Toilet Rumination #131

David Wojnarowicz was an important artist. I am not so sure why. What I have seen of his work is good and subversive in a way but not great. I mean the Rimbaud head photographs are good. Some of the paintings are good. His films seem to be ok but maybe I need to watch more of them. The one that I saw was not very good. His band, the music he made from what I have heard did not appeal to me but maybe I need to listen to more of it. Normally, the first time I hear a band if I don’t like the first song of theirs that I hear I will not listen to any more of them. I did not like the song I heard from the band that he was in. So his work as far as I am concerned was ok. Nothing that really inspires anything creative or purposeful in me. His writing is good. His articulations are good. He was a very smart human being. His tape recordings of him speaking about himself are very good and insightful, subversive and creative. A lot of his writing is too much about gay sex for me to be able to maintain interest but he is a good writer. A highly creative and imaginative thinker. This is what inspires me about David Wojnarowicz- his mind. His quality of thought. He is so subversive and imaginative and philosophical in his thought. He goes far beyond most humans. He is a high intelligence human being in a non-conformist and highly imaginative way. He sees far beyond the boundaries conditioned into all of us by society (other people) and routine. His thought process breaks free from all convention. His thought process is very non-conformist, radical and truly original. There is a high degree of clarity and non-banality in his thinking. This is where David Wojnarowicz has made the greatest impact on me- in his thinking. Not his art, not his music, not his films, not even his writings- but his thought was truly what was extraordinary about the man. His thoughts about pre-invented existence, his thoughts about death and dying, his thoughts about sex and disease, his thoughts about politics and social conditioning, his thoughts about work and culture and socializing and solitude and systems of power and ALIENATION and career and money and vice and transgression and drugs and addiction and all the real life kind of stuff. He had such interesting insight in these matters and this is what has impacted me the most in my encounters with Wojnarowicz. He was the kind of person that I would like to have as a friend. He is the kind of person I wish that I could meet and get to know. Hang out with. I am not thrilled about his art but I really like him. His greatest art is his thought and there is no one that I personally know whom I can say this about and yet I think that is what a “real artist” is. Someone whose thought is their greatest art. When we are conformed our thought becomes banal and ordinary. We think the same general things as everyone else. A real artist has not given into this banality of thought. Any great artist who has distinguished themselves it is because their way of thinking is an art. Artists whose way of thinking is ordinary and just like everyone else- are not distinguished artists. They may sell in galleries and teach at universities but their impact is small, materialistic and will be forgotten by history. Most artists today have thought processes that are not exceptional and unique at all. They are artists by profession and not by soul. The goal of every artist should be first and foremost be to make their thoughts their main art. To refine and de-conditionalize their thought process and become so unique and insightful in thought that their work will not be able to compete with how extraordinary their thought-life is. But maybe this can not be created. Maybe people are either born with this distinction or not. I think it comes from being intelligent and as a result really seeing into the true nature of things. Most artists are still highly conformed and limited in their thought. Their vision is shallow. The masses can relate to these kinds of artists and that is why these kinds of artists are the most successful. The masses can not relate to someone with an intellectual depth of insight. But the one thing that I find unrelatable about David Wojnarowicz is that his thought on certain themes does lack a kind of maturity. He has still not done enough work on himself to find acceptance in death. He is still non-accepting of the reality of death and as a result his rage is strong. I understand that David was still young when he died and a large part of being young is this rage (I wish he could have lived longer because I would be curious to see how he would be if still alive today). I suppose this rage is an important aspect of the fear and non-acceptance of things that was within him. This rage can be incredibly fertile territory for creativity and motivated much of his later work (once AIDS kicked in). I just have a hard time relating to it. There is something adolescent about his rage and fear of death. But it is this adolescent, almost innocent quality of Wojnarowicz’s thought that makes his expression so powerful and radical. I suppose I am being a jerk in having judgement with regards to his rage and fear because who knows, if I got AIDS or some kind of socially-created terminal disease that I would not find myself filled with the same kind of rage and fear. Maybe I would be completely accepting and at peace or maybe I would be terrified and in a rage. It is hard to say unless you find yourself there. It is his fear and rage that makes his work interesting. Someone who is at peace and completely accepting does not have very interesting ideas about things. Their art is dull. Resigned. Maybe this is why I struggle most with David Wojnarowicz- he reminds me of what I have let myself become. As an artist, he reminds me of what I have let go of as I have grown older, more comfortable, more suburban, more smartphone addicted and of how I have allowed a lot of my thought processes to grow numb, ordinary, resigned and bitter. Maybe this is why I am struggling to continue reading the man.

Toilet Rumination #130 (Author’s Note)

Hello. This is your author speaking. This is not a toilet rumination but more of an effort or attempt to explain. I have been absent from these ruminations for some time. That is fine. I often don’t see the point in writing these ruminations. I mean, isn’t there better things I can be doing with my time? I don’t often see the point in blogging in the way that I do. Maybe I am revealing too much information about myself and this often causes me to retract or not participate in writing on the internet. It is true that my ruminations are one aspect of my personality. Not my entire personality. Much of it is embellished. I have a tendency towards the hyperbolic and may say things that I do not feel an hour later. So why bother? I will tell myself. Why post these transmissions or ruminations online to begin with? I have a great tendency to talk myself out of everything that I do. To not see the point in anything. I am one of the greatest and most under appreciated living existentialists. That is what I like to tell myself at least. The truth is that no one appreciates me for the man that I am. People appreciate me for other aspects of my being but not for who I truly am. So mostly I have to keep myself hidden. That is why I write these ruminations. It is me in my purest and most existential form. My goal with these ruminations is to create a character. A personality. A person born out from an aspect of my personality. When these ruminations are finished, if they are ever finished, my hope that a distinctive personality will grow out from them. A personality which is unique, subversive and entirely different from who I am. Of course there are aspects of myself in this but my hope is to create a monster not unlike Frankenstein. Sure, I am involved in this creation but I want to have my creation turn into something completely independent of me. So my goal is to write 500 ruminations. It seems like an impossible goal- but that is what I would like. Once I have completed the 500 ruminations I will go back and pick the most important ones and then create a book. From this book I hope my monster will arise. This is the intention at least. I just need fate or destiny on my side. I need to live long enough. I need to stay alive to complete my goal and life is never a certainty. One can only hope they have more time. No one knows for certain. I am sure that I will go away from these ruminations again and again. My hope is that I continue to return. I don’t care if people read them. This blog is a database. A rough draft. A space for me to amass 500 ruminations. If I have a few people reading them along the way- great. If not, that is ok also. The point is to create a monster that is born out of me but becomes completely distinctive from me. Maybe this monster will be the man I was never able or brave enough to become. Isn’t that what monster’s do? They are a reflection of what we are too afraid to be. Anyways, I just wanted to drop this line for whatever it is worth. Now back to the ruminating.

Toilet Rumination #129

Everywhere I look, there is crap. There is crap in my toilet. Crap fills my backyard. There is dog crap and human crap. When I lift my garbage can lid there is nothing but crap inside. When I lift the toilet lid- crap. Continual crap. Every cabinet in my house is filled with crap. Crap fills bags that hang from doors. Crap fills closets. There is so much crap in closets that the closet doors can barely contain the crap. There is crap under the desks. Crap under dressers. Crap under chairs and couches. Every drawer and every corner is filled with crap. There is heaps of crap behind the washer and dryers. There is crap that fills the crevices in my backyard. I am dominated by crap. Crap is everywhere. I try so hard to push back the crap. To organize the crap. To keep the crap from over taking my life. I try to push the crap behind closed doors. Stuff the crap into bags. But there is crap all around. Crap fills the trunk of my car. Crap fills every closet and drawer at my office. The crap is disorganized and piled in mountains of crap. How can a person live a calm life with all of this crap all around? This crap makes me want to escape. This crap makes me so mad. Piles and piles of crap everywhere I look. Is this what humans do- amass mountains of crap? Fill their lives with crap? I think that those of us who do not succeed in life do not succeed because we have been taken over by mass amounts of crap. We are exhausted by crap. We are perplexed by crap. We are overwhelmed by all the crap. We feel trapped and stuck because of the crap. We continually want to escape from all the crap. But we keep amassing crap. We are crap machines. We can’t get a handle on all the crap so we add to the crap. There is always more crap being added to the crap. There will come a time where the crap cannot be hidden from view anymore. We will be suffocated by our inability to get any control over our crap. For now the crap bleeds out from the corners like blood from a scabbing wound. We have just enough space to keep the crap hidden from view. But without space we are condemned to suffer. We need space around us just like a fish needs water. We need space in our cabinets and drawers. We need space in our purses and bags. We need space under our couches and behind our washers and dryers. We need this space to live productive and calm lives. Without this space we feel trapped and are continually seeking escape from all the crap. Why don’t we see this? It is not the job and the people that we really want escape from. It is all the crap that we have amassed in our lives that we want to get away from. But we don’t bother to deal with our crap. Instead we keep our crap disorganized. We allow our crap t exist everywhere and try to keep it out of view. We spend so much of our time and energy trying to get control over this crap. Trying to organize the crap that we can see so that we have the illusion of having some control over the crap. But there is still crap everywhere. Crap behind closet doors. Crap in pantries. Crap piling up on shelves. Crap in purses and bags. Crap fills closets. Craps piles up in the trunks of our cars. There is crap that fills all of our trash cans that everyone refuses to take out. We have become the crap. We live within the crap. We are the crap. Our brains have turned into crap. We look like crap. We smell like crap. We talk like crap. We act like crap. We have been possessed by crap. We have not been able to defeat the crap or organize the crap so we have turned into the crap. We have had to become crap in order to adapt to all the crap that fills our lives. We create crap. Material crap. Psychological crap. Our love is crap. Our friendship is crap. Our ideas are crap. Our complexions are crap. Everything about us has turned to crap. This is what happens when we are no longer able to make space. We turn into the crap that we create.

Toilet Ruminations #128

I’m avoiding writing. I am doing everything I can to avoid writing. So I will sit here on my toilet and ruminate. But ruminate about what? What themes should I ruminate on now? I am not interested in sex at the moment. I have been having a lot of sex and often it causes nothing but distress. I am happy when the desire to have sex is gone. At the age of 47 I question whether or not my body even wants sex anymore. I have a feeling it is all psychological at this point. I have been masturbating more. But not masturbating in the way one does when they are filled with shame. I have not been masturbating to orgasm but instead I have been masturbating for the simple pleasure of it. I would like to get better at masturbating. What I mean by this is that I would like to take masturbation out of the private realm and more into public territory. I would like to masturbate when with people. It would be fun to masturbate while my wife is driving and I am in the passenger side seat (a good way to alleviate my car anxiety). I would like to masturbate more at various social gatherings. In front of attractive women obviously. But this may cause problems. I wish there were places I could go where I could just masturbate while watching naked women walk around or do sexual things. It would be fun to masturbate in front of my wife’s friends as they just hang out and talk. But I am not sure if I would be able to do this. I may be too shy. But I have always wanted to be a more public masturbator. When I was in my twenties, I went to a sex party in San Fransisco and there was a man my age who was completely naked and masturbating. Just leaning against the wall and masturbating. He was doing it for hours. I couldn’t believe it. How could he do this publicly? How did he have the courage? I presumed he must be mentally ill. Much too sexually deviant to be sane. But who knows, maybe he was a perfectly healthy young man. In fact maybe he was more mentally healthy than the rest of us because he was no longer repressing his sexual desires with shame. Many famous psychiatrists have spoken about repressed sexual desire as the root of mental illness. I do feel like the closer I get to actually living out my deepest sexual desires the less depression and anxiety and anger I suffer from. Who knows, maybe if I was able to become a more public masturbator my mental health would greatly improve. But I would want to do it all the time. Once I was able to actually masturbate publicly it would probably become my favorite thing to do. I would do it every chance I got and this could get in the way of my social life and my reputation. But I am a sexual deviant. I am actually a sexual degenerate. I don’t have a problem with that. I don’t see sexual degeneracy as a negative thing. By sexual degeneracy I mean no sexual hang ups and in pursuit of sexual experience pretty much most of the time. I wear my sexual degeneracy with honor. I think it is important to be a sexual degenerate. It is one way to disrupt all of the normalizing and repressive powers of the society I am stuck in. Sexual degeneracy is how I live a fuller and more radicalized life. It is my act of political protest against the conservatism of the capitalist American lifestyle. Sexual degeneracy has a rich lineage in the Beats,  the Existentialists, the Libertines and all the way back to the Greeks. Those seeking freedom from norms. The moment sexual degeneracy is drained from us we become much to normal. We become capable of nothing important. Sexual degeneracy is the root of so much creativity. It keeps one from becoming to sucked in to the totalitarian system that is America today. I thought I wasn’t going to ruminate on sex today? I guess I was wrong. I guess I always have something to say about sexual matters even if I am not feeling particularly sexual. Did I have anything else I wanted ruminate about? At the moment not really. I feel like I should turn my standing desk into a sitting desk. Maybe the reason why I have been avoiding writing is because I don’t like writing while standing. This could be it. It is uncomfortable to stand and write simultaneously. Writers like myself don’t stand when writing. I imagine it is only business, tech and sports writers who stand while writing. Not existential, absurdist, literary writers like myself. Maybe I should lower my desk. But this will be an extensive process. I am always lowering and raising my desk. I will move the location of my desk. I will buy a new desk or change out my desk for one of the desks I have in the garage. I am continually seeking out a new kind of desk in the hopes that then I will write more. Maybe I should just keep my desk as a standing desk. You told yourself that you were not going to change your desk anymore. And now you are thinking about changing your desk again. But a standing desk is good for me. Most of my time is spent sitting. If I can get an extra hour or two of standing in while writing I don’t see this as a bad thing. Maybe I should just try and keep the standing desk. But it is uncomfortable. It makes writing and editing extremely difficult. Painful. But writing and editing is painful even when sitting. If you are writing and editing and sitting you will think that you sit too much. You will start to want to have a standing desk again. And then you will change your desk back into a standing desk again and this will just go on and on until you die. It is madness. You just need to have a desk and leave it that way. Writing and editing is never going to be comfortable for you no matter what kind of desk you have. But standing does make writing more difficult. Writing is already hard enough I don’t need my back to be throbbing. Can’t I just sit down?

Toilet Rumination #127 (How to know if she loves you.)

How can he be in a relationship with a woman who wants to be in a relationship with someone else? She wants to be in a relationship with him but she also wants to be in a relationship with someone else. With him the relationship is close. She loves him and they have built a life with one another. She likes her life with him. They have some passion between the two of them but not much. They are close but in more of a friendly, companionship kind of way. It is a deep and meaningful relationship but there is also a lot of stress caused by her wanting to have relationships with other people. For example, she met another man. This man and her have good sex. They have the kind of sex she wants to be having. Long, hard, intense and mostly about giving her a lot of pleasure. She has the kind of sexual relationship with this man that she wants in her life. She also enjoys his company. She likes being around him because it is fun. They have a good connection with one another and she really enjoys her time with him. With the other man it is difficult for her. It is not always fun. There is a lot of stress and tension. Things are not easy and fun although at times they are. But for the most part there is a distance between them. But with this other guy there is no distance. There is fantasy. Things are very close and even though a distance grows between everyone, they are not there yet. She loves this close connection. She loves the fantasy. And she loves that it is fun and light hearted. She also loves that this man is completely head over heals about her. He is in love with her even though he tries not to be. She is in love with him even though she tries not to be. Who could not be in love in these conditions? And he, the other one, knows this. He feels it. He senses it. It is not hard to. And he is often upset about this. She comes home very late when she is with the other man. He waits up. She does not often text him. She gets very excited about seeing the other man. He gets excited about seeing her. He can feel how she is drawn to this other man. That is ok, he thinks. It is only natural. But he grows fearful. He freaks out. He thinks that she is going to leave him for the other man because he knows how much she loves sex and connection. He thinks that she is more in love with the other man than she is with him. He thinks that she does not want to be married to him. He thinks that she is deceiving him. Not telling him the full truth. He wants to be with her for the entire duration of his life but questions if she feels as strongly about him. He becomes insecure and afraid. He feels like he is going to lose her. He freaks out and then there is intense emotional turmoil. He wonders how he can be in this relationship without any emotional turmoil. Or with much less. How can he be with her when she wants to be with someone else also? Maybe he could just let her be free to be with this man, to have her fun with this man while enjoying his time on his own? Maybe he could be completely confident that she is committed to him while also wanting to spend time with this other man? Maybe he could  just let her be completely free with this other man while getting on with his own life. When she is with him that is great but when she is not with him because she is with this other man that is fine also. He gets sad and feels alone when she is gone but he needs to get over this. How can he create and live his own life while she is gone with another man? I suppose he would really need to feel like she loves him. He would need to feel like she is committed to the relationship. She would need to be able to continually prove this to him. Make him feel like he is safe even though he knows that no one is ever really safe. But then isn’t he putting too much emphasis on her to make him feel a certain way? Shouldn’t he rely on his own resources? If she wants to be with another man how can he be at peace with this? I suppose the only way is to let her be free. To take things day to day. But it’s hard because he grows sad that she wants to be with someone else. He gets upset about it and feels abandoned. He feels lonely without her. But he needs to get over this somehow. He needs to live part of the time as if he were single and part of the time as if he is in a relationship. It hurts him that she wants to be with someone else but it also turns him on. I suppose he would just need to know if she is in love with this other man and wants to be with him more than she wants to be with he. But how can someone ever know that? It changes from day to day. There is no insurance against this sort of thing. Passionate feelings can not be controlled. The only way that he can be healthy in a relationship with someone who wants to be in a relationship with someone else is if he lets go. If he just allows whatever is going to happen to happen. If he stops needing to know. If he just accepts what is and moves on with his own life while still being with her. This often confuses him. How does a person move on with their own life while still being in a relationship with someone they love? It is all very confusing. If there was a pill for non-possessiveness and fearlessness, he would take it.

Toilet Rumination #126

I am looking to meet an attractive and slutty young woman to engage in sexual and perverted fun with. I would like her to be very attractive and perverted and fun. Maybe you could call this a party girl. I really want a woman who is hot and intelligent and will settle for nothing less. I know that I am a 47-year-old man but that does not matter. I am still very attractive despite my thinning hair. I am very well-dressed and have a very educated and refined aesthetic and literary sensibility. I am a rare human being. There are not many of me around. I know no one like me. So I deserve to have specific tastes. I deserve to not settle. I will hold out no matter how long I have to wait for this girl. I prefer the word girl to woman. I like youthful women. I do not like women who have grown old, uptight and stodgy. I am not interested in women who have let themselves sag. I prefer women or girls who have a very youthful, free and sexual spirit. I made the mistake of marrying a woman like this and it bites me in the ass most days. That is ok though. That is how it goes. These women are wild. They want to be having sex. They want to be being adored. They want to be naked and laughing. They want to be free and intellectually engaged. I get it. One man can not possibly satisfy this voracious spirit. These women are animals. They are yet to be fully domesticated by man. They are yet to become a man’s property. I can respect this. I want this kind of woman. This kind of woman is the most enjoyable to be sexual with. I just want a fun and kinky and perverted sexual experience with someone I do not know. Some hot and sexy girl with style who wants to talk, listen to music and be sexual. This would be nice. I am not looking for anything else. I have everything else I need in my life. I mean I am always looking for the most contemporary and obscure music and literature I can find. I am always looking for good food and a relaxing place to sit, listen and rest. But I would really like to find a perverted, kinky and highly orgasmic woman to be sexual with. To hang out around. To go out with and have some fun. I am not bored with my reclusive and domestic life. I like it. I have lots of time to read, listen to music, write and keep to myself. But it would be good to share my existence with another woman. I already have a beautiful wife but it would be fun to share my life and my mind with another sexy woman whom I have no issues with. I want the clean slate. I want the brand new. I want the no water under the bridge. I want the not yet corrupted. I want the full on sexual connection. Sounds like an enjoyable thing to engage in a few times a week. Not sure how I will met this woman because most women around where I live have sticks up their asses, but I still hope. I still try. I remain patient and keep an eye out.

My Failed Saturday Night

Saturday night was a failure. But was it really?

It was and it wasn’t. It was because I failed to get my hands on the object of my desire. I wasn’t able to scratch my itch- not even with pornography.

The goal of most people on a Saturday night is to scratch their itch so it is not still here on Sunday morning. This makes Sunday more relaxing and the work week ahead less dreadful. A Saturday night where that scratch is not itched,  is a failed night. I am still itchy.

What is the itch for me? It is the desire to have a perverted, sexual experience with a stranger. Few highs are better than the high of a sexual experience with a stranger. Some have talked about this experience as being just as transcendental as an LSD experience can be.

So I am wanting and wanting and wanting and wanting to have this experience. Last night I came close.

My wife was out and I had my house to myself. How wonderful this was. I celebrated my temporary bachelorhood by making myself a steak and potatoes dinner. I played records loud. I smoked a lot of pot. I walked around my house and garden and listened to various sounds.

When I was finished with my dinner and the dishes it was 10pm. Normally by 10pm I am in bed (or close to it) but my desire was keeping me awake. I figured it was Saturday night and I was a bachelor. I should shower, get dressed nicely and have a sexual experience. Why not? It is only one or two nights a week where I feel this free.

I didn’t want to go to a bar and meet a woman. What was the chance I would actually meet someone? Also, I do not want to meet a woman and have to go through all that song and dance in order to get her naked and in my bed doing perverted things. I want to fall in love with a slutty woman and when you are a married man it is always better (and easier) to pay the woman you want to make into your beloved whore.

I also lack the energy or interest in bullshit. When I meet a woman I am direct in saying what I want. I’m not looking for a relationship. I mean we can hang out once or twice a week and talk and get high but I am wanting sexual experiences. Even if you just sit there nude and let me stare and touch you.  Most women these days are terrified of or offended by this. They are looking for a life of banality.

So I went on my computer searching for escorts. I found a few very attractive ones. I sent them texts letting them know how hot I thought they were. We worked out prices. I sent verification pictures of my genitals. Then they asked me for my address and I would panic.

I wanted to do it but what if the escort came to my home and robbed me? What if she killed me? What if she was affiliated with some gang and was getting the low down on my house so someone could later rob me? I have very nice things in my home. I need to be cautious. I didn’t need these potential hassles in my life right now so I told all the escorts I texted with maybe another time.

On-line I found a brothel, a seedy hispanic brothel, 12 miles from my home. I decided to go give it a try. I smoked more pot, finished my craft beer and stuck $150 in my pocket. I wanted to stay home, get in bed and read a book. But I told myself it was Saturday night. I needed to go out in search of a degenerate experience or suburban living was going to turn me into a complete bore.

I got in my 1982 Westfalia camper van, which was freezing cold. It lacks heat so I smoked more pot. I was very stoned and worried effusively about getting pulled over. My white Volkswagen van sticks out. Especially in lesser parts of town. I stick out. Especially in lesser parts of town. I told myself what happens will happen, just try to be cool.

I took my old but still strong and hearty camper van on the freeway. I got it up to 70 miles an hour and felt like I was flying through space. The stove and closets rattled in the back, reminding me that I was driving an old and unstable house on wheels and should slow down. I was too stoned to be driving that fast.

As paranoid as I was, I had the greatest time of my night driving that van at high speeds on the freeway, while stoned. GoogleMaps led me to the location of the brothel and I stopped out front. I turned off my van and sat there in the dark. I wanted to see if anyone else would go in or come out. A few gunshot sounds reminded me I was in the Ontario ghetto. I smoked more pot and wondered if all the girls would be thick and large. I prefer skinny and petite ones.

Do I really want to spend the money? Do I really want to do this? I debated with myself. I smoked more pot and thought about too many things at once. I felt some nerves about walking up to the blue lit door but I realized I had been there before. The women were all heavy-set. Did I really want to take the chance? I could spend that money on records and books.

I always go through this rationalization process before paying for sex. I normally talk myself out of it because I don’t want to spend the money. I tell myself to go masturbate. But I do want to spend the money. I want to have a wild sexual experience with a whore, but each time I talk myself out of it. I am a writer. Not a rich man. I can’t spend that kind of money on sex. It is either books and records or sex for me. I always chose books and records unfortunately.

I decided to drive back home. When I turned my camper van on I received a text from one of the escorts I had texted earlier. She was very cute and young. She agreed to come to my house and spend a half hour with me for $120. I told her I was a writer. That was a deal.

She asked me to send a verification picture of my genitals. She sent me one of hers. I was under stimulated. I am not a fan of female genitals. I am making an effort to get more into them because this is what I am told a man does. Being a man who does not like female genitals is like being old and having an aversion to flowers. It doesn’t make sense.

I told her she would have to give me 15 minutes to get home and then I would send her a picture. She said ok.

I raced home. I drove so fast I missed the freeway entrance. I was spacing out. I was high. I was having a blast driving that van at a moderately high speeds. I was looking forward to having a whore over to my house.

When I got home I did what I needed to do. I took a picture with my pinky in it (as she requested). She said thanks. Then she asked me for my address. I freaked out. She was so hot. I wanted her to come over. I wanted to have a cute little whore in my marital bed. I had the money. The price was right. It was 12am and I was very high. It was the perfect time.

I smoked more pot.

But what if she came over and robbed me? What if she was a police officer and I was to get caught up in a sting operation? It would be terrible to get arrested and have a clan of cops in my house. My house is a sacred space and I didn’t want to invite that kind of trouble in. What if she shot me or poisoned me? I wanted to do it so bad but chickened out. I told her that I was very sorry but maybe another night. She told me to save her number in my phone. I did.

I then felt relieved of everything I feared but had that itch still eating away at me. I opened up my laptop and put some pornography on. I watched very cute girls doing really attractive things. I wished I was there and I orgasmed. This experience was not nearly as exciting as a sexual interaction with a human would have been.

I still itched

My night was a failure. I got in bed and read Brion Gysin’s novel “The Process.” I pulled my small dog up against my side. I read. I smoked more pot. I was happy to be alone. I tried not to think about how I had failed once again. But then I told myself that it was not at all a failure. At least you have a good story to tell. Then I fell into a deep sleep.