greater mistake you can make than having
been born in the first place and that's already
happened and it can't be fixed and it wasn't
even your fault.
|He said that when he came|
upon me from behind
he didn't know whether he
wanted more to fuck me
or to strangle me.
this turned me on.
She stopped attributing quotes copied from
the texts she read & no longer took credit
for the lines that came from her own pen. It
seemed irrelevant to make a distinction--or
there was no distinction to make, really, point-
less to make a point of being personal or
impersonal, objective or subjective. Her mind,
unlike her brain, seemed to exist somewhere
outside her skull, it was an interface; there
were only thoughts coming and going, like
radio waves passing through her consciousness,
nothing more; they could be held, possessed,
branded by no one; they were free-range.
All ownership, all currency, all identity
|It is down this hallway, through|
this doorway that whatever I imagine
happening always happens
2 of the 10 good reasons for lying: (6)
Being beyond gravity, weightless, in a
dream assembled by one's own hands.
(9) I put something of myself in those
stories and hoped to arrive at a defini-
tion one disguised by the surrounding
absurdity--a definition of myself with-
the usual anguish such readings entail.
My greatest mistake—the greatest?—oh
come on, it's impossible to rank them—
they were all so great, my mistakes, any
one of them looked at in a certain context,
from a certain point of view, might have
qualified as "the greatest"— so let's in-
stead say that my foundational mistake,
the one upon which all the others were
ultimately based, was to try to universalize
my particularity—to claim that my behav-
ior and personality were perfectly "norm-
al"—even superior to the norm—and to
defend this position with a positively lud-
icrous passion—the ferocity appropriate
to a battle for self-survival—which I not-
so-mistakenly took it to be—at least in
the world, among the people with whom
I was living at the time. Why did I want
so badly to be (mis)taken for normal? Of
course, I realize now I should have admit-
ted straight off that there was nothing nor-
mal about me—unhesitatingly, even eager-
ly admitted it to myself and to anyone who
accused me of being abnormal. It would
have spared everyone a great deal of time
& aggravation—me especially. The urge
to fit in is so powerful, though, so all-en-
compassing, it is akin to the urge for self-
preservation—about that I was correct—
if only I could have understood that you
can survive outside of the society of the
normal—at the margins, among the nom-
ads, the fugitives, the terrorists…
…it's strange, isn't it, that someone like me,
with my upbringing & education & presum-
ably well-trained intellect, would have such
a very significant thing in common with this
man. It was his instinct that death is without
meaning unless it is met violently.
"Why not fuck me and then strangle me,"
I asked, half-jokingly. "Or vice-versa. Or
both at the same time? Why does it have
to be a choice?"
"Of course," he said, laughing. "One doesn't
have to choose. We're trained to deny our-
selves, taught that we can't have everything.
It's drummed into us at every turn. It's a
terrible handicap. We grow up crippled be-
cause of it. I blame the Puritans, the Prostest-
ants, the Catholics, the whole lot of them.
Either/or thinking. It's a bad habit. Often,
in fact most times, you really can have it
He placed his hands playfully around my throat
and gave my larynx an affectionate squeeze, mom-
entirely cutting off my breath. I felt the impossibly
long erection through his gabardine slacks.