Sell Out Man, Chapter Five

Arthur thought about Amy all the time. He tried not to put any emotional pressure on her and kept most of his feelings to himself. When he did text her the texts would only be sexually related. He tried to keep most things about sex because he knew that was the fundamental hold he had on her. But he missed her when she wasn’t with him. He wanted to be with her all the time and he was having a more difficult time denying this to himself as the days went by. He was aware that Amy was a married woman. He knew she was married to a famous painter. But he also knew that she was not happy in her marriage and that she was happy with him. This gave Zev and opening. At least it made him feel like he had one.

It’s difficult to be in love and a writer simultaneously. The two do not go well together. If one is in love, all they want to do is be with the object of their love. To be a writer one cannot afford the distraction of love. The writer needs to be mostly loveless to remain focused on his or her writing. Arthur couldn’t write. Fortunately, he had already written the first draft of his upcoming book of essays. Now all he had to do was a lot of editing. He could do a lot of the editing with Amy when they hung out together but he needed to also do a lot of editing when he was alone. Focusing on his editing work was difficult. He had to force himself.

Arthur preferred thinking about Amy. He would masturbate several times a day thinking about her. He would send her videos of him masturbating and orgasming while watching porn. He would send her dick pics and Amy would always respond favorably. She loved the erotic attention. She loved the pornography of it all. Amy prided herself on her ability to be slutty. She wasn’t like all the other girls, ashamed and guilty. Amy had liberated herself from that and had become a good slut. She would send Arthur videos of her naked in the bathtub. She would paint her toe nails while nude and send Arthur videos of her playing with her feet and spreading her legs. They were even more turned on by each other when they were sexting than when together.

Arthur was too sex obsessed to stay focused on a book of literary essays about culture, philosophy, music and the unreliability of subjective percetions. He exercised at a gym and went for long walks. He tried to stay physical so that he could release a lot of the tension that sexual build-up creates. He hung at with friends and tried to maintain as balanced of a life as possible. He would see Amy once or maybe twice a week. This is how it needed to be for now. Sometimes she would meet him for lunch. Sometimes he would come over to her Silverlake home during the day while Zev was at work. Sometimes she would go to his place in the afternoon. Or sometimes Amy would tell Zev that she was going out with friends on a Friday or Saturday night and instead she would be going out with Arthur and staying out till around 4am. This is what their relationship consisted of for now. Fitting in rendezvous whenever they could.

Amy was able to maintain a normal life with Zev. Enough so that he didn’t suspect much about what was going on. She tried to pay attention to Zev. To be as present for their life as she could be. She wasn’t ready for a divorce but just wanted to be able to have her cake and eat it. She wanted it all. She went to the market and made dinner just as she always did. She worked at the kitchen table just as she always did. She seemed to maintain the same habits and routines. But Zev began to feel a difference. He noticed that she paid less attention to him. That she seemed less affectionate than normal. Less emotionally connected. Zev detected more distance between he and Amy and even though he may not have been consciously aware of the grief this caused, he fell into a depression. A depression that would only continue to suck him in deeper and eventually attempt to devour him whole.

Zev began to experience his depression but not talk too much about it. He kept his suicidal thoughts to himself because he couldn’t quite figure out what was wrong. He knew he was already unhappy in his life and assumed that things were just getting worse for him. He was becoming more unhappy in his work even though his paintings were selling for more and more. He wasn’t very affectionate with Amy so he couldn’t blame her for not being very affectionate with him. He barley wanted to kiss her and struggled to return what little affections Amy still had for him. He understood that his lack of affection was what made Amy less affectionate and he was fine with that. He didn’t want to be touched anyways. Zev figured eventually things would get better. He would quit being a painter and focus on his cartoons. He and Amy would eventually be happier. They just needed to get through this difficult time. Zev assumed that this was what people who were married did. They toughed out the difficult times. It didn’t occur to Zev that Amy was texting pornographic images and bathtub nudes to some other guy.

The depression seemed to make his paintings darker. There was a more lamentable feel to everything he did. He started drawing and writing in his journal more and wasn’t as productive in the studio. Marissa would spend a lot of her time cleaning or sitting around reading. Zev didn’t mind paying her for reading. He just assumed that young people today needed some incentive if they were going to be readers. So he encouraged Marissa to read if she didn’t have anything to do and this was Marissa’s favorite part of the job. Sometimes she was paid to read for four or five hours a day. Zev would recommend books and authors to her and she would read every one. She loved Zev’s recommendations and knew that there was no other way for her to find out about these things. She valued Zev for how smart she felt like he was.

Zev started smoking while he painted. Normally he would wait until he was done painting to smoke. Now he had a paint brush in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He was sad when he painted but tried to lose himself in the process of painting. This would often work. He would focus on each movement of the paintbrush and he would follow the paint as it turned into different colors and textures. He would lose himself in the process of making art and it was in these moments of creative flow that he was an authentic artist. Zev loved losing himself in creativity. Creativity was a space that was free and beyond boundaries. Zev loved this feeling and wanted to live in the space of creativity. Not outside of it. He was not very good at life outside of creativity but when he was inside of creativity he was a master. The depression seemed to make it harder for him to access this space of pure creativity but when he did he noticed that his work was becoming darker than it had ever been. Almost Edward Munch like. He didn’t realize his depression was exacerbated by the subconscious sense of Amy’s interest in another man.

One afternoon Zev came home early from work. He was tired of painting and didn’t have any big shows coming up in the immediate future. He was now working on commissions for rich people, which he could work on at his own pace. He sent Marissa home early. Marissa felt upset that Zev didn’t want to go get a drink with her but she let it go. She knew it was nuts to be in love with a married man. Especially a man married to a gorgeous and sophisticated woman like Amy. Zev didn’t tell Amy that he was coming home early. He just didn’t think of it. The universe works in strange but strategic ways. When Zev pulled up in his black Audi he noticed Arthur walking out of the side front gate and down the street to his car. He didn’t think much of it because Amy would often have writers and editors over to the house. He just thought that Arthur was another one of those hip and young literary authors publishing in WORD.

When Zev walked into the home the curtains in the living room were drawn and there were some pillows on the floor. The air smelled strange and for a flash of a second Zev wondered if Amy had just had sex with that guy he saw leaving the house. But as soon as he saw Amy come out of the bathroom with a smile on her face and a long black dress on, he forgot about the suspicion. He knew that couldn’t be it. Amy walked over and gave him a hug and a kiss. She was talking as she picked up the pillows and opened the curtains. Zev listened to her and thought about having a cigarette. He didn’t even ask her why the blinds were drawn and the pillows were on the floor. He didn’t ask her who the guy walking out of their house was. He still trusted Amy more than any person in the world. Zev asked Amy if she wanted to come out back and have a cigarette with her.

Amy and Zev sat on the backyard deck together. They smoked a cigarette and looked out at the garden. Zev was happy that Amy decided to smoke a cigarette with him. Amy told Zev about some ideas that she had for things she wanted to plant. Zev asked Amy when the gardener was coming next. He asked her if she was remembering to water the lawn and he told her that he didn’t feel like she was doing enough work in the yard. He couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t want to be out in the beautiful backyard more doing work. He felt like Amy was neglecting their home. Amy took offense to this and felt like she worked plenty. Zev disagreed. Amy accused Zev of not doing much work out there. That most of that yard is her work. That the yard looks beautiful because of the work that she has done. Amy was angry at Zev’s lack of appreciation for all that she had put into the yard. She was sick of being criticized by Zev. Zev always had something negative to say about her. She could never do anything right. Zev didn’t agree. He felt like she was lazy and distracted. Spent too much time on her phone and not focused on the things that mattered. She was letting important shit go. Amy hated when he talked like this and told Zev that she was not discussing it anymore. She had tears in her eyes, not from sadness but from rage. She held them back with the force of all her inner resources. She put out her cigarette and went inside. Life can change in an instant. For the rest of the evening Zev and Amy didn’t talk to each other. Amy made dinner but Zev kept to himself.

In bed that evening Zev refused to put his arm around Amy when she asked him to. He was still angry at her even after she had let it go. He stayed angry throughout the night. He didn’t understand why Amy didn’t make more of an effort to hug him. She was the one who got mad so she should be making an effort to be intimate with him. Why did he have to put his arm around her? Zev fell asleep that night an angry and disdainful man. He felt anger in his chest. His mind was hurried by the feeling of anger that hung around in his chest. This was a common way that Zev would go to bed while married to Amy. Often upset about something she did or didn’t do. Now the depression seemed to only be making this worse. Zev knew that unexpressed anger which was internalized would turn into depression. He wondered if many years of feeling this way was what was causing him to feel so depressed now. He felt defeated and had no idea what he was going to do. He tried to fall asleep by following his breathing rather than being lost in the swirling of thoughts his brain was generating. His efforts were futile and an overwhelming sense of frustration, which is familiar to all insomniacs, caused him to get out of bed and go smoke a cigarette on the backyard deck. Something about the silence of late night mixed with nicotine helped him feel a bit better. Amy was still awake but pretending to be asleep when Zev returned to bed.


Sell Out Man, Chapter Four

Zev Bauhaus, Contemporary Abstract Works. A Contemporary Masters Series Exhibition. This is what the pretentious advertisement for the opening invitation read on top and then from there there was just a bunch of bullshit about Zev and the gallery. Zev didn’t pay any interest in this stuff. He tried to stay outside the politics of it all. Zev was wearing his nice black suit and had his recently dyed black hair nicely combed. Amy had told him she liked black hair on guys so he decided to give a dark black color a try. Amy told him he looked like a Nick Cave kind of character. Or someone who was a more series artist than the one he was being taken for. Zev was an artist for the rich. For those who loved abstract design and wanted to show the most contemporary pieces hanging on their wall. In the world of the rich, you display your status by the kind of paintings you hang.

         Zev had to talk with these people. He had to shake hands with them and pretend like he was enjoying the conversation as he talked to them. He had to act as if he was very happy to see everyone he met since they were all fans or potential buyers. But everyone was rich. There were no cool, hip young people. There were no freaks or weirdos. There were no punks or social deviants. The gathering at his openings were the epicenter of conformity and normalcy. Yuppies. These people were the perfection of what we are all expected to be.

         Zev looked around at his paintings hanging on the wall. Massive paintings with bright primary colors. Loads of texture and strange alien like shapes. It looked like he was ripping off the Spanish abstractionist painter Joan Miro. People paid him thousands of dollars for his paintings and so far most of his current large paintings had sold to high end hotels and a few investment companies. His current large paintings sold for over thirty-five grand a piece and he received 30 percent. This was more than he ever needed. Zev bought himself nice things. A nice car, nice furniture, top qualities clothes and good food. But he mostly spent his money on books and records created by deviant and obscure outcast artists and writers. He had a room in his home filled with them.

         Everyone wanted to talk with Zev and he was expected to engage with them all. He hated them but smiled as he talked. He wondered how this had all happened to him. Where had he gone wrong? All these people loved his work and him. They were willing to spend large amounts of money on a 41-year-old contemporary abstract painter with the last name of Bauhaus. Zev always suspected that his success had nothing to do with his talent. He could shit on a canvas and art collectors would still be buying it up. His success was predicated on his last name. People wanted to own paintings by a painter whose last name was Bauhaus. It was his last name that sold his work. These superficial rich people were all so full of shit. All about showing off. He disdained them for it. But he played into it. He gave them what he wanted. He took the money. He played the game and he had no one but himself to resent for it. These are the kinds of things Zev thought about when he would step outside into the New York night and smoke one cigarette after the next.

         Amy wasn’t able to join Zev in New York because she had obligations at WORD to attend to. At least she told Zev this. She really didn’t want to join Zev. She knew that Zev was miserable at these openings and she didn’t want to be around it again. They always fought anyways. Zev would take out his resentment towards himself on her. After the openings, he would be disgusted with himself and as a result mean to her. Amy also wanted to stay home because she saw it as an opportunity to spend more time with Arthur. Arthur and Amy back together again.

         Amy loved an essay Arthur wrote called, “Orthogenesis And The Biological Disappearance Of All Of Us.” In the essay, he writes about how everything that will happen to him is already happening. That he is already a disappeared man. Even though people think he appears. Arthur explained to Amy the teleological idea that whatever is coming next will be here soon, whatever form it takes, if it isn’t already begun to emerge. And it probably has even though we don’t know it yet, Arthur told Amy. Amy loved the way Arthur’s mind worked. All his strange ideas. The places he would go in his mind are the place she wanted to go in hers. She was just tagging along for the ride. Zev was such a bore in comparison. He just was in his life’s misery. There was nothing interesting about that. Amy didn’t want to go there with Zev anymore. She preferred Arthur’s strange, dystopian world even though she felt he was young and immature.

         Arthur would come over after working on his writing at his apartment in Korea Town. Amy always enjoyed going there and fucking Arthur. The apartment was in a seedier section of Korea Town which made being an adulterer more appealing. It gave the experience an edginess that she liked feeling when she walked away from his apartment at night. Amy asked Arthur to try not to make himself visible to the neighbors since they would suspect something if they routinely saw him coming in and out. Arthur parked several blocks away and would jump over the back wall or walk through the front side gate. They spent the evening together watching various films and fucking. They would make dinner and then spend the evening in bed. She could never do stuff like this with Zev. Zev would think it was lazy or not appropriate to spend so much time in bed watching TV. But Amy loved it. It was a break from her marriage and an opportunity to have fun and be adored by Arthur.

         Zev began to suspect something was off when he would text or call her and she would be non-responsive. She used to text him right back but now it took a while more consistently. He would call her and it would take some time for her to call him back. Zev didn’t know it at the time but Amy’s love was quickly fading. She was pouring it into someone else. While in their house and in their bed. Amy was all about convenience and comfort. It wasn’t personal.

         When Zev would tell Amy about certain restaurants he had tried in New York that she said she went to or certain galleries he visited that she said she visited and Amy didn’t recall these places, Zev found it strange. He wasn’t convinced by the way she was trying to play things off and change the subject. But he didn’t care that much. He shrugged it off. It didn’t even occur to Zev that she was deep into an affair. Zev assumed she was busy. He always thought she was forgetful. He went about his trip in New York without even thinking about it. He sat in cafes during the day and read and drew. He bought a magazine called “WIRED, Adventures In Sound And Music” and read from that. He found out about new music from that magazine and then would search for it in iTunes on his phone. They almost always had everything he searched for and he would download it to his phone and then walk around the city listening to it. He wondered around Greenwich Village and thought about The Beats. He thought about Jack Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg wondering around high and drunk and in love with life in Washington Square park. Now the place looked like a graveyard compared to how it once must have been. The police had taken control and drowned out most of the real transient culture. Zev walked around and felt disdain and annoyance towards all the people he was surrounded by.

         When Zev returned home he was exhausted and grouchy. Amy picked him up from the airport and Zev was happy to see her. She smelled nice and was dressed in a short black skirt and had her bare legs showing. She wore a tight black sweater top which made it obvious she was wearing no bra. Something about her seemed more arousing and Zev found himself desiring her in a way he had not in some time. A sexually active woman can be sensed by men.

         They went out for dinner and shared a bottle of wine. Amy came outside with Zev and smoked. Zev’s bad mood began to fade and he felt like he was having a nice time with Amy. He felt close to her and like she was interested in him. They were happy to be together and Amy tried to forget about what she was doing with Arthur. After dinner, they went to a bar and had another drink and smoked more cigarettes. Amy didn’t normally smoke unless she was letting lose and having a good time so Zev was always happy to see her smoking. That evening Zev was happy. These were brief pockets of time that Zev often missed. He loved being back in his house and was glad he survived the journey to New York. He never expected to live forever. Or maybe he did.

         Zev turned on a Coil record and they smoked pot and talked in the front room of their home which had a large glass window showing the lit-up tips of the buildings in downtown LA. Zev told Amy about what bullshit he thought the art scene was and she agreed. He also told her that he probably made a few hundred thousand dollars from the show, which Amy was happy to hear. Maybe soon they would move out of the Silverlake home and buy their own house by the ocean in Venice Beach, Zev suggested. Amy thought that sounded like a great idea even though she didn’t believe herself. Zev went on to tell her how they could buy a cool wood bungalow on the beach for a few million. Nothing too fancy. Bohemian style. Amy tried to avoid going deeper into the conversation by taking of her clothes and then proceeding to unbutton Zev’s pants. She asked him if he wanted a blow job and he said yes.

         After the blow job Zev felt incredibly relaxed. That was the best thing he had felt in a long time. It amazed him how capable the body was of attaining high states of pleasure. This is what orgasm was for him- a high state of pleasure which he continually craved. He wondered why he didn’t let Amy give him blow jobs more often. She was so good at it and always willing to do it. All he had to do was ask. But he rarely did. He felt like something was wrong with him for not asking for or accepting a blow job each and every day. Amy loved to swallow semen and Zev loved to give it to her. An attractive and intelligent woman who loves to swallow semen is a rare commodity that Zev felt he should value more.

         Zev pulled up his pants and they both decided to get ready for bed and watch something on TV. Netflix had become their on-line version of TV. Zev was feeling particularly close to Amy. He loved her and everything she would do for him he was grateful for. He felt fortunate to have a wife like her and wanted to work on being closer with her. Not being so miserable all the time. It was easier for Zev to think this way in those rare times when he was feeling good. He was able to get perspective. But gradually his mood began to shift when he saw Amy continually texting on her phone. He had noticed that Amy was on her phone now more than usual. She was even staying up late on her phone. A slight wave of concern came over Zev but he let it go again. She was probably just working more. It couldn’t be anything. He rolled over and put his right arm around Amy’s breasts.

Sell Out Man, Chapter Three

Amy and Arthur drove out to Joshua Tree in Arthur’s old SAAB. They were finally getting away, alone with one another, for the first time. Amy looked over at Arthur as Arthur drove and smoked a cigarette. His youth invigorated her. She loved his glimmering black hair that still looked as if it retained all its vital nutrients. She loved his body, which he had not yet given up on.

Arthur was a 27-year-old writer. He had written two novels. One called “Man on The Ceiling” and another “The Fantastic Nobody Life Of A Disappearing Man.” “Man On The Ceiling” was more of a freshman attempt at being like his French absurdist literary heroes but “The Fantastic Nobody Life Of A Disappearing Man” did well in indie-literary markets. It won several independent book awards and caused many people to look forward to his next novel. But Arthur wasn’t writing another novel. He was writing a book of essays that Amy was editing.

Amy also worked as an editor for several independent publishing companies. She was a highly respected editor so she could pick and choose her projects. She was more like a freelance editor since the companies allowed her to come and go as she wished. She very much admired Arthur’s second novel and when she heard that he was writing a book of essays for one of the publishers she contracted for, she insisted on being his editor. She had looked at pictures of him on-line and found him very attractive. Amy wanted to sleep with everyone that she found attractive but for the longest time remained loyal to Zev. Even after years of sexual rejection. It was not soon after Amy and Arthur started working together that they also started having sex. Amy came on to Arthur. She loved seducing him. When they did have sex, Zev often came quickly and was not much interested in Amy’s sexual pleasure. Arthur cared. He wanted her to experience immense platitudes of pleasure. He fucked her for long periods of time and would make sure she had at least two orgasms. Amy felt like the sex she had with Arthur was the best she ever had. Having sex again after being in an almost sexless marriage would cause anyone to feel this way.

Arthur and Amy together at last. They checked into the small boutique motel in Joshua Tree and when they got to their room fell onto the bed. Arthur washed his hands and Amy took a piss. Amy came out of the bathroom naked and pulled down Arthur’s pants. Arthur loved this about Amy- she was always down for sex. An insatiable creature. Amy slipped Arthur’s erect dick deep into her mouth and gradually slid it down her throat. She began to suck him off vigorously and with determination. She did it like a woman who loved having a man erect in her mouth. Arthur felt like he was going to fall out of his body. He grabbed onto the blanket and screamed out as he shot his semen deep into her throat. It didn’t take long. Every time with her, it was the most amazing orgasm he had ever had. Each one kept getting better and better. When he would orgasm he would lose himself for a brief fraction of time. He would go away and be floating in a warm and cushioned void of pleasure where there was no fear or pain. A perfect dopamine hit straight to the brain.

After the blow job Amy slid up into Arthur’s chest and smelled his underarms. She licked his nipple and rested her head on his chest. It felt good to love somebody again. To feel those initial and short lived feelings of lust and adoration. Amy looked at the cactus filled window. Arthur told Amy about what a remarkable blow job that was. He told her how sexy she was and how much he appreciated her. Amy felt cared for by Arthur in ways that she never did with Zev. In a few years, she would feel the same about Arthur but currently she felt like Arthur loved her in ways that Zev didn’t. She felt accepted and appreciated by Arthur. She felt like he would do anything for her and this was a great feeling. Arthur and Amy decided to get up and go have some food and drinks. They would get drunk and have sex several times later that night.

Zev wasn’t thrilled about being alone at home for four days. He never liked it when Amy was gone. He couldn’t understand why he couldn’t stand it when she was around and he couldn’t stand it when she was gone. What was wrong with him? The house was too quiet. There was no one to do the things he needed her to do. There was no one to talk to or sleep besides in the evening. Zev wanted to think of himself as being an independent man but was in denial about the degree of his dependence on Amy. She went away and he felt lost.

He tried to keep himself preoccupied in her absence. He would read and listen to music. He would draw the seedy cartoons he liked to draw but didn’t show to anyone. He made his own food at home or went out to dinner alone. Zev didn’t have any friends because his time had been taken up with working and being with Amy. He let all his friendships go and only maintained a few superficial ones through text. It was only when Amy was gone that he felt how unpleasant being friendless was. Being alone with himself was not a fun experience. It was the opposite of stimulating. Complete and crippling boredom is what he felt when alone with himself. He longed for someone to stimulate him. He tried to call Amy several times but she would never answer. He would text her and it would take her hours to respond. Zev would look at his phone and see that no one had called or texted him. Who would think that being a famous painter could feel so lonely and barren?

Zev assumed Amy was busy. She was busy but just not in the way he thought. He was under the impression that Amy was in New York at a literary conference. It was not uncommon that she would go to literary conventions or conferences so he didn’t think anything of it. Zev would ask her continually about New York and Amy would make up stories about writers she had met, museums that she went to, galleries she visited and restaurants she ate at. Since Zev didn’t often talk to her when she was home she didn’t worry about having to maintain the lie once she returned. She knew Zev would forget. Zev was happy that Amy was at a literary conference even though he missed her. He always liked it when she took the time to refine herself. He just had no clue that she was sucking off Arthur in some desert motel room. He also had no idea that his beloved Amy was an adulterer.

Arthur new that Amy was married to Zev Bauhaus, the famous contemporary painter. He thought that was very cool and it was one of the things he felt was appealing about being with an older woman like Amy. If she was in love with him he must be significant since she was married to Zev Bauhaus! Her love and affection made him feel like a better and more important man. This woman was married to Zev Bauhaus but yet loved him. This implied to Arthur that he was even better than an accomplished man like Zev Bauhaus. What a trip! He loved her very much for the way she made him feel. Arthur always felt insecure and insignificant, even after the success of his last novel. But for the first time in his life he felt confident about himself. Finally, he was seen for the great man he was. Amy loved the gratitude she received for this. Arthur was now getting everything Zev would soon lose.

On the final evening of Amy’s absence, Zev decided to go visit a whore. He would do this every now and then when he needed some sort of stimulation. He had worked all that day and was completely sick of his job. Painting the same kind of paintings over and over again for an upcoming gallery exhibition was wearing away at him. He hated having to talk with gallery owners and potential buyers. Such a bunch a fake bullshit. He made himself dinner and drank too much red wine. He smoked some pot and realized he wanted more stimulation. He liked visiting whores because it was illegal and there are few better forms of stimulation than doing something which is illegal. He found a whore on-line who looked very attractive and was not a far drive from him. She had long brown hair, a nice thin body and promised to give the best oral sex out of anyone. The price was fair. Zev rinsed off, put on cologne, brushed his hair and drove to the motel where Anis was.

Zev found the motel room which was in the back of the Motel 6. The parking lot was well lit and he walked towards the room without hesitation. He knocked on the door and as he waited he wondered if this could be some sort of sting operation. What if the whore was really a cop? He felt a feeling of regret rise in his chest and thought about how disgraceful it would be for him if he was caught. He thought about leaving, maybe he couldn’t handle the pressures of the illegal. Just as he was about to turn away, Anis opened the door. She was young and naked except for black lace stockings that came up to her thighs. She smiled at Zev and welcomed him in. Zev immediately lost all fear and regret when he took one look at her ass.

Once in the room Anis went to check her phone. The Hobbit was on the television. She asked him how he was doing as she looked at her phone. Zev felt drunk and stoned and was struggling to articulate his words. The more he talked the more he felt like he was sounding like a total idiot. Everything felt surreal, like in a David Lynch movie. Zev loved this. He slowly took off his clothes, because he always enjoyed being naked with a woman. He sat down on the side of the bed and Anis put her phone down. Zev told her that he just wanted to watch her be naked and dance around on him and then at the end he wanted a blow job. Anis liked this request and once Zev handed her the money she immediately got down to work. Zev told her again and again what an amazing body she had and Anis smiled and would move in closer and closer to him.

As Zev was putting on his clothes and Anis was looking at her phone she asked him what he did for a living. Zev straightened out his hair since he didn’t want to look like a fool. He buttoned up his black shirt and told her that he was a cartoonist. Anis was surprised by his answer. She had never met a cartoonist before. She asked Zev what kind of cartoons he drew and he told her about them. He described them as basic drawings of a guy, one guy and his feelings about life. Anis asked him what his work meant and Zev told her it meant that life was ridiculous. Life was absurd. When she asked Zev if he had an Instagram he told her no. She seemed surprised by this and told him that he better get with the program if he wanted to be a richer artist. He told her that money wasn’t his objective at all. It felt good for Zev to not have to lie to someone about the kind of artist and man he really was. There was no more real place in the world for Zev than in a motel room with a whore at night.

When Zev got back home he felt satisfied. His dopamine receptors were fulfilled and he was receiving the residual calming effects of that. This was the high of the illegal act- getting away with it. This getting-away-with-it feeling was one of the more satiating highs a person could have. It lasted a few hours. Engaging in illegal activity allowed Zev to stay connected to the kind of artist he really wanted to be. He felt it was his duty to stay connected to illegal realms. It was only art that came from these places that really mattered anymore. It was the kind of art that interested him. Not the kind of art that was being made for the rich. This was the art of the disenfranchised. Zev didn’t know of any other ways to engage in illegal acts other than prostitution. Sometimes he drove fast or drunk or didn’t turn on his blinker, but these were boring illegal acts. Zev wasn’t going to steal, gamble or harm people so prostitution was the only illegal thing for him to do. The illegal fueled his soul.

That evening Zev fell asleep while watching the movie Inception on his MacBook Air in bed. He was stoned enough to be able to get into the movie, which he felt would have been much better if it wasn’t so action packed. He fell asleep looking forward to Amy’s return tomorrow. For a moment, he wondered why she hadn’t asked him to drive her or pick her up from the airport but he assumed she already had this taken care of.

On their final day together Amy felt sad about having to leave Arthur. It had been nice spending all their time together. Arthur dropped Amy off at her car and they hugged and kissed goodbye. She placed her hand on his heart. As she drove back to her home in Silverlake, she thought about her story. She had to mentally prepare herself for the heaviness of Zev. When she walked into the house Zev was home. It was Sunday and he had spent the morning cleaning their home. Everything looked nice and in its right place. Zev was happy to see Amy and gave her a hug and kiss hello. Amy was happy to see Zev as well and returned his affections. They sat down at the kitchen counter and began to talk about things. She told him about her trip and he told her that he had just been working a lot and that he missed her. She told him she missed him too and that he was going to have fun when he visited New York next month for his opening. Zev had no idea he was being lied to. He was thinking about how now that Amy was back home everything in their house was going to get messed up. He was thinking about how it was nice having her gone because he was able to keep everything just how he liked it.

Sell Out Man, Chapter Two

When Zev Bauhaus painted, he lost control. Everything became disorganized and a mess. Paint got thrown around. Paint tubes splattered all over the place. Dirty brushes on the floor. The paint brush water a grayish sludge. It was worse than the painting studio of Francis Bacon. All of Zev’s focus would go into his work and the correct placement of everything around him didn’t matter. He would play the music of Merzbow, Throbbing Gristle, Coil and Nurse With Wound (all artists that he admired for their unwillingness to sell out) as he lost himself in the movements of the paint. By the end of the painting session there would be as much paint on Zev as there was on the canvas. Fortunately, Zev had two assistants who had the lamentable job of cleaning up after him.

It was odd that Zev was able to be such a disorganized mess while painting but in the rest of his life he was impeccably organized. Everything was in its right place. Every angle that he saw out of balance he would straighten. Books stacked per size. Nice pens lines up in exact configuration beside one another. Shoes kept in their correct alignment. Nothing was a mess in Zev Bauhaus’s material life. Except Amy. Amy struggled to keep everything clean. The clothes in her closet threatened to push over the closet door. She left dirty clothes everywhere. Everything she touched became out of place and this always pissed Zev off. But Zev felt like a hypocrite since he always made a terrible mess when he would paint and he refused to clean up after himself.

Zev was working on a large abstract painting that was commissioned by The Hoffman Gallery in New York. The painting was thirty feet by fifteen feet and was covered in paint. Zev used a ladder on rollers to paint the large amoeba like shapes that floated in a void of blue paint. He preferred using acrylic paint because he liked the texture more than oils and acrylic paint dried quicker. Zev would work frantically on the painting for a brief duration of time and then he would come down from the ladder, sit in a fold out chair and smoke a cigarette. He would check his phone and return text messages and he would stare at his painting as he smoked. It was good that Zev didn’t paint at home anymore since when at home he would always think about things that needed to be cleaned or rearranged. He would paint for a little and then clean his house or move furniture around. He was never able to remain focused on the task at hand and now that he had his own large studio space away from his house he still struggled to stay focused on the task at hand for any long duration of time.

Becoming a famous contemporary painter was something that seemed to just happen to Zev. He would paint and show his work and gradually he started getting more and more offers for sales, commissions and gallery shows. He didn’t think much about the direction he was going in but knew that he was tired waiting tables and he wanted to have a more established career. He took the opportunities that were being offered to him since he was nearing 40 and felt like everyone in his life judged him for not having a real job. Gradually Zev started making more and more money from his paintings and he could quite his restaurant job, get a large studio in Westwood and start painting full-time. For the first year or so it was great but the more successful he became the more he had to conform to a certain taste that the market desired. He couldn’t veer off into different artistic directions because his unique abstract style was what was in high demand. He was no so sick of doing his paintings that just getting through the day felt like it drained his soul of all the life contained within it. But a man must earn a living and no matter how much Zev wanted to quit he stuck with it because the sense of responsibility kept him locked in.

One of Zev’s studio assistants was a younger woman by the name of Marissa. She had long flowing blonde hair and large breasts. Her body was slim and well proportioned. She wore converse and jeans with holes in them. Zev thought she looked like a younger Kim Gordon. She was fresh out of art school and wanted to be a famous contemporary painter herself. She worked diligently for Zev and was committed to using him to get ahead in her own career. She would often flirt with Zev and Zev considered having sex with her but he couldn’t bring himself to cheat on Amy. For the first time in his life he was very much in love with a woman and had no interest in doing anything that he felt would hurt her. He didn’t think of the occasional whores he had sex with as being cheating since there was no feelings involved. It was just a kind of self maintence that he needed to tend to every now and then. Having an affair with Marissa or any woman was out of the question. He was loyal to Amy.

Zev and Marissa went out to lunch at a small café not far from the UCLA campus. It was obvious that they were both painters since they were only people covered in paint in the restaurant. Marissa told Zev that he had paint in his hair but he didn’t care. They ate sandwiches and talked about upcoming shows and commissions. Marissa told Zev about an upcoming show she had and he told her that this job wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Marissa was surprised since she always thought that getting paid a lot of money to make paintings was the dream. Zev told her that for him it had become a nightmare.

Marissa and Zev walked back to the studio smoking cigarettes. Zev was talking about how Marissa better be careful about what she is good at because people will be willing to pay her to do it and she will then be stuck doing it. Marissa asked Zev what he wanted to do with his life if he didn’t like what he was doing. Zev told Marissa that he would like to make more subversive art, cartoons mixed with writing. A kind of autobiographical graphic novel. Marissa asked him if he wanted to be a cartoonist and he told her that he was a cartoonist deep at heart. That he preferred drawing to painting but that he could never get paid to do the kind of work he liked to do.

Zev took a piss in the toilet. He liked the bathroom in his studio. He took the inspiration from Henry Miller’s bathroom and covered the walls with pictures of artists, naked women and art that he liked. There were also cut out articles about him on the wall. There was an article called “Who Is Zev Bauhaus?” which appeared in the magazine Art In America and was about how many people believed that Bauhaus was not Zev’s real last name. The author went on an investigative quest to prove or disprove that Bauhaus was indeed Zev’s legitimate last name. What he found was that Zev was born in Germany and raised in Philadelphia. His father who was a successful doctor and his last name Bauhaus came from German settlers going as far back as medieval times. The author found that the school of design which made the name famous and synonymous with an art movement had actually taken the last name from one of its initial founders. Turned out that Zev Bauhaus was uniquely related to the Bauhaus movement. It made perfect sense that he would become a famous painter, was the articles conclusion.

As Zev pissed he noticed that his urine was yellow and reminded himself that he needed to drink more water. He looked at his dick which was limp and had some sort of brown mole growing on it. He shook his dick to get any excess urine out and off of it and then he zipped up his pants. While washing his hands, he looked at himself in the mirror. He liked his long brown hair but noticed his facial stubble was all gray. His eyes looked defeated. He thought about what he would eat for dinner. He thought about drinking wine. He thought about having sex with Marissa. He was thinking about anything that would take his mind off of the fact that the next five or six hours needed to be spent working on some painting he was tired of working on. He longed for a different kind of life.

That evening Marissa went back to her studio apartment in downtown Los Angeles. Her parents had enough money to help her live with some degree of independent dignity. She was 26 and not yet able to fully support herself from her art so her father, who was a lawyer, helped to support his baby girl. Her apartment was decorated in a kind of indie style. Her manga influenced paintings hung on the wall. She had lots of plants and a window that looked out onto The Ace Hotel. When she came home she was happy to see her white cat. She threw her bag on the floor and fell onto the couch. She took off her pants and sat there in her thin black lace underwear. She put her hand over her vagina because it felt good. She was also thinking about Zev as she pet her cat. She was thinking about how hot he was but also such a miserable bastard.

Marissa got up and went and took a piss in the bathroom. Then she walked into her kitchen and looked in her cabinets to see what she could make for dinner. She decided on a green salad that came out of a plastic Trader Joes container. She also made brown rice with teriyaki sauce and black beans. She ate her dinner pantless while sitting on the couch, watching television and petting her cat. Zev was still on her mind. She found it weird that someone who had succeeded as a painter could be so miserable at it. He had gotten off track, she thought. Maybe when he married Amy he felt a pressure to succeed economically and so he went away from his vision for himself. He made compromises so that he could be seen as more of a responsible and successful man. He wanted Amy’s family to think of him as able to support their daughter. This is what often happens to men, Amy thought. And now he is miserable because of it. He feels like he sold out. There was a part of Marissa that really hoped she could help Zev get back on track. But she didn’t know how.

Zev was playing a Body/Head record as he and Amy ate dinner. She had made them a large salad, a large loaf of fresh bread with grass fed butter to rub all over it. Zev played the record because they each could not stand the sound of each other’s chewing. This is the point at which the relationship has turned bad, Zev would often think. If you can’t even stand the sound of your partner chewing that means that you are overfilled with resentment. Zev also played the music because he hoped he wouldn’t have to talk. They could just eat and listen to Body/Head. He didn’t want to have to hear about her day. Her meetings with writers and editors. Stories and literary essays she was editing. And then Amy told Zev that she was going away on a business trip and Zev stopped listening to the music.

Sell Out Man, Chapter One

Zev Bauhaus maneuvered his way through traffic. He was impatient and wanted to get home. He was playing a New Zealand experimental band called The Dead C. As much as he loved the sounds this band made, the music playing through the Bluetooth sound system wasn’t enough to keep his mind focused on being present right where he was. He was hungry and wanted to smoke a cigarette. He wouldn’t let himself smoke in his car or in his home because once he did he knew it would be impossible to quit smoking if he ever wanted to. He wondered if the Bluetooth was bad for human health.

There always seemed to be traffic on the stretch of highway from his art studio in Westwood to his home in Silverlake. This was one of many things Zev hated about living in LA. He wished that he could just work out of his home and never leave his house but the art market was demanding large scale paintings from him so he needed a large space to work in.

Zev noticed an attractive young girl driving a black BMW in the lane next to him. He kept turning his head to stare at her. She had long brown hair and skin that was yet to suggest growing old. He desperately wanted to see her naked and on top of him. For a moment his mind was distracted from the frustrations of Los Angeles traffic. A few times she turned her head and smiled at him. Zev was not an unattractive man. He had often been told that he looked like a younger Jeff Goldblum. At 41 he still had a full head of long brown hair and his face was angular and long. Women seemed to like looking at him, especially when they found out that he was a successful contemporary painter.

Eventually the black BMW exited the freeway and Zev was back to his slow crawl home. He looked around him at all the cars filled with people. On the side of the freeway were rows of apartments which filled its inhabitant’s lungs with all the toxic freeway smoke. The sky was blue and a few isolated and sick palm trees sprouted in the distance. Zev thought about what an ugly place this was as he listened to the distorted and droning sounds of The Dead C.

Zev pulled his black Audi into the small driveway of his home. After the almost two hours that it took to drive 35 miles, Zev was happy to be home. He noticed that it was the first time he had felt relatively good all day. He was always unhappy now when he worked. He needed to be stoned and jacked up on nicotine and caffeine most of the time just to make working tolerable. As Zev walked to the front door of his Mid Century Modern home designed by Frank Lloyd Wright, he noticed that the entryway looked unkempt and things were not as clean and nicely kept as he wanted them to be. The house wasn’t owned by Zev. It belonged to his wife Amy whose father gave it to her when she married Zev. Amy’s father was a famous writer of popular mystery novels and he and Amy’s mother moved to Eastern Europe many decades earlier. They lived part of the year in Silverlake but once George Bush was elected to the presidency they decided to live full-time in Prague. The house was a moderately sized home nestled between two other nicely kept Silverlake homes. They were surrounded by a community of actors, filmmakers, set designers and daytime talk showed hosts. Zev hated living there because he felt like it was a community for sell outs.

Zev opened the large orange front door and walked into the house. Amy was sitting at the teak kitchen table working on her MacBook Air. Amy was an editor for WORD, a popular literary magazine. The good thing about being an editor was that she could do a lot of her work from her kitchen table. She preferred the kitchen table over the confinement of a desk. This bothered Zev because he felt like a serious literary editor should have a desk that they work at. Zev felt that working at the kitchen table was disorganized and not taking the work of an editor serious enough. He was frustrated when he saw Amy sitting there and Amy knew this when she looked at him. But she set aside feeling criticized by him and faked a large smile and stood up to give him a hug. Zev hugged her and she gave him a kiss on the cheek. Zev asked her how her day was and she didn’t tell him about the younger man she had had sex with in their bedroom earlier that day. Instead she asked him what he wanted for dinner.

At the age of 36 Amy Bauhaus still looked beautiful and youthful. She usually dyed her hair different colors but currently her hair was long, black and curly. She had a very attractive body even though she didn’t exercise. Her style was always impeccable. Zev often told her that she dressed like a New York intellectual. She had even recently started wearing thick black eye glasses when she worked and read. Her breasts had yet to give into the pressures of gravity and Zev always enjoyed looking at them when Amy would walk around nude.

Amy told Zev that she was going to make a trip down to the market to pick up food to make for dinner and he told her to pick up a few bottles of red wine. He then went into the backyard, sat in a white mid-century modern deck chair and lit one of his American Spirit cigarettes. He wondered how many cigarettes he had smoked that day. Half a pack? Maybe more? He had lost count. A calm gradually came over him as he inhaled the warm smoke into his lungs and felt the heat burning the back of his throat. Zev loved smoking and couldn’t understand why people gave it such a bad rap. Everyone had to die of something so do the things you enjoy, he thought. No hesitation was his philosophy.

Zev looked around the garden. He looked at the lawn which he thought looked neglected. The plants needed to be trimmed back and the leaves blown aside. Once again things did not look perfect enough and Zev felt mad. It could be such a beautiful backyard if Amy just put more effort into it, he thought. Amy had been home all day and he was frustrated that she didn’t take time to make the garden look nice. He felt like she was always wasting time. Spending too much time on her phone or watching Netflix shows during the day. He was mad that she didn’t take better care of their house while he was out slaving away. As he inhaled the smoke deep into his lungs he crossed his legs. He felt his dick rub against the side of his leg and this caused him to think about the young girl in the black BMW. He desperately wanted to see her naked and for a moment imagined himself fucking her. Sex was always on Zev’s mind. Degenerate and deviant sex. It was the only thing that gave him any respite from the struggles of his life. Zev thought about going to meet an escort he often visited at a motel in Echo Park after dinner but he mistakenly assumed that Amy would be upset if he left. He didn’t tell her about the whores he would sometimes visit and she didn’t tell him about the younger man she was gradually falling in love with.

Zev listened to Amy talk about a few of the essays she was editing as they ate the meatloaf covered in a rich marinara sauce that Amy had prepared. Zev was always impressed by Amy’s cooking abilities and wished that she would cook more. Breakfast, lunch and dinner along with baking pies and banana bread. They drank red wine and after the second glass Zev became less inhibited about his frustrations. He told Amy that she should really be doing her work at a proper desk. He also told her that he didn’t understand how she was home all day and didn’t spend any time tidying up the front and backyard of their house. Amy felt her chest tighten and her warm red wine buzz fade as anger over took her. She always felt criticized by Zev. She could never do good enough. She defended herself by telling him that she had a full-time job as well and that she had gone to the market and made them a nice dinner. She also told him that she paid many of their bills that day and had to talk with their accountant on the phone. She felt like she did much more than Zev to keep their domestic life as happy as could be. Zev didn’t agree and felt like she could do more even though it was true that he didn’t do enough. He was too caught up in the misery of his own life to be much use around the house and he relied on Amy to do most of the practical things for him. She even had to arrange to have paintings packaged up and shipped out to galleries and museums when he was finished with them. The truth was the Zev was useless without her. All his continual criticism of her were really just projected frustrations with himself. Amy knew this but over time the continual criticisms wore her down and she deeply resented him.

Amy cleared the dinner table and Zev did the dishes. Once the dishes were finished Zev and Amy took their glasses of wine out to the fire pit out back and smoked a cigarette and sat around the fire. It was a cold November evening so the warmth of the flames felt good as they both inhaled after dinner smoke into their lungs. Zev was good and buzzed now and told Amy that he was sorry for being a dick at dinner. He was just very frustrated with his life. Painting all day was a constant pain now. He hated having to make art to sell to rich people. His colorful abstractions were in high demand by those with money. Many museums wanted to carry his work. The high demand for a specific kind of work kept Zev from being the artist he wanted to be. He felt too much pressure. Zev considered himself a counterculture, outsider artist and not the kind of artist who made art for rich people. He was an anarchist and wanted to do very weird and personal things through art, which he knew rich people would never want to buy. He didn’t want to have to make art for anyone but himself. Now that he made his living as an artist he had to pretend to be a different kind of artist. A more respectable abstract artist who kissed the asses of those bourgeoisie people who wanted to hang his work on their walls. He felt like a sell out and Amy felt like she heard this from him almost every day. She would try and reassure him and tell him that eventually things will get better. But she was sick and tired of hearing him complain. He lived in a beautiful home. He drove a nice car. He was handsome and healthy. He wore nice clothes. He had a beautiful wife who loved him. He had a successful painting career and the studio space he had always wanted. What the fuck was wrong with him? She felt like nothing could make Zev happy.

As they sat by the fire Amy tried to talk about more positive things. She pointed out the new garden plants she had bought. She asked him if dinner was good. She talked about how WORD was featured in The New York Times. Zev faked a smile and tried to listen but he was as uninterested in the things she was saying as he was in the paintings he was making. The sound of her voice bothered him. They finished their cigarettes and glasses of wine and decided to get in bed and watch a movie or something. Amy suggested a Netflix series she thought he might like. Zev didn’t care what they watched. He wanted most decisions to be made for him.

Reluctantly Zev brushed his teeth. He had neglected his teeth for a long time and now had a reoccurring infection in one of his teeth. He had to brush regularly now to keep the infection from getting bad enough that he would have to get a root canal. He got in bed and turned on the television. Amy came into the bedroom naked and climbed on top of him. She asked Zev if he wanted to have sex. Even though she had already had sex that day, Amy had a voracious appetite for sex and could never have too much of it. This was one of the things that had initially caused Zev to fall in love with her. He felt like she was the best sex he had ever had but now he had little interest. He told her that he didn’t want to be touched and once again Amy felt rejected. She got up and put a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt on. As she was getting dressed Zev looked at Amy’s naked body. He thought she had a great ass and her body was looking good. He felt frustrated with himself. He couldn’t understand why he didn’t want to have sex with his beautiful wife. Again and again he was rejecting her and he felt terrible about this. But for some reason he seemed unable most days to have sex with her. He desired women he didn’t know. Women with no emotional attachment. Women who were unavailable. Amy was offering her naked body to him again and again and for some reason this disinterested him. Amy got in bed and moved close to him. Out of guilt, Zev put his arm around her and pulled her in closer. He told her that he loved her and was sorry he didn’t want to have sex. Amy told him that she understood and she found the Netflix series that she thought he might like. Together they traveled far away from the realities in their mind to a place created for them on the screen. The room was dark besides the light from the show that was playing. Gradually Zev forgot about himself and became absorbed in the story. It was a nice, vegetative feeling and soon thereafter he fell asleep.

Zev woke early the next morning. He got out of bed and made coffee. He drank his coffee on the couch in the front room, just like he did every morning. He played a record from the depressing experimental rock band called Duster and read “The Exploding Memoir” by Johnny Strike. Once he was finished with his coffee he went out into the cold morning and smoked a cigarette. He looked out into the garden with sun beginning to shine down on it. He looked at the squirrels and birds. He saw plants that Amy needed to water. He saw things that she needed to clean but he tried to ignore it. He went back inside and continued reading his book. He looked at the clock which read 8:43am. He felt angry that Amy was still asleep. He felt like she slept too much. She should wake up and exercise. She should have her coffee with him. Amy was always not doing the things that Zev felt like she should be doing. He didn’t consider that she was depressed because of how unhappy it was being married to a miserable artist like him.

Zev wanted to be at his studio by 10am so he finished the chapter he was reading and got dressed. He showered but didn’t bother to shave. He put on his black jeans, black boots, black t-shirt with a black sweat shirt on top. He combed his long black hair and gathered his things. As he was getting ready to leave the house Amy woke up and came out into the front room. She looked disheveled and like she was coming out of just being knocked unconscious. Zev felt disgusted by her. Get your life together, he thought. She faked a smile and said good morning but Zev ignored her and told her he would see her tonight as he went through the front door. After he left Amy stood there for a moment. She knew that once again he was pissed off at her. She knew he was bothered that she slept in too late. She felt the hatred for him overtake her but then talked herself down. She told herself that everything was going to be alright. Zev was just unhappy with himself. It wasn’t about her. She then let any negative feelings towards Zev go and proceeded to make her morning coffee. Once again, she felt happy that Zev was gone for the day.

Sunset At The Beach (A Brief Confession)

I just cracked open a beer. Saint Archer IPA. I wonder if the people around me think I am derelict for drinking beer from a can at the beach? I am casually dressed, wearing a flannel and hair is a mess so maybe. Or maybe the MacBook Air that I am typing on makes me look like an eccentric, bohemian, intellectual. Who knows what other people think. I have given up on trying to guess. It’s how I think that concerns me most. And most of the time I tend to be an obsessive thinker and this is what concerns me most.

Anyways, the sun is setting over the ocean horizon. It is a blinding ball of orange dropping from endless sky. I can hear the laughter of kids. The crashing of the waves. Some kid screams “no” in defiance against his mother. I can relate. I take sips from my beer even though a large part of me just wants to down it. I love beer induced release. It’s better than all forms of meditation. I think it has something to do with the hops.

Did I mention that I am sitting on a bench? Hunched over on my MacBook. But occasionally I look up at the sun. It’s receding more and more, not unlike my hairline. I notice that as the sun falls behind the earth, it feels chilly and the sea is growing louder. This sea could devour us all in a second. I find it sobering to be sitting at the foot of this force. Makes me feel like a homunculus.

There are a few islands off the coast but I doubt anyone lives on them. At least anyone who cares to be known. I seem to be obsessed with being known. Being known on my own terms, for who I really am. I presume this comes from having a narcissistic father who needed it all to be about him. Or maybe it comes from living in a society where we are not allowed to be known for who we are. I envy those who could care less about being known. Who are comfortable with living and dying without being known. Who are comfortable with anonymity. My sister is this way- she could spend day after day sitting in front of a television without any aspirations to be known.

Two attractive girls are walking towards me. I smile at them and they pretend not to see me. The sun is turning orange. Its fading fire seems to be deflating like a tire. Where does the sun go anyways? It’s literally falling into the sea and we are all acting as if this is perfectly normal. Two guys play basketball. Kids play on the swings. A couple sits on a bench watching the sun go down. There are people scattered all over the beach. It’s a big beach. A beautiful beach in Oxnard, California. A place someone referred to as “nothing but fields and beaches.”

I’ve recently moved here. On a boat after my wife divorced me because she found another guy. I always knew my wife would do this because it’s a habitual pattern that can be seen in people. They skip from one relationship to the next never able to hold interest in one person for long stretches of time. Their relationship ideal is not yet real. But this is good. I’m writing more. I’m less stressed out. The hurt is starting to fade. After years of emotional pain, the blood is drying.

There are boats far out in the sea. An oil rig. I am going to sit here until I see their lights turn on. Nothing as beautiful as a boat lit up in the night, far off in the sea. Should I make dinner at home or eat out tonight? I bought a lot of produce at the farmer’s market yesterday so I should go back to my boat and eat there. It is not easy to cook and do dishes on an old boat but it works for now. The boat I am living on is like an old wood cabin on the water.

The sun is dropping. The light is fading. Everything is growing dimmer. There is the presence of serenity. This is why it is good for humans to be around water. Water is serenity. It is where our brains find peace.

I spent the day working on my boat with a handyman. He was trying to fix the toilet, which overflowed. We did other work as well. He is an old seaman. Muscular and still getting down on hand and knees and stretching himself inside of tight spaces. I hope I can do that when old. He told me I was a sneak aboard. Since I was living on my boat without the proper licensing, I was not an official live aboard. I was a sneak aboard. When he told me this for a moment I was frightened that he would report me. But then I told myself, “Who cares.”. If he does I will deal with it then. I am just grateful for this time on the boat and am not going to spend it worrying. Most of what I have worried about in my life hasn’t happened. Getting testicular cancer and having my wife tell me that she does not want to be with me anymore are two things I never worried about.

There goes the sun. Behind the edge of one of the vacant islands. Now just reflection of orange. The tides pick up. The sky grows beautiful. A natural Rothko painting. As the sun falls into the sea, the orange hue gradually bleeds its way into the blue sky. This is what could be called an ethereal moment. I am glad there are a few people sitting on benches appreciating it. After going through a painful divorce, I haven’t appreciated anything in a long time. This feels good. I can smell the sea. Seaweed mixed with salt and sewage. An airplane moves across the sky. I wonder where my wife is now. Probably with her man since I know she is unable to spend much time alone.

The islands out in the sea look like a purple wax sculpture. The more I drink my 19.2 FL OZ beer the drunker I begin to feel. I guess I am a lightweight. Doesn’t take much. There are few things that I love. I love dogs. I love women. I love the sea. I love books. I love God Speed You Black Emperor. But I really love beer. This is why I try not to drink it much.

The sun is almost completely gone but it’s still light out. Today I wrote the first draft of a pitch that I want to make to several publishing companies. I want to write a biography of David Berman, the countercultural singer, songwriter, poet and artist (he liked to draw things). Maybe I am completely delusional to do such a thing. I mean who am I? Just an unknown and unpublished 48 year old writer. But the FBI showed up at my home concerned about some things I was writing on my blog. I couldn’t believe it. For me, having the FBI show up at my front door for something that I wrote is my highest accomplishment as a writer. I feel like there is no one better to be given money to write a biography of David Berman than I. Maybe it is arrogant to say, but I would like to think that David Berman would want me to write his biography.

Things are growing gradually dark. The sea smells good. The waves are loud. No one is sitting on benches now that the sun has set. But why not stay for the best part of the show? Watching day turn into night. People have such short attention spans. They bore so easily. Not I. I am here until it turns dark.

I want to text my wife but she is not my wife anymore. I want to take pictures of what I am seeing and share it with her. But I can’t do that anymore. Not much at least. I need to draw a line between her and I. A thick black line. I need to realize she is not the person I married anymore. Her tattoos prove it. She is a friend now but not someone I need to text all the time. Not someone I need to trust. It is too bad. I liked it while it lasted. But now I should get used to being on my own. I need to discover other women whom I can love. The things I do and see and think have to be enough for just me now. I can’t share them with her. This is the hardest part of getting divorced. Makes me want to cry just thinking about it. But her loss. She will never find someone who loved her as much as I did. And I am afraid still do, all though I am trying to get rid of that. Sometimes in life I guess we just have to accept letting go of the ones we love. I have tried to hate her guts. Hate hasn’t worked much. I have too much guilt for that approach.

I’ve been alone on the boat for several weeks now. It’s been hard. But I am gradually getting the hang of it. Beer helps. I moved onto an old boat in Oxnard and know no one here. Not a soul. I am completely alone but trust I will gradually meet people. That is if my boat doesn’t sink. The handyman told me I should get an alarm to notify me if the bilge is filling with water. The boat is that old. I don’t care. We all must die. I am just grateful to be having this experience. I love the boat. If it sinks and I have to go down with it, I can think of worse ways to die.

The lights on the street have turned on. There is sand everywhere. I am getting cold. There are a few more sips left in my beer. I feel buzzed. What is the difference between buzzed and drunk? Is drunk when you lose all control and rationality? If so, I am always buzzed when I drink. I never lose control anymore.

Did you know that darkness descends from the top down? It starts in space and gradually descends upon us. Darkness covers us like a plastic bag. As gradually as the sun sets, darkness gradually covers us. I can see the first ship lit up far out at sea. Or is that an oil rig? There are cars driving by with headlights on. Two guys are putting on wetsuits and preparing to go surfing. Now that is commitment, surfing at night.

There are less people on the beach now. The two guys are still playing basketball. The darkness is gradually blending in with the orange. Soon the darkness (which is now a shade of purplish black) will win out and all will grow dark. I guess that is the fate of all human life. No matter how hard we try we can’t out run the darkness. The darkness becomes us. And all we can do is trust that the light will return. That is what I am doing now. Trusting that gradually the light will return. That I will stop shedding tears and move on from the woman whom I once called wife.

Two young surfers run out into the sea. They are excited to be jumping into the furious power of the sea. The joys of youth. Youth is gone from me now but I appreciate theirs. I try to hang onto mine in spirit. I am going to finish my beer and stop writing now. I want to watch the darkness descend. I’m no different than the gradually diminishing orange hue. It fights against the darkness, just like I do.

How To Rape A Woman After (Or During) A Shower

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. I do not endorse any kind of rape done to anyone. If you rape a woman against her will you are an idiot.

Now I know that rape has very strong connotations these days. It instantly polarizes people. Some people are pro-rape. Other people will suddenly and impulsively censor and behead the person who even hints at rape. I would say that most fall on the censoring and beheading side of things.

But that is ok. This should not stop those of us who are interested in rape, from discussing rape. From using the word rape when talking about sexual preferences. Please, engage the topic. In the same way blacks have reclaimed the word nigger, why can’t white, voraciously horny males reclaim the word rape?

I realize that there are many sick and twisted men out there. I am not one of them. At least not by my standards. By your standards I may be an aging, sicko, perverted, degenerate- but I would not agree with you. My sexual tastes are moderate and most of my sexual fantasies remain in hibernation. I am yet to discover the confidence within myself while with a woman to do the things I would like to do. Maybe some things are better off left in mind.

But this is beside the point. I have pulled off materializing one of my more degenerate sexual fantasies by raping a woman after a shower. It was not easy and required much bravado but it was so rewarding afterwards that it is worth discussing here.

By rape I am not talking about that kind of violent-violation-of-a-woman-against-her will-and-without-her-wanting-it-at-all. I imagine that that could be fun but I am not interested simply because it could traumatize a person in a way that would just equal bad luck for me. I’ve hurt women enough in my life and have created enough hurt-other-people-debt to create all the negative karma I really need in my life. I will leave this kind of cold-hearted rape for those psychopaths of the world.

What I am interested in is the kind of rape which involves a woman’s interest. She has granted you permission by her presence. She has allowed you the opportunity by the fact that she is naked in your shower. Now what do you do?

Few women don’t like to be subjugated, dominated and consumed in this kind of sexual and forceful way. Those who say they don’t are simply afraid. Don’t worry about the one’s who say no. They are just trying to make the rape more fun. We all know that the entire #METOO movement is really just a subconscious attempt to get more men to rape them. It is a projection of the kinkier sides of their female nature.

Now I recommend pulling the woman out of the shower against her will. Those of you who want to be polite enough to wait until she is done, that is fine as well. The thing about pulling a woman out of the shower before she is done is that it not only adds an element of surprise but it is enjoyable to rape a woman while she is still slathered in soap and water. It can assist with an easier glide.

If you chose to do this, I recommend using a pair of flip-flops. I have done this once before without flip-flops and slipped on the bathroom tile and sprained my ankle. Few things are more humiliating than slipping on the bathroom tile and spraining your ankle while trying to dominate a woman.

I also recommend that when you go in for the initial snatch, that you are already naked. Most women tend to be very strong and if you have to make time to unzip and pull down your pants you may lose them. Being naked at the beginning is the best way to ensure that you can maintain full control.

Now this is the most important part: For all of you men or women who suffer from a guilty conscience or an overwhelming need to be nice to a woman in order to win her affections- listen up. Get over yourself. No man who has needed to be the nice guy has ever been victorious in the end. If you hesitate or think twice or try to go easy while snatching a woman from the bathroom (so that she will not think poorly of you later) you will lose the fight. Any hesitation will be perceived as a sign of weakness by both of you and you will lose your mojo. Please, once you make the decision to rape a woman after or during her shower no hesitation should be allowed. Worry about the consequences later.

Where you chose to commence with the raping is your choice. Toilets, counter tops, floors, beds, chairs, tables and walls are all equally good places. Have the place in mind where you would like to engage in the rape prior to beginning.

Also, keep in mind that no matter how much she protests or struggles she will thank you in the end. She may tell you that it was incredibly intense and brutal but she will feel a sense of relief unlike anything she has felt in a long, long time. Being completely dominated by a man releases certain feel-good-chemicals in a woman, because it is evolutions design.

Now whether or not you chose to orgasm in her or on her is your choice. I always recommend orgasming inside of a woman without protection just because the sure high of the orgasmic blast off. But I also realize that orgasming inside a woman without protection can be a kind of short-term-thrill-for-long-term-imprisonment. It is up to each individual to decide if they care more about instant gratification or delayed gratification. One may ensure a healthier and easier long life than the other but the other is obviously more fun. I don’t judge either one. We all die in the end so make your own choices. Putting on a condom will take time and give the woman an opportunity to defeat you, so if you do want to go in with a raincoat on please jack-off and place the condom on before abducting the woman.

You can always pull out and orgasm anywhere on the woman’s body but this is obviously not as fun as all the risk that is involved in blowing your load in the raw.

The last time I raped a woman after her shower she held on to my dick and refused to let go. This made insertion almost impossible. But I pulled on her ears and hair and eventually she surrendered to my male intrusion. Afterwards she told me that it was the best sex she had ever had.

So, these are the fundamental aspects of raping a woman after (or during) a shower. What is most needed is a strong desire to consume the woman. To shred her like vegetables in a juicer. Now, every man has this strong impulse in him. This biological imperative is what is behind everything that men do. But only the few and the brave are willing to let these strong evolutionary impulses run free. It is up to you, but I always recommend raping a woman who you know wants you. Once you get these ravaging impulses out of you, you will feel a kind of satiation that makes you feel like you are the most dominate and accomplished creature in all of the wild. It is the answer for all the defeat you feel in your life.