

"No way," Mr. Morrison said, adding with a laugh, "and besides, I won."

His detractors — that includes nearly everyone in positions of authority — are attempting to dismiss him as a kook. But he has spiced up an election where, if he had not run a write-in campaign to get on the ballot, the Republican incumbent, Senator Robert E. Littell, would have run uncontested in the fall.

But for all his idiosyncrasies, Mr. Morrison, 32, has some powerful weapons in his arsenal. He is articulate, passionate, well informed and, with a degree from Columbia Law School, not easily intimidated by those who seek to pull obscure legal levers to get him off the ballot. More important, he is not alone. His mother and stepfather, whose name he has taken and whom he calls Dad, are behind their son. All three are lawyers.

"I am lucky in my parents," he said. "They have always loved me, supported me and accepted me. The more pressure I feel, the more they back me."

Mr. Morrison sat one morning in the loft of his partner, Tony, in Brooklyn. His two dogs, Jackal, an unruly Australian cattle dog, and Tyson, an even more unruly pit bull terrier, rolled over each other on the floor, energetically sniffed everyone in the room, jumped up on the couch and then ran in circles around the coffee table.

"Jackal really smells," Mr. Morrison said apologetically. "If you smell something, it's him."

MR. MORRISON grew up in one of the last corners of New Jersey that can still be called rural. He spent much of his childhood in a lake house in Andover, where he still lives, that has been in his family for five decades. He scoured the mud flats for plants, animals and fish.

"I was a loner as a child," he said. "I would take the boat out and hunt for snakes and turtles in the muck."

He dreamed of other worlds. He was a fan of "Star Trek." He wanted to be an exoarchaeologist, someone who would travel to distant planets and discover alien civilizations. "We live in a time that is like the 100 years that preceded the discovery of the Americas," he said. "We can only guess what is out there. We have no way yet of finding out."

But as a senior honors student at the Delbarton School, he discovered Plato, Socrates, Aristotle and Augustine. He was intrigued with Plato's theories about the perfect state. He ran for student government. And he decided, rather than discover the ruins of some other world, he would change this one.

As a law student, he spent a summer as an intern in a big Park Avenue law firm, just enough time to know that he hated it. The firm represented German successors to companies that had used slave labor during World War II.

"The goal was to make sure the victims did not get any money," he said. "It was extremely distasteful."

And so, when he graduated, he went home. He joined his mother and father in their law practice. He had his first jury trial two weeks after he passed the bar exam. He lost. But his parents had faith in him. He became a partner after a year.

He took up flying helicopters to amuse himself. He thought of being a commercial pilot, and still thinks he might open a charter business one day. He was selected as a contestant on the television reality show "The Mole," and was one of two left at the end of the series. He went on to do some on-the-air reporting for MTV. He studies Arabic for fun at New York University.

He rails against those who cut taxes and let programs for the poor, children, the elderly and the environment go up in smoke. He dismisses the Democratic Party as "bankrupt" and "Republicans Lite." On many Sundays, he sets out a table on Orchard Street in Manhattan outside the hair salon where Tony works. The couple sell "Axis of Evil Vacation Destination" T-shirts.

"Many people are fed up with the programmed robots that represent us," he said. "These politicians are bought off by big-money interests. They ignore our needs. I want, if nothing else, to give people a choice."