Sell Out Man, A Blog Novel. Chapter Twenty Eight

Chapter Twenty Eight

 

 

Zev had a stomach ache. Again. He had had a lot of stomach aches over the past months. Zev once prided himself on never getting stomach aches. He had a solid stomach and could digest anything. He could even digest his miserable father if he had to. But his stomach had fallen weak from all the yelling, worrying, accusing and hurting. Now he got stabbing pains in his guts. Sometimes these pains would cause Zev to think he could die. Everything would go blank. It was an sharp pain. A pain that wanted Zev dead. He was getting these stomach aches on an almost daily basis now. He assumed it was all the distress he had been under. But when a person is in the kind of distress Zev was in, pain becomes a constant companion.

Zev hadn’t slept much on his first night on the yacht. Zev rarely slept well is strange environments. His stomach pains kept him up most of the night. There would be a stabbing pain that would last for a few seconds and then it would vanish. Sometimes the pain would be so fierce that Zev would clench his fists and curl into a ball. Once the pain subsided Zev would try and get some sleep but his mind would be racing. His thoughts refused to let him be. They were like rain pouring down. Zev tried to focus his attention on his breathing but that didn’t do any good. It was impossible to get away from his thoughts since they were happening inside his own head. Zev got out of bed and walked around several times. He smoked cigarettes and weed. He looked out into the darkness and wondered if listening to music or the radio would help. He felt waves of anxiety overcome him. Was he going to die alone out here? Was Amy missing him or was she with Arthur? Would everyone hate him for quitting the art world? What was Marissa going to do? He needed to call her back but it was so hard to talk with anyone. At a certain point Zev realized the attempt to sleep was futile. He lay in bed for hours staring into the darkness. The yacht rocked back and forth along with the sea currents and the continual rocking made him dizzy. He could smell a terrible odor. It wasn’t a good night.

While sitting on the toilet in the morning, Zev smoked pot. He had a long wood pipe that he used to smoke marijuana. The high made him feel more awake and less consumed by a feeling of fear, betrayal and heartbreak. He felt his mood enlighten. When he flushed the toilet he smelled the odor fill the entire bathroom. He assumed it must be the sewage. He would have to buy several air fresheners to mitigate the horrible odor. Zev hadn’t brought any coffee with him but he remembered seeing a café not far from his yacht. Zev put on his black jeans and a black sweatshirt along with black socks and black Doc Martins. He put on a black wool coat and a black cap to keep his ears and head warm. He took another hit from his pipe and then ventured out into the cold morning.

Zev wanted to check his phone to see if Amy had texted him. But he told himself to wait. Zev walked down a long pathway mildly populated by people walking their dogs. He avoided saying hello to any of them and wondered how the hell people could live on boats with dogs. There was a large marina that ran all along the pathway and there were hundreds of different kinds of boats. Poor man’s boats and rich man’s yachts. And then there were the old yachts that belonged to those whose tastes were not overly excessive. Many people seemed to live on their boats in Oxnard. Some were outside drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes. Zev lit a cigarette and smoked as he walked. He sucked the warm smoke into his lungs. He saw seagulls and seals. Several seals were sprawled out on the docks, resting from a long night spent trying to stay alive.

Terrible music played on the stereo. A young girl appeared from behind the register seeming much too happy for this time of morning. Her smile immediately annoyed Zev but he tried to be nice. He ordered a large black coffee and some eggs and toast. He thought that the young girl would be attractive if she could just stop eating the pastries and lose some weight. The young girl gave Zev his coffee and his change which he told her that she could keep. When she asked him what his name was he told her that it was Zev. She couldn’t quite make sense of the name and asked him if he said Seth. Zev said Zev and the young girl said Zeb. Zev said Zev another time but this time he said it very slowly. When she finally got his name she told him it was a cool name. She never met someone with that name before. He thanked her and wished that she was a bit more attractive. Then maybe he would flirt with her.

Zev sat at a table facing the window. A few seats down from him a man sat scrolling through his phone. He was a big man. A man whose look revealed how dumb he was. He probably lived on a boat and voted for Trump, Zev thought. Whenever the meathead looking man would scroll on a video he would watch it with the sound on high. Zev immediately hated the man. He took sips of his black coffee and tried to hide his disdain for this man. Zev hated people who did this sort of thing in public. People who talked on their phone loudly in public and people who watched videos on their phones with the volume on while in public- these were the lowest kinds of people. Zev hoped that some plague would magically come along and wipe these idiots out. Zev was already mad and it wasn’t even 8am.

There were a few other people in the café scrolling around on their phones. One older man with long gray hair was working on a laptop. Zev felt a tragic sadness in his gut. He checked his phone and saw that there was texts from Marissa, his horrible father, one of his main patrons and Amy. Zev checked the text from Amy first. Amy had written that she hoped he was doing ok and having a good morning. Zev felt bad when he read the text. He wanted to tell her about his horrible stomach pain. He wanted to tell her what a whore he thought she was and he wanted to tell her about how badly she had screwed him over. Now he was alone in some café surrounded by other men who had probably been forsaken by the women they once loved. Was this Zev’s life now? Zev was about to respond to Amy when he heard the young girl call out his name. He raised his hand and she brought him his food. He told her thank you but really meant that he wanted her to quickly get away so he could eat. Zev scrolled on his phone as he quickly shoved food into his mouth. He was no better than those phone addicts he disdained.  He was just as addicted as anyone else but he wanted to get out of that café as quickly as possible.

The morning was spent smoking cigarettes and looking out at the water. Zev thought that he should get the inside of his yacht looking nice. He should clean up and take things out of boxes. There were still things in the U-Haul to be moved. Zev felt exhausted from moving the evening before. There was still more to do. Boxes piled up and things needed to be organized. He should have hired movers. He hadn’t used his muscles like this in a long time. Zev felt his body aching He didn’t want to anything. He wanted to sit there and look out the window all day long. His motivation was gone. Everything had changed. He was alone and on an old yacht by the sea. It still hadn’t really sunk in. Boats went by. People on kayak rowed past. He didn’t like anyone. He was just going to sit there and smoke cigarettes. Resign himself to inertia. He would figure out what he needed to do next later.

 

 

 

Sell Out Man, Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Two

 

Zev didn’t care about anything anymore. He was wearing socks that didn’t match. He put on the same pants every day. He stopped paying bills and avoided all phone calls, even more than he had before. He didn’t talk to anyone other than Amy and Marissa. He dragged his weighted and anxious body around. He neglected his life. Maybe some would say he had fallen apart. Others might say he was ruined. Galleries and art dealers were calling. Marissa was pressuring him. He didn’t care. He was losing a lot of weight and was in a state of continual distress. He had been looking on-line about various ways to kill himself. He didn’t realize there were so many different ways to do it. But he wasn’t ready to kill himself. He would take his time. Wait for the slight feeling of hope in his gut to disappear. Then he would shoot or asphyxiate himself. For now, fear kept him stuck in the situation he was in. He was too afraid to change anything.

Zev needed some sort of consolation. He retreated into making his minimalistic cartoons. He put his thoughts and feelings in there. He was drawing his comics in cheap, black and white composition books. He used a black felt pen and bought ten composition books at a time at the dollar store. He would fill his composition books quickly. There are few things that inspire brutally honest creativity like emotional pain. Zev started to journal more. He would write about everything he was feeling and he was never convinced that journaling was a good idea. Too much self-indulgence isn’t always a good thing. He wrote a lot about Amy and what she had done. He expressed his hatred and despair through the written word. He would coach himself. He would tell himself to just be cool. Don’t be a fool. Stay strong. Emotional pain could care less about clichés. He would tell himself to accept things as they were and have his fun with Amy. He didn’t know how long his marriage would last but he wanted to find a way to stay with Amy and not be so angry all the time. They were fighting a lot and the stress was taking a toll. His chest was continually tight and his stomach in a continual state of nauseous agitation.

Zev had been in a similar position many times before. Unresolved feelings were surfacing. Every woman he had been in a serious relationship with had betrayed him. There had been three. Cari, his long-term girlfriend in his twenties, who loved it when he fucked her in the ass. She was the first girl he had penetrated from behind. She had cheated on him several times during their fifth and sixth year together. Zev spent many hours in the bushes outside of their apartment waiting to discover what was going on. Cari wasn’t dumb. She never fucked her lovers in their apartment. Liz, who he was with for four years, had fallen in love with another man and ended up marrying him shortly after leaving Zev. Kathleen, who he had been helplessly in love with, had been sleeping with both men and women even during their first week together. Zev hadn’t been lucky in love. But he never doubted that with Amy it would be different. Finally, he had found someone who would never do that to him.

Now that Amy had cheated, he was in despair. It’s what happens when the unexpected happens. He had never thought beyond this point. He had never assumed he and Amy would not be together. He didn’t have to imagine Amy with someone else. Amy understood how traumatized he had been by women in the past but she also understood how it could happen. Amy imagined that Zev was just as neglectful, mad and unpleasant to all of them as he was with her and finally they got tired of it. But of course she refrained from telling him this. She couldn’t help but wonder if what she was doing with Arthur was a kind of revenge. She didn’t like to think of herself as a vengeful woman but maybe she was. Maybe betraying Zev was how she asserted her power and got him back. Women know how to destroy men who they have had enough of.

Zev contemplated leaving Amy. He could just leave. He had enough cash in the bank. He could start over. Be free of Amy and her mess. This was his way out. He could be liberated from all the frustration she caused him. If he stayed with her things would only get worse. He would be suspicions and disdainful all the time. He would go to bed angry every night. Zev asked Amy if she was going to end things with Arthur but she could never give him a solid answer. Amy didn’t want Zev telling her what to do. Zev continually probed Amy about Arthur. Was she in love with him? Was she in love with him? Was she in love with him? Was she in love with him? Zev asked her this again and again. It didn’t stop coming because deep down Zev believed it was true. But Amy never gave him the answer he was looking for. She would tell Zev that she felt no feelings of love for Arthur. She liked fucking him. She had a good time with him. Zev kept digging. It was almost as if he wanted Amy to tell him that she was in love with Arthur and was going to be with him. This would give Zev no choice. He would have to split. But he was too afraid to do it on his own. As long as he had a choice, he sold himself out. Zev had proven this to himself by now.

If being filled with despair and hurt wasn’t enough, Zev also felt the pain of gashes in his chest created by jealousy. He was filled with jealousy. Every time Amy was out, he assumed she was with Arthur. When Amy was on her phone, he was convinced she was texting with Arthur. She was in love with another man. Another man was fucking her. He had been betrayed. Zev was in a continual low-level sweat from the high levels of cortisol being released into his body. But for some reason the jealousy turned him on. It made him want to rip Amy apart with his dick. It freed him up to treat Amy like the slut and horrible person that he thought she was. This turned him on. Zev was continually coming on to Amy. It was a new dynamic in their relationship. He was actually asking her if she wanted to fuck. He made her lick his asshole. He urinated and orgasmed in her face. He called her terrible names, pulled her hair and made her do all the work. Occasionally he would slap her in the face. Zev couldn’t help it. He liked slapping her when she was nude. Amy never liked it. It would make her angry. But Zev would tell her to shut up and to keep doing what she was doing. Amy obliged only because she knew she had to try and make up for her transgressions. Maybe Zev wouldn’t hate her as much.

Amy was now having sex with two guys. Sometimes three. There were also girls. Zev couldn’t know everything. But Amy didn’t mind things this way. She liked having sex. It was her stress relief and she could do it every day. It was the best way she had found to get away from the drudgery of her work. It made sense to her. If Zev wanted to have sex with her she wasn’t going to tell him it was a bad idea. That he should take some space. He was an adult. Zev would tell Amy that she had to stop seeing Arthur. She needed to put an end to things. But a few days would go by and Zev would change his mind. He would realize how much it turned him on that she was in love with another guy. It made him feel pathetic and for some reason this pathetic feeling stimulated his libido. He would tell Amy that he didn’t care if she kept seeing Arthur and he would try and be alright with things. Amy didn’t care either way. She was going to keep seeing Arthur whether Zev agreed or not. No man was going to tell her what she could do with her pussy.

The conflict between Zev and Amy got in the way of everything. There was continual fighting punctuated by fucking. Furniture was thrown. Yelling filled the hallways. Bills went unpaid. Zev would accuse Amy of being a psychopath and Amy would accuse Zev of having Borderline Personality Disorder. Zev was certain she had cheated with other men. Amy wasn’t going to reveal all her secrets. She told him some things. She told him about the guy’s dick that she sucked at their party. She told him about a girl she had made out with but really fucked. Amy was exhausted by Zev. She was falling behind on her work and drinking more at night. She even started smoking cigarettes. Zev wasn’t showing up much to work. Several galleries shows had to be cancelled. No one cared that they were falling apart.

Months passed in an unraveled state. Amy would tell Arthur all about it. Arthur hoped he never crossed paths with Zev even though he would fight him if he had to. He was younger and would probably win but Zev had rage on his side. If Amy spent too much time in the bathroom, Zev would become angry. If she wasn’t home at an early hour, Zev would become angry. If she didn’t spend as much time on the house, Zev would become angry. It was a continual uprising of the worst parts of Zev. He was being made crazed by all of this. Amy did what she could to control the anger outbreaks but she wasn’t going to stop seeing Arthur. Now she had to go over to Arthur’s apartment. Sometimes she wanted to spend longer periods of time with Arthur and would not come home till late. This would make Zev rage and Amy would get very stressed out. Her hair was falling out. But it wasn’t enough stress to make her stop doing what she wanted to be doing. Arthur’s hard working dick and adoration drew her back every time.

The stress of the relationship was gradually making Zev and Amy sick. Zev lost weight and Amy put some weight on. They were both neglecting their financial situation. And their work. Their thoughts were dark. They contracted a bacterial rash which saw an opportunity to take hold because of their lowered immunity. The rash was all over Zev’s back and it was on Amy’s face and chest. Sometimes they looked diseased. Zev’s hair had turned grayer. They were both depressed and tired most of the time. Amy was drinking more and Zev was smoking a lot of marijuana to alleviate his pain. He coughed a lot but didn’t care. His cigarette expense doubled. Amy never knew when Zev would get angry and this unpredictability gave her anxiety. But most tension between people is sexual tension. Zev and Amy needed a release. They kept fucking even though they should have stopped. Something had to change or else someone was going to eventually get killed. Fate had to take over sooner or later.

Sell Out Man, Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

 

Zev Bauhaus was continually trapped inside his head. He was always planning and scheming ways out of his current situation. He would obsess over people he felt were wronging him and he would think about all the things he had done wrong. It was a continual tornado of a negative analysis of himself and the world. Even though Zev’s San Francisco show was a success he still felt miserable. Big deal that he had sold paintings to rich people. Big deal that a musician who made terrible music owned his work. Big deal that technology icons who were destroying human freedom as we knew it had his paintings hanging on their wall. He was making work for a class of people he could not stand. The fact that these people loved his work meant nothing to him. He wanted to make work for the deviant and disenfranchised. He wanted his audience to be made up of countercultural visionaries and solitary outcasts. He had no interest in the people he was currently making art for.

Zev thought about ways he could escape into a new kind of life. He and Amy could move to Oxnard or Iceland. They could start living a different kind of life together. Their current Silverlake home put a lot of pressures on them. The house was a lot of work to maintain and their current lifestyle seemed out of balance with Zev’s deeper values. The nice clothes, cars, furniture, food and beauty products were enjoyable but Zev felt like he didn’t need them anymore. The life he was living felt hypocritical and out of balance. Even staying in this high-end hotel in San Francisco didn’t feel right to Zev. But Amy seemed happy in this life. She was living the bourgeoisie hipster life that she wanted. She liked the nice clothes and the expensive beauty products. She liked being able to liberally spend two or three hundred dollars every time she went to the market. She liked having a clean, well-organized and high design home to live in. Zev didn’t see how he could convince Amy to live a more off–the-grid minimal life.

Zev thought about other ways he could make a living. Maybe he would stop being an artist and write a novel. With a name like his he was sure he could get something published. Or maybe he could focus on his cartoons and gradually make a minimal living that way. He had enough money in the bank to buy himself time. He could have the time to figure things out if he decided to quit painting. Zev wanted to live a life that felt more congruent with his values. Values like anarchy, truth, trust, deviance and authenticity got repressed in Zev’s current role. As a famous contemporary painter, he had to be disingenuous a lot of the time. He didn’t trust anyone in the art world and he harshly judged most of the people who bought his work. It would be fair to say that he hated them. Zev was following certain rules that prevented him from being free and authentic and as a result Zev felt miserable. He felt shoved into some sort of tight box from which there was no escape. All he could do was fill the box with nice things and work.

Amy didn’t want to hear about Zev’s misery anymore. Whenever he would talk with her about how much he felt his life sucked and how much he hated his job Amy resented him. She wanted him to shut up. She thought he was such a drag. Zev had a nice life all around him. He was lucky to have a beautiful and kinky wife and live in such a nice place (the he didn’t even have to buy). His refrigerator was filled with good food and he had a highly modern studio in which to paint. He even had a sauna in his studio that he never used. Amy thought Zev was just an unhappy man. He would be unhappy in any situation he was in. Even if they moved to Oxnard or Iceland, Zev would still be the miserable person he is now. Amy thought Zev had become pathetic. A sorry excuse for a human being. He couldn’t enjoy what he had and Amy had less and less tolerance to hear about it.

Amy was happy that Zev had cheated on her that night. It concerned her that Zev’s act of infidelity made her feel relieved. It probably wasn’t a good thing that she was feeling this way. She knew that if Arthur did the same thing she would be upset even though their relationship was an open one. But with Zev she almost encouraged it. Why? Maybe it helped her to feel better about the things she was doing. Maybe it was the hope that Zev would gradually sabotage their marriage and then she wouldn’t have to be the one to end things. The fact that Zev cheated and probably cheated many times before made her feel like she could distance herself from Zev and move closer towards Arthur. It made her feel less bad about falling in love with another man.

The next morning Amy texted Arthur that she had had sex with a guy in a porno booth the night before and was thinking of him while the guy screwed her. She sent him a selfie that she took of her in the porno booth with her legs spread exposing her full vagina. She had both hands pushing up against her tits. Arthur responded immediately telling Amy that that she was such a sexy and slutty bitch. All night long he had been tormented with the thought of Amy and to hear that while he was suffering she was having sex in a porno booth with some guy really turned him on. Why did this turn him on? He should be furious but instead was overwhelmed with lust. It must be the jealousy, which Arthur knew was the strongest aphrodisiac in the world. Arthur text Amy back that he couldn’t wait to fuck her and cum all over her bitch face. He sent her a dick pic. Amy loved it and replied that soon he would have the opportunity. She told Arthur that she missed him and couldn’t wait to be with him again.

On their final day in San Francisco Zev and Amy went by the gallery and finalized all the business dealings. The gallery gave Zev a check for hundreds of thousands of dollars. It felt like a strong chunk of change in his hands. They then went out to lunch and spent the afternoon roaming around the Mission district and Nob Hill. They went back to their hotel room and took a nap. Zev couldn’t sleep so he smoked a cigarette on the balcony and watched daytime television in bed while Amy slept. When Amy woke up she took a shower and got dressed for dinner and the sex club. Zev watched Amy walk around naked and thought about what a beautiful body she had. Why didn’t he desire her more? Why did he need to go with her to sex clubs in order to get off? Why couldn’t he just be satisfied with having regular sex with her and then fall asleep in bed together just like everyone else does? Zev showered and got dressed. He wore black jeans, black boots, a black sweatshirt and a black jean jacket with a Sisters Of Mercy and Germs pin on it. Zev smoked a lot of weed before they left the hotel room.

When Zev was stoned Amy enjoyed his company. He was actually a stupid and spacey pleasure to be around. He no longer talked about the misery of his life but instead talked about philosophical theories, ideas, sexual degeneracy and all sorts of other strange and eccentric stuff. He was kind of like the man she had first met him as. He laughed a lot and was a lot less mean to Amy. He didn’t criticize her and he even desired her more. Amy did all she could to convince Zev that it was good that he was stoned most of the time. She felt that some people just needed to be stoned every minute of every day to be less angry, critical and depressed. She thought Zev was one of them.

After an expensive and drunken dinner at one of the best Italian food restaurants in San Francisco, Zev and Amy went to a few bars. They drank vodka martinis and smoked cigarettes. Several times people came up to Zev and told him how much they appreciated his art. They looked like yuppies. Higher class people. The freaks never approached him. But when Zev was out having a good time he seemed to appreciate the appreciation others showed him. Once it was late enough Amy and Zev took a taxi to the sex club they had heard so much about.

The Power Exchange was located in a seedier section of the Tenderloin. The streets were dark and it looked as if zombies wondered aimlessly around. People slept in doorways and all kinds of junk littered the streets. The Power Exchange was a famous sex club. It was a pervert’s paradise. The club had originally opened as a BDSM club but gradually morphed into a degenerate hangout for sexual deviants, transsexuals, swingers and habitual masturbators of all kinds. You paid a fee in the front and then walked into a dark facility that had many different levels and themed rooms. There was a large stage with different colored lights flashing, a disco ball and several stripper poles. Bad deep house music played through the speakers. Transvestites hung around on the stage and seduced the men who masturbated down below. As soon as Zev and Amy walked into the club, Amy was drawn towards the stage. She loved the bizarre and exhibionistic nature of it all. She told Zev to hang onto her purse and she went on stage and danced around. Zev wondered around the club checking out the different rooms. There were dungeon rooms with naked people strapped into strange contraptions. In some rooms men were having sex with transvestites as a small audience of men hovered around the room and watched. In a few other rooms swingers were exchanging partners and having sex with one another. Wondering around the club, Zev felt as if he had walked into a kind of dream dimension. This place didn’t feel real. It was like a degenerate sexual fantasy come to life. A zone separate from reality where people acted out everything they would normally repress.

When Zev wondered back into the main room with the stage, Amy was completely nude. A large group of men had gathered around the stage and were watching her. Some masturbated. She made out with various transvestites and let them dance with her. Zev felt turned on but afraid at the same time. Things seemed like they could get out of hand. Amy was drawing a lot of attention to her and this made Zev feel uncomfortable. He sat down in a seat in the darkness and watched Amy as she danced around. Amy had no limitations. She would do whatever she wanted. When in these sorts of situations, she seized the opportunity to take advantage of it and become the exhibitionist she enjoyed being. There was one very attractive transvestite in particular who Amy seemed to be getting along with. They seemed very turned on by one another. Amy took off her clothes and played with her dick. They kissed and let each other rub against one another. This turned Zev on even though he didn’t want it to.

Amy came down from the stage with the transvestite. She was naked and holding the woman’s hand. Amy came up to Zev and introduced him to Mellay. Mellay was completely nude as well. She had large breasts and a big dick. Her hair was long and pink and she wore a lot of make-up. She stuck out her masculine hand and Zev shook it. Mellay told Zev that he was a lucky man. That Amy was very beautiful. Amy asked Zev if he wanted to come play with them in one of the rooms. Zev felt pissed off because he had just wanted to hang out in this environment with Amy for a little while. Zev preferred being a spectator at these events. He didn’t want to bring so much attention to himself. But Amy had quickly jumped into the action and now every pervert’s eye was on her. Zev told her to go have fun and maybe he would join them later. Amy smiled and then walked off with Mellay pulling her towards one of the rooms.

Zev went out front and smoked a cigarette. He observed the desolate and depraved streets. What poverty existed in the world. There were no other attractive women for him to mess around with. He thought about doing something sexual with a transvestite but just couldn’t stomach it. He was mad that once again Amy was having all the fun. When he walked back inside he went in search of the room Amy was in. He walked down several dark flights of stairs and then he heard her loud laugh in the distance. He could hear Amy screaming out in pleasure. She loved to put on a good show. He saw one of the rooms with massive amounts of men crowding around. Most of the men were masturbating and Zev found that repulsive. He was able to get close enough to where he could look into the room and he saw Amy lying flat out in what looked like a dentist’s chair. Mellay was vigorously pumping herself into Amy as Amy had another transvestites dick in her mouth. A few of the spectators touched Amy’s tits but Mellay would tell them to keep their hands off. Zev didn’t know Amy was interested in transvestites. He knew she was bisexual but didn’t imagine she could enjoy something like this. She had never discussed it. He felt betrayed and a bit humiliated. What was she doing? But at the same time knowing that Amy was his gave him a sense of ease. He tried to relax himself and get into watching the show. Several men asked him if he was with that girl and he felt slightly ashamed when he told them he was. But he also felt pride. Amy was the star of the deviant show and she was his. He admired her for her sexual courage.

They left the club an hour or so after getting there. On their way out Amy kept asking Zev if he wanted her to suck his dick before they left. Zev wanted it but he told her not to worry about it. He wasn’t a performer like Amy was and felt awkward doing sexual things while people watched him. He preferred being the one watching. But he was also upset that he didn’t get to have any sexual fun. In the taxi back to the hotel Zev was quiet. He felt uncomfortable around Amy. Like there were aspects of her he didn’t know. For the first time in his marriage to Amy he wondered if Amy could be an entirely different person than the one he thought he knew so well. Maybe that explained all the emotional distance. But Zev didn’t express these feelings to Amy. He knew it would only cause a fight. That night Zev and Amy fell asleep on opposite sides of the bed. Amy felt like Zev always got angry at her after they did sexual things together with other people. A kind of jealousy that she found immature and lame. She knew that by the next night the jealousy would turn to lust and Zev would want to have sex with her. She just had to deal with his bad mood until then.

Sell Out Man, Chapter Nine

Zev was sitting at a café during a break from working. He had just finished his final painting for his upcoming show at Hang Gallery and Marissa and the other intern were applying thick layers of mate gloss to it. Zev was smoking a hand rolled cigarette and pretending to read a book as he watched people walk by. He heard someone say his name and he looked to his left with a feeling of dread. Zev never liked being recognized in public by people who knew him. It was Sandy Goldstein, a head curator for the MOMA in downtown LA. Zev couldn’t stand Sandy but he stood up to give her a hug. He felt slightly ashamed for being seen smoking a cigarette since he knew that smoking had become so taboo. But he tried not to care. Sandy asked Zev how things were going and Zev pretended to be enthusiastic about work. Zev was on his best behavior when talking with people in the art world. He had to maintain a professional image and come off as someone who was very serious about his work. Selling art to rich people was serious business. Sandy and Zev spoke for a little bit and then said their goodbyes. Sandy told Zev she was looking forward to seeing his latest works and Zev told Sandy about an upcoming essay on his work being featured in BOMB Magazine next month.

When Zev returned to the studio Marissa and the other intern where still hard at work. Marissa looked at Zev who was organizing a bunch of papers at his desk. She wondered if she should tell Zev about what she had seen the night before. She wondered if Zev knew that Amy was dating other men. She knew that if Zev did not know about Amy’s deviant behavior she could mess things up for him. Maybe she would try and talk with Amy about it first. Marissa was that way. Always trying to be ethical. Her Christian guilt caused her to always want to do the right thing. It was a drag. She decided to keep her mouth shut about it for now.

Zev observed the painting once it was finished. He didn’t like to see any gloss stains on the painting. If the gloss wasn’t brushed in evenly enough it would create little white pustules. Marissa knew it would upset Zev to find any pustules on the painting so she slaved away making sure there were none. Zev told Marissa that everything looked good and when the paintings were all completely dried they would finish packaging and sending them. The show was in two weeks and Zev was already supposed to have the paintings there a week and a half ago. The gallery needed time to clean the paintings and to go over them looking for any damage that needed repair. It also took a considerable amount of time to hang the paintings. The gallery knew that they were dealing with Zev Bauhaus. They knew everything would not go according to plan when dealing with a painter like this so they took what they could get. They tried to remain friendly and told Zev to just get them all the paintings as soon as he could. The gallery would be rushed to get everything done in time for the show. Zev felt a sense of pressure that he didn’t like. This is why he hated doing one man shows, he told himself.

Zev left the studio early that day. He told Marissa that he would see her later that night at the party. On his drive home, Zev thought about living by the beach. He thought that Oxnard would be a great town to get away in. He and Amy had the money to buy a nice home on the beach. When he was there he noticed several for sale. They could live an hour or so outside of LA and live a more quiet and healthy life. But he knew Amy would never go for it. She liked city life. She liked living in Silverlake, surrounded by friends and culture. Her job would also prevent her from living too far away. She needed to be close to the WORD office in Downtown LA. Zev thought about possibly buying a beach house and just spending weekends there. Maybe she would want to do that. He also thought that he could stay there alone whenever he wanted, but decided he wouldn’t want to be away from Amy if he didn’t have to be. It was odd to Zev that he found Amy so frustrating as a human being but didn’t ever want to be away from her. What was wrong with him?

When Zev Bauhaus arrived home the front yard looked nice and tended to. This put Zev’s mind at ease. When he walked into the house the front door was open. Caterers were coming in and out. Amy was inside getting things ready for the party. When she saw Zev, she smiled and gave him a hug. She kissed him on the cheek. Zev asked her if there was anything he needed to do to prepare for the evening’s party and Amy told him that he should just go and relax and take his time preparing for the party. Zev felt like that was just what he wanted to hear. He had no desire to help.

Zev didn’t like having anyone over to his home, let alone a party. Amy was a highly social person so he had to let her have her parties once or twice a year. Amy would throw parties every weekend if it was up to her. Zev went in his home studio and turned on music. He listened to The Residents. Eskimo was one of his favorite albums by The Residents and he listened to it as he put his feet up and sat in his black leather Eames chair. He kicked off his black low top Doc Martins and looked up at the wood beamed ceiling. He looked around and the various paintings on the walls and at his massive collection of books and records. He was listening to The Residents through his Bluetooth speaker system. He felt upset that he didn’t listen to records as much as he wanted to because it took so much work and didn’t sound as clear. Bluetooth and iTunes had become a much lazier way to listen to his music.

Zev tried to clear his mind by taking a few deep breaths. His mind was always spinning. So many thoughts. Too many thoughts for one man. The thoughts never stopped coming. He was consumed by them and no matter how hard he tried he could not get out of his thoughts. He had heard people talking about discovering his true self. That he was pure consciousness and not his thoughts. That once he entered or discovered a state of pure consciousness he would no longer be afflicted by the burden of his thoughts. He tried meditating and doing whatever he could to discover this state of pure consciousness but he could never get there. There were always thoughts. A continual tornado of thoughts that were impossible to escape from. Zev liked thinking and didn’t have issues with being overly identified with his ego. He thought people who did not identify with their egos were drones. He had no desire to be an enlightened drone. He liked ego. He just wished his ego was not so hyperactive and filled with as many negative thoughts. Zev was a tormented man even though he looked very handsome and successful from the outside.

Zev smoked some marijuana and a cigarette simultaneously. He picked up his notebook which he would draw his cartoons in. He took a black felt tip pen and started drawing. His cartoons were ridiculous. They were sloppy. Looked like something a child would draw. He drew six boxes on the page and then he filled the boxes in with the same character profile and this character’s different thoughts. He had drawn this low-life character thousands of times and assumed it was his alter ego. Zev would express his deepest worries and preoccupations through the character. He wanted to create a character who was reclusive, sexually deviant, didn’t give a rat’s ass about the law and how he is perceived. He called this character The Toilet Ruminator and he wanted to make thousands of cartoons about this guy. This was the real work Zev wanted to do. Subversive, beautifully honest cartoons about the ridiculousness of life. He would call the eventual book Toilet Ruminations.

Zev drew and smoked cigarettes for an hour and then Amy came in and told him that he needed to get dressed for the party. The guests would start arriving in an hour or so. Zev took a shower and then shaved. As he was blow drying his long hair Amy came into the bathroom and asked him a question. She walked over to Zev with a hungry look in her eyes and reached through Zev’s towel and grabbed his cock. Zev let her and Amy took off Zev’s towel and got down on her knees. She started sucking Zev’s cock and Zev grabbed onto the counter to avoid falling over. The combination of being stoned, tired and receiving an expert blow job could make even the strongest of men fall over.

It took Amy about three or so minutes to bring Zev to climax. Zev was very turned on every time Amy gave him a blow job. He didn’t understand why he didn’t ask Amy to suck his dick more often since he knew she would love to do it whenever he asked. After Zev had orgasmed in Amy’s mouth she swallowed it down and said yum. Amy got up and kissed Zev on the check. She said that she hoped that would help him be more relaxed for the party and Zev laughed. He said that it certainly helped.

Zev was in charge of the music that night. There was a bartender and two cooks in the kitchen making different appetizers. Two servers dressed in all black brought the food around and also got people drinks. The house was filled with people. There was a valet in front, parking people’s cars. This is what people did in LA. Most of the people at the party were writers, editors and publishers. There were friends of Amy’s from the gym and yoga studio she went to. There were friends of Amy’s from high school who Zev could not stand. There were various artists and indie film makers. The lead singer from the band DIIV was there. Courtney Love dropped by for a little while and the great Los Angeles poet John Tottenham was also there. John was the only person there that Zev liked and admired. Marissa was also there and she brought Evan along. Amy thought it best that Arthur didn’t come.

Zev wanted to play music that people had never heard before. He wanted to turn them on to weird things. He played albums from Duster, Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds, The Dead C, David Toop, Russian Tsarlag, Jandek, Nudge Squidfish, Richard Pinhas, The Fall, Throbbing Gristle, Nurse With Wound, Boyd Rice, Einsturzende Neubauten  and Tangerine Dream. Many people commented that the music was weird and many more people came up to him to ask who he was playing. The more Zev drank and smoked the more social he became. He talked with John Tottenham about the music he was playing and different authors they were reading. They also talked about the brutality of the creative process. Zev ate and talked with lots of other people. People were excited to talk with Zev. It was not often they could socialize with a famous contemporary painter. Lots of people asked Zev about upcoming shows and what he was working on. Because Zev was drunk he had the courage to be more real. He talked about his cartoons and not about his paintings. People were surprised to hear that he was making cartoons. Why the hell would a famous painter be making cartoons? But Zev talked about his cartoons passionately and people thought they sounded interesting.

Zev didn’t talk much to Amy that night at the party. Amy was drunk and she had done some coke. She was drinking vodka martinis like they were going to become extinct the next day. Zev observed that she practically gulped them down. Amy socialized with everyone and everyone loved Amy. She was the life of the party with a large smile imprinted on her face. She laughed a lot and talked a lot. She wanted her guests to be happy and to have a good time and this energy was contagious. The party was lively and went on long after the caterers and bartender left. People swam naked in the pool and hung out by the fire pit. John Tottenham met a young woman who was a fan of his poetry and had sex with her in the back bathroom. Amy gave a blow job a young Asian video game designer that she had a crush on. He was high on LSD and weed and it was the greatest blow job he had ever received in his life. He would never be the same after that. She had sex with another woman in her bedroom, a woman she occasionally hooked up with. They snuck away quickly late in the evening and got each other off. She had told Zev she was going to do it and Zev didn’t care. He found it to be a turn on that Amy was such a sex machine.

Zev went to sleep around 2am. The high of being drunk was turning into the acidic sickness of not feeling so well. He drank a lot of water and smoked a cigarette. He avoided saying good night to everyone but told Amy he was going to bed. Amy felt happy to be able to spend the rest of her night with her friends and not worrying about what Zev would think of her behavior. She stayed up that night till 5am talking, laughing, showing people her tits, drinking and doing drugs. It was a great release for her. She was in her happy place. Zev fell asleep that night listening to Amy laughing and shouting out. He thought she was out of control and it annoyed Zev that Amy could be so reckless. Sometimes she had no limits. But it was also the thing he loved most about her.

The next morning Zev woke up early to let the cleaning crew in. He drank his coffee and smoked cigarettes in his studio while several people cleaned up the house. He felt terrible and remembered why he hated drinking so much. Amy was still asleep and would stay in bed till 12pm. This pissed Zev off but he smoked some marijuana to help him not say anything. To just be happy when she woke up. It was Saturday and they were going to spend the day together in LA.

 

Sell Out Man, Chapter Seven

 

Zev woke up at 7:10am. Amy was still sound asleep in bed besides him. She must have come to bed late the night before because Zev didn’t remember her coming to bed. Zev must have been sound asleep. Zev made coffee and then sat on the couch. He put on a Brian Eno record and drank his coffee. He stared out the large window and into the backyard. It was a nice morning. Blue sky and crystal clear sunlight. Birds, squirrels and a black cat played around in the garden. Zev watched and listened to Brian Eno as he drank his coffee. As the caffeine made its way into his blood system he gradually started to feel better. More awake and capable of doing things in the world. His morning coffee brought with it a brief escape from the depression he continually felt. When he drank coffee, he thought about things he wanted to do. He felt mildly excited about the day in front of him.

Zev didn’t want to go to work that day. It was Wednesday or Thursday, he wasn’t sure which. He had had enough of painting. Couldn’t bring himself to do anymore. The thought of working on a painting made him feel nauseous. He had to take care of some business and he didn’t want to do any of it. The idea of having to talk with gallery owners, curators, his accountant and a few payment collectors made him feel even more uncomfortable. He decided that he wouldn’t do that today. He wasn’t going to work or have anything to do with the responsible world. He would take the day off and maybe Amy and he could go do something together.

Zev was smoking a cigarette on the deck when Amy woke up a few hours later. It always annoyed Zev how Amy would sleep in. He felt waking up early was an important virtue. But he was feeling good about his decision to take the day off and didn’t let his agitation get to him. He finished his cigarette and the joined Amy where she sat on the couch drinking her coffee. Her long hair was disheveled and she was wearing one of Zev’s oversized t-shirts. The t-shirt was white and in bold writing said Cold Cave on the front. Amy said that she was cold. Zev looked at Amy’s bare legs and feet and asked her why she didn’t put on pants and socks. Amy said that she didn’t like socks or pants. The feel of most material was uncomfortable on her overly sensitive skin. Amy had a lot of strange sensitivities. She didn’t like to sweat. She didn’t like the feeling of being cold. Tight underwear and bras made her feel suffocated. The sound of someone chewing sent her into an inner rage. Maybe it was Asperger’s syndrome, Zev thought.

Zev told Amy that he wasn’t going to go into work that day. He asked her if she wanted to take a drive to Venice Beach and spend the day there. Amy told Zev that she couldn’t because she had to work. She had meetings at WORD all day and then had to finish editing an essay which was past deadline. She did have a meeting at WORD that day but she also had lunch plans with her friend Rae and she had several errands she wanted to run. Zev felt disappointed that Amy wasn’t able to hang out with him that day. He always enjoyed her company on outings. He felt like she was fun to hang out with and he didn’t have as much fun on his own. It was good for a man to be seen with an attractive younger lady and without her he felt just like everyone else- unextraordinary. Amy felt bad that she had disappointed him and asked Zev if she wanted her to make breakfast. She told Zev that she could make an egg sandwich with bacon. Zev felt hungry and said that sounded good. Amy went into the kitchen to cook breakfast and Zev went out on the deck to smoke another cigarette. The sun felt warm and Zev thought about what he would do that day.

Zev called Marissa and told her that he was taking the day off. He asked her to do organizing and clean-up work around the studio with the other intern. He also asked her to finish filling in the negative space on several of the larger paintings he was working on. A few paintings needed to be packaged and sent out as well. Marissa wondered if Zev was ok and she felt disappointed she wasn’t going to get to see him that day. Even though he was normally miserable, she always liked having him around. She thought of Zev as a great guy. Marissa told Zev that she would do the things he requested and that she hoped he was ok. He told her that he was fine, just needed some time away. Marissa told him she understood and that she would see him the following day.

Zev decided to take a drive out to the beach. He needed to get the hell out of hipster central and go someplace where there was less people and more space. Silverlake was so crowded with people that Zev wondered if it wasn’t part of the reason he was depressed. Maybe he was just the kind of person that needed more space and living inside this kind of overpopulated cement maze was taking its toll on him. City life isn’t all it is cracked up to be. He drove on Highway 101 out towards Ventura. He listened to the new album by Negativeland. He thought about the recent suicide of Simon Morris, one of his favorite contemporary writers and thinkers. Simon was found floating in the water. It must have been a suicide Zev thought even though the cause of death was yet to be declared. Zev felt that it made sense that Simon Morris would end his highly eccentric and deviant life by suicide. He thought about one day doing the same.

The Negativeland album made him laugh. We are all going to die, he thought. Zev smoked cigarettes as he drove. He also smoked pot which gradually changed his entire state of mind. Once he was stoned he was enjoying the drive which previously frustrated him. He enjoyed listening to Negativeland more and was less disappointed that Amy was not with him. He understood. He felt less angry and upset overall. His expectations seemed to disappear. He felt raised out of his depression and petty obsessions. He thought about more interesting things. Zev reminded himself to remain stoned all the time. It was good for him. When Zev saw a sign that said Oxnard/Channel Islands he decided to exit the freeway. Ventura was still many miles away so Zev decided to go check out some obscure beach town that he had never heard of.

Zev drove his black Audi into downtown Oxnard. He stopped and got a cup of shitty coffee. He smoked a cigarette outside the café. He walked around downtown for a little but was unimpressed. Downtown Oxnard is a town that is almost dead. Kind of like the rest of us, Zev thought as he watched a few Hispanic people walking down the street. Zev asked someone where the beach was and they gave him general directions to Channel Islands. When Zev asked the person what Channel Islands was they told him the most beautiful spot in Oxnard. It was at the tip of the ocean. Zev thanked the stranger and then found his way there. He put Channel Islands into his Maps and was there within fifteen minutes. He drove all the way to the end of the road where there was a very small boardwalk area, a bar and a small café. There was a row of cement benches facing the water and Zev sat down in one of them. He looked around and loved how clean the air smelled. Must be all the negative ions Zev thought. Zev lit a cigarette and watched the birds and boats go by.

There weren’t too many people out by the beach that day. A few younger people sat smoking joints and cigarettes and congregating around a cement table. Some locals were out riding their bikes or on a walk. Fishing boats stocked with crew members and fishing poles went out into the sea. A few midafternoon drinkers wondered into the bar. The place was quiet and serene. You could hear seals, seagulls and the sound of sails flapping in the wind. Zev noticed that he felt more at peace as he walked around. He felt more settled within himself than he had felt in a long time. He smoked cigarettes and walked through the residential streets. He looked at the various beach houses and thought about how he and Amy could live this kind of life. He walked out onto the beach and stopped at the foot of the ocean. A sense of exhilaration and awe came over him standing in front of something so powerful that it could annihilate him and everyone else in seconds. The massive horizon stretching out in front of him made all his troubles seem so irrelevant.

Zev walked around for hours. He looked at the boats and noticed that several people lived on their boats. He thought about what a great experience living on a boat must be. A part of him had always wanted to live on a boat. Zev loved being around water and the idea of living on a boat seemed ideal to him. A painter who he was friendly with lived on a houseboat in Amsterdam and he always envied him for it. But he didn’t think living on a boat would ever be a possibility for him. He didn’t know how to drive a boat and didn’t know the first thing about boats. So, he didn’t think about it much. Zev walked on a long pathway lined with succulent plants, grass and trees. People were out walking their dogs or riding bikes. When he would pass by people they would say hello and Zev forced himself to say hello back. He found it strange. No one said hello to strangers in Silverlake or anywhere in LA. But here everyone seemed to say hello when they passed by Zev.

Zev stopped at a bench and sat down. He noticed that Marissa, his mother and a few other people had texted him. But there was nothing from Amy. He thought this was odd. It was almost 5pm and she didn’t text him to see how he was doing or if he was having a nice time? Zev felt slightly hurt by Amy’s lack of interest but assumed she was having a busy day. He decided to text Amy and told her that he had discovered this beautiful place called Channel Islands in Oxnard. A kind of isolated and village like beach town. He told her that he hoped work was not stressful and that her day was good and that he would se her at home in a few hours. He didn’t know that Amy was out getting her vagina waxed and preparing to see Arthur for a quick visit that evening. They would go grab dinner and then have sex quickly at his place in Koreatown. Amy didn’t want to be home after Zev.

On his way back to Silverlake Zev decided to return his mother’s phone call. It was always easier for him to talk with her when he wasn’t feeling miserable. Being out at the ocean had helped him to feel more social. He felt good about discovering a new place rather than just spending his day at home as he normally would do if he took a day off from work. His mother asked him disinterestedly about how he was doing and he told her he was fine. He told her about what he did that day and she said that that sounded nice. Zev’s mother then took the opportunity to talk about herself. She didn’t have many people besides her miserable husband to talk with so she enjoyed talking about herself with Zev. She told him about art shows she had gone to and books that she had read. She told him about how much she enjoyed where she lived and about her upcoming trip to Vietnam. Zev pretended to be interested in her but found her life incredibly boring and bourgeoisie. Zev’s mother then asked him about how the painting was going but he didn’t want to talk about it. He felt like she always judged his work. When he got off the phone with her he felt disturbed. Like he had just spoken with someone who didn’t really care about him. It felt strange that this someone happened to be his mother.

Sell Out Man, Chapter Six

 

Amy told Zev that he looked like a Russian intellectual. He was sitting on a bench in their backyard smoking a pre-rolled cigarette. He was wearing a black suit and had his legs crossed as he watched birds landing in the trees. He could feel the effect of the smoke on his lungs creating a kind of burnt taste that was always on his throat and tongue. Zev thanked Amy for the compliment since the Russian intellectual look had been something he was striving to achieve ever since he watched his first Andrei Tarkovsky film. Amy pulled weeds and dead lettuce from the garden box, which seemed to be a failed project of hers. Amy asked Zev if he had any upcoming shows and he told her that he didn’t know. Amy thought about how she was going to get to fuck Arthur that evening and told Zev that she had a work meeting later that night.

It wasn’t unusual for Amy to have a lot of work meetings. WORD was becoming more and more successful. Each month they had hundreds of new subscribers to their blog and mailing list. Contemporary indie fiction and culturally relevant critical essays seemed to be becoming more and more popular. Younger people were thirsting for a kind of intelligence and thought process that Netflix was not able to provide. More and more young people were reading contemporary literature on-line. It was a cultural development which seemed to only be growing. Now WORD was becoming like the Rolling Stone magazine of the contemporary literary world.

It was Amy’s job to edit some of the more popular contemporary authors. She was Tao-Lin’s main editor and also edited the work of Jarett Kobek, the popular counterculture writer. She edited several of the Sam Pink novels and was working on editing a novel by Johnny Strike when he died. Highly regarded indie writer’s knew about Amy and they all wanted her to be involved with editing their work. But it took Amy a long time to edit even a short story so she was only able to work with a certain number of writers each year.

Zev was always getting upset with Amy about the amount of work she would take on. He felt like she continually bit off more than she could chew and then get stressed out about it. When Amy was stressed out she would be agitated and mean to Zev. She would be more restless and unable to slow down. She would be continually talking and doing things and this drove Zev crazy. But Amy was an editor in high demand and there is a lot of pressure when a person has that kind of job. Amy dealt with these pressures in what may be thought of as unhealthy ways. She would sleep with many of the writers she worked with. She was having an affair with Arthur that had already gone too far. She would fall in love with different men and become preoccupied with them. She would masturbate while thinking of them and sometimes send them naked pictures of herself. She would also engage in perverted behaviors with Zev. No one would have imagined who Amy really was behind her sophisticated and intellectual façade. Everyone thought of her as a very nice girl with a sharp intelligence. They thought of her as an excellent dresser and as being happily married to a famous contemporary painter. Many thought that Zev and Amy were living the hip domestic dream.

Sometimes Amy would try to spice things up between her and Zev by suggesting that they go to a sex party or invite a couple over to their home. Zev tried this with her but never had much fun. Amy would get fucked by the couple they had over to their home. At sex parties Amy would hook up with various people but Zev never felt comfortable. He didn’t like having to talk to people in that kind of environment. He felt ashamed and awkward. He would have sex with a woman but it always felt uncomfortable doing it around Amy. As much as watching Amy have sex with someone else would turn him on it would also bother him when he saw how into the sex Amy was. It wasn’t like that between the two of them so seeing it made him uncomfortable.

Eventually Amy and Zev had the idea to do home sex shows. They would do this once a month as a way to blow off steam and have some sexual fun together. Amy would find a guy on Tinder who she liked and then invite him over to their Silverlake home. Sometimes it was difficult to find a man since most guys thought it was some sort of joke or a prostitution situation. An attractive woman inviting a single guy over to her house for sex seemed too good to be true to most. But some horny souls decided to go on the adventure. They would come over to the house and Amy would entertain them on the couch. The couch was right in front of a large window that looked out into the backyard. While Amy would be entertaining a guy on the couch, Zev would be in the garden watching through a pair of recently bought binoculars.

It would usually take Amy at least a half hour to start being sexual with a guy. Zev would impatiently wait. They would always start off by getting to know each other and drink the gin Amy requested the guy bring. Some guys would bring cocaine and Amy would partake. She felt random sex with strangers was better when cocaine was involved. Zev would watch them talk through his binoculars and anticipate who would make the first move. It turned him on when Amy would make the first move and she almost always did. Within minutes of kissing, Amy would be pulling down the guys pants and sucking him off. Zev would become erect and pull down his pants and masturbate as he watched. Zev loved masturbating in the privacy of his garden while watching Amy perform. Some people enjoy being spectators at a football or baseball game. Zev enjoyed being a spectator of his wife having sex with another man. Few things were more enjoyable for Zev than orgasming all over his plants as he watched Amy screw another man. Zev admired Amy for her pornographic skills. She was fantastic at sex and putting on sex shows. A true exhibitionist. She missed her calling as a porn actress, Zev often thought. After the guy left and hour or so later Zev would come back into the house and tell Amy about what a great show it was. Amy would be happy because she knew that these sorts of experiences pleased Zev. Over time Amy learned how to take advantage of the situation.

Zev noticed that every few weeks or month Amy had started bringing over the same guy. Zev would do his thing in the garden as he watched this guy screw the hell out of Amy. He noticed that he started feeling jealous. The guy was in good physical shape and much younger than Zev. He was handsome and good at pleasing Amy. Amy seemed to be very into having sex with this guy and one time Zev could swear she told the guy that he was the best sex she had ever had with a person. Zev also noticed that when this guy came over to the house it didn’t take them long to start having sex. When they were done having sex they would hang out and talk and kiss. The guy would hug Amy and hold her in his arms. They would laugh a lot and then after a fifteen minute or so break they would start having sex again. Amy seemed to be enjoying herself too much and this caused Zev to feel like something was not right. Why would she act this way when she knew he was watching? When Zev talked to Amy about it she told him it was just some stupid guy she met on Tinder. He was just good to play with and nothing more was happening, she told Zev. Zev believed her. The guy was too young anyways. She didn’t tell Zev that the guy was Arthur. Amy figured if she was doing this to please Zev she could also use it as an opportunity to have sex with Arthur. Arthur had no idea that Amy’s husband was standing in the garden watching them. None of the guys knew. It was Amy and Zev’s perverted little secret.

Zev starting isolating more and more. His smoking increased and so did his need for coffee, booze and a daily orgasm. Anything to help him feel pleasure. Zev was already innately introverted but the depression took him further within. He didn’t want to socialize anymore. He couldn’t stand people. He thought that everyone was a sell out and he wanted to have nothing to do with them. He felt like people were cruel and selfish. Stupid and full of themselves and Zev dreamed of being able to live off the grid, far from all people. He would often tell Amy about how much he hated people and society and Amy would agree that people stunk. He was happy to at least have Amy in his life. She seemed like a good person and like someone who would never betray him. He knew Amy had his back and he felt fortunate to at least have one person in this demented world. Amy did love Zev but just not that much.

Zev would go to the studio and spend his day painting. He wasn’t even talking to Marissa anymore. The more depressed Zev would become the more he would judge everyone. He judged Marissa for the stupid manga paintings she made. He hated artists who had to play by the rules. Who had to demonstrate their skills through their art. Fuck that. He preferred to show how he had no skill through his art. He wanted art to be free of all the bullshit pretention and technicality. This was the real art, he thought. Authentic expression not clouded by skill. Zev thought that most contemporary art sucked because rich people and galleries wanted artists who had an MFA and lots of skill. But Zev found it all dull and devoid of a soul. He felt like Marissa was making this kind of art and resented her for her lack of imagination. But he didn’t tell her. Marissa thought that Zev was becoming even more deranged in his isolation. But he was a great contemporary painter and she assumed that this is how painters sometimes behaved.

Zev would return home from the studio and want to have dinner with Amy. He had recently bought a Throbbing Gristle record that he wanted to listen to with Amy. Zev enjoyed turning Amy on to new music and Amy appreciated Zev for it. Most nights Amy would be home and she would make them dinner. Zev would sit on the couch and read while drinking the gin that was left over from their sex show night. He would go out onto the deck and smoke a cigarette or two. Amy would be in the kitchen making dinner and texting with Arthur. Always texting with Arthur. She couldn’t get enough even when preparing dinner for her and Zev. Zev was such a drag to be around. A defeated man in many ways. Arthur was still young and filled with the excitement of life, yet to be infected by the process of growing old. She found Arthur charming and full of strange oddities and this made her feel more hopeful about things. Zev used to be a charming man but once he became a more in demand painter and took on the responsibility of a large studio, all the charm drained out of him. Now Amy thought of Zev as a sad reflection of the man he used to be. He wore all black now and continually smoked cigarettes. A complete downer.

Zev enjoyed reading, drinking and smoking as he waited for dinner to be made. It was one of the more enjoyable periods of his day. This is why they call it Happy Hour, Zev thought. Night after night, Amy would put the food on the table and then they ate. Zev would have a record playing and they would talk about their day. Mostly it was Amy talking about things going on at WORD. Or she would talk about her alcoholic friend Rae who was working as a prostitute and a preschool teacher. She talked about friends of hers and things that they did that bothered her. She would talk fast and have a lot to say. She would talk with food in her mouth which annoyed Zev. Zev acted like he was hearing what Amy was saying even though he was trying to drown her out by listening to the record. And she would talk on and on. Zev didn’t mind so much since he often didn’t have much to say.

After dinner Zev would do the dishes and they would either read together or watch something on-line. But recently Amy was not coming to bed when Zev would be in bed reading his book. He would ask her what she was doing and she would yell back that she was not tired and was playing a game on-line. Or she would tell him that she was text messaging with her friends. Zev found this strange because Amy always came to bed with him. She would be the first person to fall asleep. Now she wasn’t tired at 11pm anymore. Amy would stay up until one or two in the morning and Zev would be long asleep when she would come to bed. Amy would be up messaging with Arthur. They were now messaging each other on a private app that made it impossible for anyone to find. If Zev happened to go through her phone or try to hack her phone, this app would never be found. They would message about all the sexual things they wanted to do with one another. Arthur told Amy that she had completely melted into his soul. She was a part of him now. Amy loved the adoration. It made her feel in love again and she couldn’t seem to get enough of this feeling. Outside of her work, Arthur was becoming a full-time preoccupation. So what if she was neglecting the garden.

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.

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.

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

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Nothing in this based on an actual person. I do not endorse any kind of harm or violence done to anyone. I am discussing subversive ideas through fiction.

 

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 #121

In many ways I am a failure. But failure doesn’t much matter to me. So what, I am a failure. My wife is out on a date with another man. He is actually a young kid as far as I am concerned. Just what she likes.  I don’t mind much. I could lose myself in self-pitying thoughts but really, what is the point of that? So what, I am a failure in may ways. But I don’t mind being a failure. There are few things I would want to be more. I mean, to be a failure just means not to live by the same rules that everyone else does. This is true, but there is a less romantic side of being a failure. So what, my wife is with another man. I don’t mind. Most of the time I spend with her is because I enjoy her but really I am just trying to escape from my own life. The things I need and want to do. So she is out with another man. Gives me more time to sit here on my toilet and think. Gives me more time to listen to my music and be left alone. It is a good thing to have more time on my hands. Most of my time with her, as much as I enjoy her company, is wasting time. It is time that I could be sitting here on my toilet thinking. I am glad she found someone she likes whom she can hang out with and have good, fun, kinky sex with. It is the perfect situation. Leaves me with more time to do the things I want to do. I am a few decades older than my wife, we are at different places in our lives. I am in more of a solitary, contemplative place in my life. She is in a full-time social and sexual place in her life. There is only so much I can tolerate of that. This time on the toilet is my alone time, and I only want more of this. This David Lynch album I have on is great. But there is a less romantic form of failure. In many ways I am honored to be a failure. What a pathetic society I live in. The game is too much. It is a bunch of shit I must put up with if I want to have status and money. I see the crap that it is and don’t much want to participate, but I have got to do what I have got to do. I need to get by, and I play the game, but I also realize it is a bunch of fraudulent shit. I’m not falling for it. I don’t have much interest in it and in this respect it is great that I am a failure. It is a true accomplishment. But there is a less enjoyable form of failure to think about. The form of failure that is a result of neglect, laziness and irresponsibility. I have always been a very irresponsible man. The fact that I am able to maintain a home and a comfortable life is a miracle to me. I don’t pay a single bill and I hope everything works out. It is my wife who keeps me in the situation I am in. It is because of her ability to take care of things that I live the lifestyle I do. There is no way a person like myself should live in the way that I do. I am a very lucky man and I am grateful to my hard-working wife but I am a very irresponsible man. incredibly neglectful and irresponsible. I do not participate with the world any more than I need to. I withdraw whenever I can. I am out of the game as soon as I am able. I don’t take care of many responsible things. I badly get by. This is a pathetic kind of failure. In many ways I am a pathetic piece of shit. I am a real piece of shit. I expect things. I judge intensely. I let other people deal with the bullshit. I am withdrawn and often very worried. I am a real pathetic piece of you know what man. Well, what are you going to do? It is really remarkable that you hold down a job as a psychologist. I don’t know how you do it. I know you hate it. I know you do it because if you don’t make some money you will be left by the woman you are married to. You are so pathetic but she stays with you because you earn a good amount of money, you have status and a reputation. You greatly benefit her so she seizes the opportunities I offer. But I am an absolute failure. She is out having sex with another man because I am disinterested often in pleasing her sexually. What is my problem? I am lazy. I don’t want to do the work and there in lies the root of my failure. I am lazy and I do not want to work. I neglect things. I withdraw from things (I am very clean and organized but still). I want to be out of the game as soon as I can. I want to be left alone to think these thoughts in my head. I want to be left alone to listen to David Lynch, sit on my toilet, read a book and think thoughts like this. Did I already say that? I can’t remember half the things I think. I don’t even know why I think like I do. It is because I am a failure. I am in complete withdraw. I don’t want to work and I don’t want to do much anymore. I undermine myself much of the time. I know there are things I should do but I don’t do them. I suppose because I don’t think they matter that much. Or maybe I have just subconsciously decided to let most things go. To let the cards land where they may. I mean we all die. Life is what we make it. Just try to live your life as well as you can. Quality over quantity. And if you can have both maybe that is a life well lived.  But this undermining of myself is really a molecular habit. Molecular only because it is a part of my cellular construct, since I do it so much. I suppose you could say that I am carless in many ways. I rely too much on others to take care of me. If people don’t point certain things out or make certain things happen for me nothing will happen. Now I know this is not good and there are things I could do to circumnavigate the habit, but I don’t. I undermine myself is what I do. I do not believe that things I think and feel are right. I know that I am a madman so I try not to trust myself too much. There is a lot that I think and feel that is incorrect. This is why it is important that I undermine myself. I make a lot up in my head and take it for truth. That is madness. Really I just want to pursue pervert and deviant sex. I want to write, read, drift and think and create art. I want to live well and be left alone. I am a walking contradiction but Emerson said this was a sign of genius. I want to get better at being alone. It is only alone that one is able to find true success. Alone one can also find true misery and despair. They are all wonderful things. Success, despair and misery. But none of it matters. It is all just happening. Don’t read into any of it too much. I mean the behaviors of human beings are just completely absurd. They really think that what they feel and think matters. I am guilty of this as well. I often think that what I think matters. Obviously or I would not be taking all this time to think on the toilet. I am a self-important man. This means the most important man to myself. I am too good for the stupidity of the world. Truth is I think I am far exhausted to even try to outsmart anyone in the world anymore. I am too tired to do it. I don’t care that much about it. I have surpassed the vast majority in awareness and intelligence. Knowing this is enough for me. Unfortunately this also often means that a person is broke. You can’t have a lot of money and be interested in intelligence and awareness unless you are one of the few who works hard and gets lucky. David Lynch comes to mind. But most who care more about knowledge and awareness don’t tend to make much money. I really enjoy spending money but I am disdainful about having to make it. A walking contradiction. My ass on the toilet seat feels very warm. My wife loves having sex with this young guy she is dating. She loves it. It is the greatest sex of her life. She is a highly sexual woman. A complete slut in many ways who loves to be adored and screwed. In other ways she is just smart and plays the slut card but really just prefers life with a penis in or near her. She really likes having sex with this guy. I can’t compete. The times I have spied (what a pleasure spying is!) on them I have been very amazed by their sexual proclivities. It is very athletic sex. I can’t compete. I don’t want to compete. I can’t do that stuff. My wife really likes having sex with this guy. He is a decent-looking guy. A nice figure, ugly face and a terrible dresser. He is very into my wife. He is completely into her. So much so that he is always leaning into her. She loves the way he has sex with her. Is it possible to love the way someone has sex with you but not be in love with a person? I really don’t think so. I don’t think you can absolutely love having sex with someone and not be in love with them. I just don’t see it. We are biological creatures and sex and love are biologically linked. So she is in love with him. What am I going to do? Nothing I can do about it. I don’t think she would leave me for him because he has no life. He is a loser. (But I am a failure and she is with me. She is obviously into these failure/loser types.) She knows this and is afraid to leave me for him. But she loves having sex with the guy and has worked out a good way for herself to do it. But she is completly emotionally shut down to me. She is very nice to me but very shut down emotionally. She loves having sex with this guy. She loves this guy and is emotionally closed to me. What are you going to do? If she leaves me for him so be it. I just wish she had the courage to tell me the truth so we can figure some sort of optimal situation out. We are working towards that. I can’t compete with the kid. She doesn’t like having sex with me as much and I understand why. I am in a contemplative and solitary period of my life. The only sex I want to have is slutty sex that I dont have to work very hard for. I just want slut sex that I don’t have to do much for. Not all the time but when I want it. I’m tired of pleasing women. I want them to please me. If I have to pay for it so be it. If she is in love with another guy I really don’t mind. As long as I get the slut sex. She could move in with the kid part-time for all I care. I would be able to develop more of a ruminative way of life. It is only because she is out on a date with the young guy that I have this kind of time to sit here and think. I had this potted plant once. It was perched on the living room window sill. Just in front of the couch. I thought I should have moved it but I didn’t. Then when my wife was having sex with her young lover the potted plant was in the way the entire time. I couldn’t see much of anything. But I can’t keep up. They have athletic sex. I can’t do that stuff. I have grown too old and lazy. I prefer to be the pervert with binoculars in his hands. If she is in love with him that doesn’t bother me. She won’t leave me. She just needs to tell me she is in love and then she can be with him more. I don’t want to get between a woman and the object of her love, even if she is my wife. I mean she loves sex. She says he is a friend whom she loves having sex with. I am not sure. If you give me a friend whom I love having sex with I will probably fall deeply in love with her. I would think. I mean that is the ideal relationship! A friend whom you love having sex with. It is a fine line. Being in love is loving having sex with someone. It is amazing how these two go at it. Athletes. They go on and on. I can’t compete. Sure it makes me jealous but who cares. I am a failure. I am a failure in this way. I have failed at keeping my wife sexually satisfied. I have failed to keep her into me in this way. She is with a younger guy, loving having sex with him because I don’t want to do the work. I have been neglectful. I get it. I’m too tired. You drop the ball man and someone else is going to pick it up. You dropped the ball and someone else has got it now. What are you going to be upset about? You get that you blew it. It makes sense. You failed and to expect her to still be into you, to still love you is just more self-important crap. She is only with you because she thinks you are cool and you enable a certain lifestyle together. She is with you for the lifestyle and she likes hanging out with you but you are a pain in her ass. She is so sick and tired of your bullshit that she really doesn’t care anymore. She will let you watch her having sex with him because she really just doesn’t care. She is so sick and tired of your bullshit but she puts up with it because you enable a particular lifestyle you lazy son of a bitch. Ok, so it is now a deal between us. A kind of partnership. She and I both get a certain lifestyle out of the deal, we help each other and we are companions. But when it comes to sex and love and all that stuff that is a separate deal. Sex and love are now the property of someone else. But she will be sexual with you whenever you want. She can’t get enough sex. The more the better. She wants an arsenal of penis’ and you are one of them. She loves your penis too but she is just not in love with you in that way. That is ok, I don’t mind. All things pass. I don’t need the time suck that being in love is. As long as I can watch and get some sexual attention, so be it. I have failed. I am a failure. I do not deserve more than this. I have not been able to keep her interested in me in that way. She is emotionally shut towards me because she is emotionally open towards him. Can’t do two at the same time. I understand how it goes. So be it. To hell with her. I will take what I can get. I will benefit from this in the best way I know how. Just tell me what is really going on and I am fine. Well that is not true. I will probably be pissed off and hurt and she knows that so she keeps it to herself. My wife is such a manipulative shit. But nice girl. I will give her that. She is a nice and very attractive girl. A smart girl as well. Just likes to play it dumb. Typical Southern California valley girl stuff. Maybe I am fabricating a lot of this in my head. Maybe none of what I am thinking is true. Possibly I am making it all up because I am so bored. Maybe I really do live alone in a small apartment and am just concocting this entire fantasy. Almost fifty and living in a studio apartment making this all up in my head. Such a failure. But maybe she is in love. Maybe she really loves this guy. The way they kiss and hold one another sure makes it appear so. But the kid is an idiot. He really is a steep dip in intelligence so if she is in love with him more power to her. But man the kid is good in bed. I can’t do it like that. Let them have their fun. Let her be happy. I want her to be happy and have her fun even if it means I am alone on a Saturday night ruminating on a toilet seat in some run down studio apartment. It could have all gone down for me that way. It hasn’t yet but it still could. It is still a possibility for the future that I will end up alone and in a studio apartment. Because I am a failure. This is how failures turn out. This is what happens to them. The only thing keeping me from that is her. She better not fall in love with him. Or if she does she still better remain loyal and married to me. I would be living a different kind of life without her. Who knows, maybe it would be better. Maybe living alone in a studio apartment would be the ideal lifestyle for me. Maybe this house in the suburbs, these jobs we work and all we do to hold our life together is too much for the both of us. Maybe we have both had it but keep doing it because we want to keep what we have. That is honest. We want to keep what we have so we keep doing it. Maybe I am in the midst of a psychotic episode. I don’t think so but maybe I have already been driven completely mad by having to do the things I do to keep the lifestyle I have. Maybe when you hang on to something for too long it can make you mentally sick. Who knows. I don’t even know what I am talking about anymore. The same David Lynch song has been playing over and over and over and over. Turn it off.