[random text file from 2000]

I think it’s about time to open up a can of voodoosmack. About time the spider crawled over and sucked dry some flies. Blood is healthy. Blood is good for you. So drink up, darling, before you go to bed.

Why are you uncomfortable with polygamy? Why do you need to be the only? Why do you need to be special and unique throughout the world? What is the root of your nagging discontent? What moon is it that instigates inexorable tides of melancholy against your shores, who sows seeds of doubt in endless rows across the fields of your mind? Why is it that song always reminds you of her? That some loves lodge themselves permanently in your illusions while others melt like wax on the hearth, break like grain at the stone, gone, gone, beyond painful reach, outside possibility, never to enjoy again, never ever to comfort, never to bring light to your face, smiles to your lips, never again to paint your gray with color.

Who is it that you admire? Who is just beyond your reach? And if you determine the two most diverse enjoyments which bring you utmost sanity, how far is the distance between them, what is the spectrum they encompass? I hope you’re not above lucidity, fury, passion, terror, and I hope you have the strength to laugh at the places where your own fabric comes undone. I hope you’re not paralyzed by the fear of being misinterpreted. I hope you don’t think about everything before you say it. I hope you’re not always concientious, not always careful, not always self-aware.

I hope you’ve been fucked just the way you like it.

I hope that you’re still reading. I hope that you like me. Why?

Why do you make enemies? Why does anyone you know ever like you less as time goes on? How many really close friends can you have? Why are you scared of people you don’t know? Why are you jealous? Have you ever comitted a crime? Have you ever thought you were going to die and then lived through it? Why are you impatient? Why are you bored? Why are you lonely? What is the nature of others? Why are you more interested in certain others than you are in yourself? What makes a house a home? What makes a house a house? Why do some people just not get it?

Who is better : Buddhists or capitalists?

Is there a God? Is there a reason why everything got started? What is the nature of consequence? Is there a reason to do certain things rather than others? What if you had done things differently? How would it have turned out? Can you ever really go back to Cincinatti?

doggy style and the Kama Sutra

Why do I want you to love me and me only? Why do I want the same from you? Why do people have best friends? Why do people get married? Why do people get jealous? Why do people want to be famous? And is there anyone in the world who wants none of this?

I have at times in my life called a person my best friend. Called a person my lover. Called a person my girlfriend. Had favorite people of various types. I have at times been another’s favorite person in some category. Who is the best listener you know? Who’s your favorite composer? With whom do you most enjoy sex? And don’t I want to be at the apex of such categories in others’ minds? Want to be the fastest? The most talented? Cassanova? Mozart? Why do I order myself so, among others, and order others among themselves? Which one of them is prettier? Does he have a bigger dick than me? Why didn’t I get into Mensa? She did.

Why do I ask such questions? And why are their answers important to me? Why did I take the Mensa test? Why don’t I like to go dancing? What is really going on in both of those situations? Who am I without these arenas? Am I a Christian or an aetheist? Am I white or black? Am I a programmer or an athelete? Am I a boy or a girl? Am I tall or short? Am I smart or dumb? Am I sexy or boring? Am I rich or poor? Can I dance? What am I in relation to you, the others of the world?

Is one a big number?

When I meet someone who can dance, it is then I discover either that I can dance or that I can’t. When I meet someone who is dumb, it is then I know I am smart. When I meet someone who is black it is then I know I am white. Do you notice the smell of air except when it stinks? Do you notice the pressure on your skin except when you’re swimming? Do you notice the sweetness of milk until it is gone? More precisely, how do you know what milk tastes like until you’ve tried juice? What is milk if that’s the only thing in your refrigerator? It might make the difference between hungry and full for a while, but without a broader menu milk would be like hometown water; until you drink it somewhere else you think water has no taste. If what you know now as deep purple was the only color you ever saw, you wouldn’t know what color was even though you were surrounded by it. How can you know what a Big Mac tastes like if that’s all you’ve ever eaten? How can you know that you’re having good sex if you’ve only had it one way? If you’ve only had it with one person? Only done it doggy style?

If I want to know how smart I am, how good a lover I am, then I should take the Mensa test and have sex with as many people as possible. I should go dancing and try to be an athelete and a musician and an actor. And when the day is done I will know who I am, that I am a not a Mensa genius, but I am a good lover and a bad dancer and not at all an athelete or a mucisian or an actor.

Why do I want you to love me and me only? Because I want to be something that I can never be : I want to be all things to all people, I want to be Mozart and Cassanova to everyone. If I did not want this then I would have no reason to be unhappy with who I am. I would recognize that I am Mozart to noone and Cassanova only sometimes to someone. If I wanted to be no different than who I am then I would not be jealous of anyone, I would not be jealous of anyone’s position in relation to others. I would not expect to be loved exclusively by anyone; I would know that I am finite, unable to be everything at once, unable to fill every perscription that can be called in.

Can I have a best friend? Can I love someone exclusively? Can I be someone else’s only and their all? There are undeniably times when such relationships exist, but they cannot remain thus forever if the people involved in them continue to change. We can all be god in some ways sometimes, but there is only so much audience for god to go around. While you play that role, be preparing for your next. I’ve seen some shows, and the credits roll on every one.


[random text file from 2000]


Unfinished fiction written in 2000.

I started out by deciding how I wanted to die. I was fourteen. I didn’t want to die then, I don’t want to die now, it’s just that when I was fourteen I picked the door through which I would ultimately leave. Of course, you never know when you might be forced through any number of doors in your life, no one knows what’s coming next, but you can certainly set your sights on what you want, and go for that. I set my sights on being about ninety years old, having someone take me up in an airplane over the Pacific ocean, and me jumping out of the plane into the sky, into the air, into the deep, dark, ocean far below.

That’s how I started out. That’s the first thing I did that made me who I am. Before that I went to school and played with the neighbor kids and listened to my parents read me bedtime stories. That was a different person, though, necessary but insignificant. You could have slapped a million different childhoods on me before that point and I would have turned out the same. But after that point, I started becoming me. Some fourteen-year-old kids have figured out what they want to be when they grow up. I knew how I wanted to die.

It was not, however, until I was nineteen and a student at Ohio University that my death choice began to affect the way I lived.

OU. 1996. Fall. The first time I went to OU I had been up all night before having sexual fun with my girlfriend. My dad drove the van from Dayton to Athens and I slept with the passenger seat leaned back. I wrote for twenty minutes or so about the evening, then fell asleep. I woke up as we drove through the gates of the school, springtime green grass and blue sky flooding my eyes. I felt like I was waking up into the dream. Something new, something far away from high school. A place where no one knew me and I could reinvent the parts of myself I was once again ready to reinvent. Most significantly, a world where my parents would be three hours away, where they could have nothing to do with inflicting discipline on me. Where I wouldn’t have to hear them fight. Where I could do something I hadn’t been able to do before that point, exist separate from my parents.

Athens consists mainly of Court Street, which consists mainly of bars. The other thing Athens consists of is beautiful girls. Mainly girls from Ohio, which is a distinct kind of beautiful. You know how people say that when you get married you start to look like your spouse? People do that with their geographical and cultural affiliations, too. Ohio girls look a certain way. California girls look a certain way. Texas girls look a certain way. East coast girls look a certain way. Act a certain way. Some people can tell where you’re from and where you’ve been since then by the accent of your speech. I can tell where people are from by looking at them. By seeing what they wear and how they move. From the shape of their face and their body proportions. By the way they smile. By their eyes. By their hair. From the type of bag they carry, what they smoke, how they smoke it. From how they hold their head. By the way they approach sex. By how they drive or how they sit. By how they eat. By the way they position themselves socially. By their jewlery. I can do this with boys as well as girls but I’m better with girls because I’ve spent more time looking at girls.

OU is filled to the brim with Ohio girls. Dope fucking supermodels ages 18-23 who dress like they’re auditioning for an X-rated GAP commercial. Girls who are smart enough to get into OU but not smart enough to get into Harvard. Girls whose parents were too strict with them in high school, girls now ready to make up for whatever they thought they were missing out on back then. Girls ripe with willingness to be involved in fantastic sexual adventures at any time, in any setting, with whoever is willing to take them or willing to be taken by them. In a bar at OU if a girl says “Will you get me a quarter draught?” the subtext is “Buy me beer for the rest of the night and you can come to my room and fuck.” She will give you money for the beer. If you take her money, you insult her. If you refuse her money and pay for the beer yourself, you’re going to get laid. Go dancing at any OU bar and you will get laid. Go to any OU party and you will get laid. Buy someone a cappucino at OU and you will get laid eventually. Someone needs a cigarette. Give them a fucking cigarette and you will get laid. Someone in one of your classes is smiling at you. Smile back. Say hi to that girl you keep seeing in the cafeteria. Play frisbee with the ultimate’ hardcores. Have a deep conversation with a philosophy major. Read poetry with the alternative crowd. Play pool with the townies who so desparately want to be part of the college scene. If you don’t mind being really fucking obvious go get a pet dog (or, better yet, borrow someone else’s pet dog, save yourself the maintenance hassle). Walk the dog, by yourself, through the college green. You will get laid. I swear someday I’m going to open a dog rental business at that school. Dog rental by the hour. The cuter and more lively the pup the steeper the rate, cause let’s face it, not all dogs are equal. Some slow ass old schnauser ain’t gonna do the trick like a hyperactive golden retriever puppy or a dalmation. Cute, young dogs ain’t just gonna get you laid, that shit’s gonna get you 69’d, rimjobbed, blowjobbed, fingered up the ass, nipple-sucked, interactive sextoy peepshowed with the girl’s fucking roommates, fucked in public restrooms, invited back to her bedroom on multiple occasions, invited to social outings, invited to lunch, dinner, breakfast, drug parties, nighttime walks on the golf course, bondage fucking, etc. The girl who meets you because of a hyperactive golden retriever puppy or a dalmation is yours for the most extensive battery of experiments you wish to perform on her. But the best thing about the girls at Ohio University isn’t their GAP supermodel motif or their pervasive willingness to fuck. The best thing about the girls at Ohio University is that they restock them every ten weeks.

I only lived in Athens through two such restockings, but I have made a point to go back there for the open of the major seasons, fall and spring quarters, every year since. For me, it’s a semi-annual national holiday. Sometimes I stay for a few days, sometimes I stay for a week or two. Sometimes I just look, sometimes I play. Depends on my mood. But I always kick off the holiday by sitting at the window in Perks drinking spicy cider on the day before classes start watching the fish swim by. Buying books, looking around this new world for them, realizing they are in young sex heaven. Fish held captive on dry land for 18 years being dumped into the ocean, filtering pure oxygen through their gills, filling their lungs, for once breathing easy, stretching their sea legs. Typically during my stay I have sex with three to five young women, almost exclusively first and second-year students. With half of those women I will develop some kind of continued relationship, with the other half it will be a short-lived thing. The three-to-five limitation is a function not of time or other availibility issues, but of my being a sex snob. Some people are ice cream snobs, you know, they’ll only eat Bryers or Ben and Jerry’s. I’m a sex snob. Certain qualities have to be in place, you see, for me to enjoy it. And while that’s true for everyone, I am a snob while everyone is not because of the peculiar nature of the qualities I insist on. For now, forget about the nature of those qualities, and know that playing with the innocence, the blissful excitement found in those girls is one of two activities I am addicted to. The other activity is stealing.

Why I continue to steal is a mystery to me. Why I started stealing is easy. When I was probably eight years old I was in a store with my mom and I wanted a pack of Yubba Bubba but my mom would never buy us Yubba Bubba, only Trident, so I stole a pack of Yubba Bubba. I had money. I got an allowance. But I wasn’t allowed to have Yubba Bubba and I couldn’t drive when I was eight so the way I got Yubba Bubba was to steal it. Now I can’t stand gum. I never chew it myself, and, actually, one of my qualities for fucking a girl is that she doesn’t chew gum. That might sound incredibly arbitrary, meaningless, and silly to you, but it’s not. I also can’t explain the reason behind it. It’s just one of my psychological turn-offs. Why do some people like peas and some people hate them? I don’t know, but I know that they do, and I would consider it a pointless endeavor to convince a pea-hater to eat them or a pea-liker to remove peas from their diet.

The second time I stole something was for a girl. It was in Philadelphia. I was skipping church with the youth group, I was probably in seventh or eighth, and this girl I liked named Sarah asked me to steal some makeup and horoscopes for her. I did, and threw in a horoscope for myself. The whole youth group knew about it, we stole stuff from the Rite Aid across the street all the time. Spent most every Sunday doing that instead of sitting in the service. If we did go to church, we sat in the back row and wrote each other notes on the back of church bulletins. I would always sit by Sarah, cause she would slip her fingers down my pants and inside my shirt to touch my nipples. Back then people thought I would someday be a minister, beacuse they thought I was deep and spiritual and they were used to seeing that embodied in a minister. Turns out I am deep and spiritual. Also turns out I’m not a minister. My favorite part about church was Sarah, especially on youth group sleepovers. There were several things I liked to do on that altar that I never got to do on Sunday morning between 10:00 and 11:00, and that sort of ruined the regular service for me.

I didn’t steal anything else for a long time after I stole that makeup for Sarah. In fact, the first two times I stole probably could have been the last. They were just the stealing that kids do because kids are stupid. I felt bad about stealing both of those times. I knew it was wrong because of the ten commandments and I did it anyway and that made me feel bad. I didn’t think I was going to hell since I had asked God for forgiveness and there is some scripture that says God will forgive any sin. Since then, I have torn down and rebuilt my guilt apparatus from scratch. Also, I tore down and rebuilt God.


How did you like OU?
It was great. I’d go fishing there anytime.

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