Sell Out Man, A Blog Novel. Chapter Thirty.

Chapter Thirty


Arthur was spending a lot of his time at Amy’s house. It was much better than spending the night at his shitty apartment in Koreatown. Arthur had expected to make more money with the release of his new book but not that much money entered his pockets. The book of essays sold well. Young thinking people were hungry for an intelligent and absurd literary approach to life. Thinking people in America were starving for substantial intellectual sustenance. Netflix and reading things on-line didn’t seem to be filling the void. A book of literary essays written by a young and good looking man, deconstructing what most people took as normal and commonplace, was ravenously desired by young (and older) intellectuals. They were slowly and gradually rotting from inside out because of the intellectual banality of this American life.

As often happens in America, the labors of the individual worker feed those in charge. Even though The Fantastic Life Of A Disappearing Man was selling well, it was the publishing company that was benefiting. They farted out a few bucks to Arthur and promised him that at some point in the future a lot more was to come. Just be happy people are reading your book and be patient, the publishing company’s lawyer wrote to him in an email. Arthur was planning on not having to teach or find another form of work. He was hopeful that he would make enough money with his new book to be able to possibly buy a small house. Maybe he would have much more money in his bank account and be able to live as a writer. Maybe he would be able to do what most others had told him was impossible- write the books he wanted to write for a living.

Arthur liked spending more time at Amy’s place. He was satisfied not having to feel like Zev was going to come home. He could relax. It was a nice house. The kind of house he would like to own someday. He thought it was possible since Zev Bauhaus had achieved it as a painter. Why couldn’t a writer like himself also achieve it? Amy hadn’t told Arthur that the house belonged to her. That it was given to her by her parents. Zev Bauhaus played no part in the ownership of it. She didn’t tell anyone this because she didn’t want to make Zev look bad. Arthur, like everyone else, was under the impression that Zev was the owner of a very nice house. He must be successful. Arthur just assumed, like everyone else. He knew that Zev moved onto a yacht in some town he had never heard of, but he assumed that Zev still owned the house and that Amy would probably get it with the divorce settlement. Arthur didn’t realize that Zev was living on an old yacht because eventually Amy was going to ask him to leave. It was inevitable. The house wasn’t his. He didn’t have a choice. The old yacht was his home. The Silverlake home was now just a storage space for memories and objects that Zev once owned. All the furniture, books, thousands of records, paintings, stereo equipment, bikes, magazines, cassette tapes, framed photographs with other famous artists, sculptures and on and on- Zev planned to leave it all behind. It was time to move on. A man was only as rich as how little he owned.

In the beginning, after Zev’s quick exodus, Arthur stayed at Amy’s house three or four nights a week. They had fun together. They watched stupid movies in bed. They played video games for hours. They took showers and baths together. Amy would drink and Arthur would smoke pot. Sometimes they would have sex but sometimes they would just have fun together. They would make dinner and dance after. Arthur would have Amy dress up in sexy outfits and dance around in them for him as he played with his cock. He would tell Amy all about his life. Problems with friends, annoyances with work, issues with parents and economic struggles. He had a tendency to talk and talk and sometimes Amy wondered if Arthur was autistic. Amy began to find Arthur’s company somewhat draining but once he fucked her she quickly forgot about her grievances. She loved the way Arthur fucked her. He worked hard for her and fucked her as hard as she wanted so that she could orgasm. Sometimes she would force Arthur to make her orgasm two or three times. Arthur would be sweating. He would work harder than he did at the gym but he wanted to do whatever he could to keep Amy pleased. The moment she lost interest in fucking him, he knew would be the moment he was rendered obsolete. Amy was just that kind of girl. She used people for what she needed and Arthur was aware of something that kept him concerned. He didn’t talk to Amy about it but he knew that the prestige, fame and cultural legitimacy Amy received by being in relationship with Zev Bauhaus was nothing he could compete with. He was a lot younger and wasn’t making much money. He had to fuck Amy as hard and long as he could. He had to pleasure her vagina as much as he possible could. It was the only real advantage he had. That and his youth.

The days Arthur was gone, Amy began to enjoy. She liked being home alone without any interference from men. Over the years she hadn’t spent much time alone in her house. Zev was always coming home in the early evenings, disturbing her peace. This caused her to feel continual anxiety about making sure the house looked a certain way. Were the front and back yards in decent shape? Was the house clean enough? Had she forgotten to put anything away? Were there dishes in the sink or urine and tissue paper still in the toilet? When Amy was home alone, it didn’t feel like she was really alone. She had to worry about keeping things in a way that Zev would agree with so as not to upset him when he came home from work. Zev Bauhaus was a very temperamental man, Amy thought. Now that Zev had moved out, the house all hers. She enjoyed not having to share. She could leave things wherever she wanted. She could lay around in bed for as long as she wanted. She could do whatever she wanted with the back and front yard. She could live exactly as she wanted without having to hear Zev tell her that she needed to exercise more, organize more or do something more productive with her life. Now that Amy had the Silverlake home all to herself, she felt liberated. As sad as she was that Zev was gone, she loved her freedom. She felt a kind of peace that she hadn’t felt in a long time. This feeling of peace she would often prefer over Arthur’s company.

Amy felt happy during her days spent alone at home. She hadn’t felt happy in a very long time despite the fact that she was good at faking happiness. Amy had misunderstood happiness, just as most extroverts do. Happiness for Amy had become a kind of drunken hyper-stimulation, which caused a strong feeling of excitement to boil up in her. She loved this feeling of excitement that she felt when in the company of others. She felt excited whenever the opportunity for sex arose. She was sometimes excited by the work she was doing and the books she was editing. She also felt excited about her relationship with Arthur. It was exciting to be having a passionate affair with a younger man. Excitement was what she unknowingly mistook for happiness. Excitement was a kind of coping mechanism for the banality and stress of maintaining the American dream. Excitement was what allowed her to excel at her job. During Amy’s initial days spent alone at home, she learned about what happiness really was. It was a kind of satisfaction in the present moment. She was satisfied with her life alone. She loved the peace. Zev had gotten in the way of this because Zev Bauhaus could never be satisfied.

As the weeks went on, Amy wanted to spend more of her time alone in her house. To her it felt like she was living an entirely new kind of life. Because she didn’t need to leave her home for work, she could stay home. She ordered her food and other essential items on Amazon. Sometimes she ordered pizza or had sushi delivered. The only thing she needed to go out for was liquor and the occasional times she had to go into WORD for a work meeting. Otherwise she could live in her own universe while home alone. For the first time in her life she was enjoying being alone. It’s a common thing people discover when a stressful relationship ends. Amy still had Arthur coming over. Arthur wanted to come over all the time. He was even hopeful that he could move some of his stuff in and stay there awhile. But Amy didn’t need him as much as she once did. Once or twice a week felt like enough for her. Now that she was more satisfied in her life she didn’t need to lose herself in earth shattering orgasms as much. There was no longer as much of a thrill in it all, as there once was. Her sadistic tendencies seemed to be thawing out now that Zev was annoying less of the time.

Amy was hopeful she could maintain a close friendship with Zev. She never stopped admiring him. She still loved him very much and couldn’t imagine a life without him in it. She just didn’t want to be married to Zev anymore. He had become too miserable. Selling out had made him a miserable man. She couldn’t live with that kind of negative energy anymore. To be free of it in her day to day life was wonderful and she couldn’t imagine ever letting Zev Bauhaus move back in. But Amy still hoped to remain close to Zev Bauhaus. She didn’t even want to get a divorce. They could just stay married even though she no longer referred to Zev as her husband. Marriage was just a bureaucratic thing anyways. Why go through all the difficulty of getting a divorce? Why not just stay married legally but be divorced psychologically? Then they wouldn’t have to deal with all the bureaucratic bullshit and Amy could still legitimately keep Zev’s last name. After all, no last name would benefit her more in her life. Bauhaus was the perfect last name for her. It gave her credibility. Amy would do what she could to keep Zev in her life. She would fuck him. She would suck his dick as much as he wanted. She would hang out with him. She would return his texts promptly and try to show some interest in his life. She would handle his financial situation. It was a difficult balance to figure out because she didn’t want to give Zev the impression that she wanted to be back in a relationship with him. She didn’t want to lead him on. More importantly, she didn’t want to make herself vulnerable to a feeling she was trying hard to keep repressed- the feeling of wanting Zev Bauhaus back. What a mess that would be.

Sell Out Man, Chapter Twenty Five

Chapter Twenty Five


It’s not easy falling into nothing. Nothingness takes over and refuses to release its grip. It holds you tightly between its black fingers. During Amy’s absence, Zev was gripped by nothingness. But he wasn’t threatened by it. He embraced it. Leaned into it. It was a nothingness that was permeated by a pervasive sense of pleasurable inertia. It was a kind of nihilistic Buddhist emptiness. Zev reached states of complete atrophy by not moving much and smoking copious amounts of weed. Zev finally suffered the final blow of his depression. He had withered. Zev wouldn’t shower for days. He wore the same clothes. He walked slowly down hallways with his hand in the back of his pants. Sometimes he walked around with his hand down the front of his pants, fondling his limp penis. He had fallen apart.

Zev thought about nothing but Amy. He thought about how much she was deceiving him. He thought about how betrayed he felt. He thought about what he thought she was doing. There was an elaborate idea in his brain that she was very in love with Arthur but she was keeping the extent of her feelings from him. She loved Arthur, Zev was sure of it. The thoughts about how deceived he felt kept him up at night. It’s like being knocked over the back of the head without knowing. You didn’t see it coming. You’re startled and trying to come back into your senses but the pain stifles you. Zev couldn’t believe that Amy had done this to him. Amy had become one of those deceptive women and he was the one with a broken heart. Deceived by the woman he loved. How could this happen at the height of his career?

Zev would sit in his backyard garden and smoke cigarettes. His thoughts were all crumpled together like a piece of crunched up binder paper. Zev had stopped rolling his own cigarettes because it had gotten too hard. Now he smoked the ones that come in a pack. It only made him smoke more and when he showed up at the liquor store to buy more cigarettes for the second time that day, he looked like some aged nineties shoegazer who refused to outgrow his youth. You don’t see many of those often. When back at home he would pass the day smoking cigarettes in the backyard. He couldn’t concentrate much. He was running from everything. He couldn’t even handle the burden of rolling cigarettes. There were moments when Zev was so high when he wondered if he had gone insane. Had the shock of Amy’s betrayal knocked him over into some mentally ill realm? Had he lost his mind? He was ignoring everything and thinking continuously. He was playing with his cock too much and started talking to himself. The music he listened to was music made by madmen. It sounded like walking on hands and knees through underground tunnels. One album he had on repeat was Tape Loop Meditations by Blood Stereo. The sound matched his inner state.

Zev lost track of time. He ate when he wanted to. His nothingness had become him. The marijuana cushioned him within a cotton like numbness. There was no world out there. Marijuana freed him from the ordinary and banal constraints of his mind. It made sounds tunnel through his ears and magnify in his head. It made bats fly in front of his face even though they weren’t really there. There was the continual sound of squishing a wet rag in the background. Zev couldn’t figure out what it was. Maybe spirits were talking with him. Had the same thing happened to him that happened to Artaud? Zev would hallucinate images of Amy sucking Arthur’s cock and Amy taking it from behind. Just like he had watched through binoculars during their home sex shows. Zev saw vaginas and he desperately wanted to stick his mouth on one. When stoned he became possessed by an erotic urge and ended his torment by masturbating in the bathroom while watching Pornhub. He had his food and weed delivered and bought beer and cigarettes at the liquor store. Zev knew that nothing would ever be the same for him.

When Amy entered the house, she was startled by the smell of cigarettes and marijuana. She heard strange sounds coming from Zev’s home studio. She wasn’t surprised that Zev was still there. She knew he wouldn’t leave. Where would he go? She put her bags down and checked her phone to see if Arthur had texted even though they were just together. She then looked in the refrigerator for something to drink. She wasn’t happy to be home. She felt like she was back in the drudgery. It was incredibly difficult living around Zev. He was getting in the way of her joy and becoming an imposition. Why couldn’t he get his life together? Why couldn’t he accept that most marriages don’t last forever and move on with his life? He had the money. When Amy knocked on Zev’s door he was startled. He yelled as if his home was under attack. Amy told Zev that it was just her. Zev had lost track of the day. He had lost track of time. He didn’t expect Amy but he jumped off the couch and told her to come in. He walked over and gave her a hug. Amy hugged Zev back.

Zev was happy that Amy was home. He had missed her immensely without knowing the nothingness he had been experiencing was a result of the grief consuming him during Amy’s absence. And to some extent Amy missed Zev. She wasn’t unhappy hugging him. She looked around the studio which was a mess. Records everywhere. Books on the floor. Cups filled with dead cigarettes and ash on the floor. Zev’s hair was a mess and he was dressed in black sweat pants and a black t-shirt with ash stains on it. He wore black wool socks which had a hole in one of the toes. The room reeked of tobacco and weed. Amy asked Zev why he couldn’t go outside to smoke. The patio door was right there. He told Amy that he was too lazy and Amy knew he wasn’t in good shape. But she didn’t want to be inconvenienced. She was in a good mood. Zev Bauhaus was a grown man and could figure himself out. He wasn’t her problem anymore. Amy told Zev that he should take a shower.

Zev had set up a bed in his home studio. He and Amy no longer slept together. His home studio had become his bedroom and their bedroom had now become Amy’s bedroom. She made the bedroom her own by bringing in more plants and hanging art she liked on the walls. She moved the bed to a different location. While Amy was putting her clothes away into her closet and drawers Zev walked in. He sat down on the bed and used a towel to dry his hair. Amy asked him if the shower was nice. Zev asked Amy about her trip and Amy didn’t have much to say. She told Zev that she had a good time. That she had a lot of fun. Zev felt angry but tried to keep it down. He wanted to ask about her and Arthur but he kept it to himself. He wanted to get along with Amy tonight. Maybe they could watch a movie or something. Amy made them something to eat and they sat at the kitchen table together. They didn’t talk much. Zev told her that he hadn’t been doing anything. Amy agreed to watch a movie and said that sounded nice. They watched the The Joker on Amy’s bed, the bed Zev had slept on for years. But now he had been exiled from his bed and his previous life. He would sleep in this bed no more. The organic mattress that he and Amy had bought together was now hers. He was sleeping on a shit mattress from Ikea and had lost the right to sleep in what was once his marital bed.

As Amy and Zev watched The Joker with their backs propped up against the wall, Zev thought about asking Amy if she wanted to have sex. He wanted to stick his dick inside her. He had a pulsating erection. But he got the sense that Amy wasn’t into it and he didn’t feel very attractive. He felt embarrassed being the only one in this pathetic shape. Amy seemed to be doing fine. Maybe she didn’t ever love him as much as he thought she did. Amy fell asleep halfway through the film. It was three hours later for her and she was all sexed out. Zev turned off the television and then shut Amy’s door. He went into the bathroom and masturbated into the sink before struggling to fall asleep.

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.

Toilet Rumination #132

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.

I ignore bills. I pay the things I need to pay but I ignore the bills that do not directly effect me. Medical bills, financial aide bills, credit card bills. These things I ignore. They will give me bad credit. They may call me more than I would like. But what do I care? I DO NOT LET THESE BILL COLLECTORS BRING ME DOWN. I KNOW THAT THERE IS NOTHING THEY CAN DO TO ME NOW. I WILL OUT RUN THEM FOR AS LONG AS I CAN. SOME WOULD CALL THIS DUMB BUT I CALL IT SUBVERSIVE. BILLS OR DEBTS ONLY HAVE AS MUCH POWER OVER YOU AS YOU GIVE THEM IN YOUR MIND. IF YOU GIVE THEM NO POWER THEY HAVE NO POWER. BILLS AND DEBTS AND CREDIT ARE ALL PSYCHOLOGICAL. PAY THEM NO MIND AND THEY DON’T MATTER. But there is this continually nagging feeling of guilt and shame in the back of my mind. I feel like I am letting something I need to take care of go. I worry that these bills will come around and kick me in the proverbial ass. What if they take money from my bank? What if they show up at my front door and arrest me? Am I a bad person because I am neglecting these bills? I have bad credit now and as a result am screwed. Thoughts like this fill my mind as I sit here on the toilet thinking about bills. See what I mean about it all being psychological? Debt and bills are a human construct. A social tool of repression and enslavement. Debt and bills have nothing to do with the natural universe. Debt and bills are an artificial construct. I try and keep this in mind. I needed to do what I needed to do to survive and get an education. I paid them some money but I will pay no more. Education and medical bills should not be so expensive. It is morally wrong the prices these institutions charge. Capitalism at its worst. Completely taking advantage of people’s misfortune. Unethical thievery. Thats what these organizations are engaged in. They are horrible entities. Monstrosities and I will try and out run these beasts for as long as I can. Take the money and run, so to speak. I see it as being an ethical outlaw. The ethical outlaw takes what they can from malevolent and greedy institutions and people. An eye for an eye is the ethical outlaw’s driving belief. What is fair is fair. I’ve put in my time now you put in yours. The ethical outlaw must be courageous and continue to do what he or she feels is right in the face of complete exploitation. What am I talking about? You just don’t have the money to pay back these bills. You don’t want to work more as a psychologist to make the money you would need to pay these bills. You want to keep what money you do have for yourself and not have to work more. You are just as greedy and unethical as they are. You both are coming from a similar place. But they have a lot more money than I do. It is true I would rather have more free time. Time is my most important asset. I get indignant when I have to give my time up to someone else in order to make money. This is why I resent all of my clients. I want to cut off their heads. I want to stomp all over them. I disdain them because they are taking away my time. But I need their money. I need to pay for my sex addictions. I need to pay for my book buying addiction. I need to pay for my drugs. I need to pay my mortgage and my office rent. I need to pay for records and food. I need to pay for things that I like in order to feel like all the time I waste making money is somehow worth the sacrifice of my free time. If I was not able to buy things that I like I would see no purpose in doing the work that I do. I need to see some cool object or experience that results from my giving away my time in order to make the money I need off other people. So no, I am not giving up this money to pay the bills that do not directly effect my present moment life. No way. They can go screw themselves. I am keeping that money for me. I would rather buy a record and a whore than pay my bills.

Toilet Rumination #130 (Author’s Note)

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.

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

Toilet Rumination #124

I don’t like the liar. The liar is a very cowardly person. They are willing to create pain and destruction just so they don’t have to deal with or confront the truth of who they are. I really do not like the liar. The liar is an all-pervasive character type in our society. It is as American as apple pie. The liar thinks that they are being unconventional in their deceptions but really they are no different from their next door neighbor. Lying is the most typical behavior in today’s America. Everyone out there is lying. They are lying all the time. Lying is everywhere. This is what conformist society asks us to do. Lie and make a normal life out of the lie. The reason the liar gets away with lying is because everyone else is doing it. The moment the liar comes up against someone who is not lying, there will be trouble. Fortunately, in today’s America the liar does not often have to come up against someone who is not lying because almost everyone in America is lying. They have built a life out of lying. And we know what is behind lying- fear. And we all know what is motivating human behavior in today’s American society- fear. So if your behavior is being dictated by fear- you are just like everyone else around you. Even those who think they live with No Fear are some of the most cowardly people on the planet, terrified of being found out for who they really are. The thing about the liar is that the person that they lie to the most is themselves. They are contained within a huge lie so how could they know that they are really a coward? They lie to themselves all the time in order to believe that they are not. No I do not like the liar. They are a terrible kind of person. The kind of person who is willing to deceive themselves. I don’t like people who are willingly deceiving themselves let alone deceiving me. I like people who are in pursuit of truth. People who are dedicated to being more of who they really are. The liar is antithetical to this search. The liar could give two craps about the pursuit of truth. They are in pursuit of lying and deception. They are in pursuit of a false reality. They are in pursuit of hiding from themselves and everyone else. How could this be admirable behavior? No the liar is only admirable in their profound ability to lie to themselves and everyone else. I know this because I was once a terrible liar. I still tell small lies here and there (traces of lying are impossible to get rid of) but I am now in a committed pursuit of truth. I want to live in truth and am always trying to be as blatantly honest as I can be. I know what it feels like to live a lie and don’t want to go back to that. I do not know how much time I have left on planet earth and I want my time here to be lived in as much truth and authenticity as is possible. But I am always being confronted with liars. Liars are everywhere and as someone who was once a terrible liar and is no longer one, it is impossible not to see the liars everywhere. You can not hide something from someone who used to be that thing. They can smell it and see it from a mile away. They know what it looks like as well as they know what their own face looks like. To try to keep your lying from someone who was once a master liar is impossible. I can smell your lies everywhere and it makes it difficult to like you. Just like I always deceived others I can smell you deceiving me. I do not like how it feels. I get angry and resentful and want to kill you. That is how much I despise liars. But I am not a violent man and would never kill anyone. So I sit with my rage and disdain. I have to live with it and swallow it. If I tell a liar what I am upset about they will immediately become enraged. Any time a liar is confronted with the truth of who they are, any time they are shown how their behavior is seen by someone else- they will become wickedly angry. A liar is so stuck in their own lies that to become confronted with the truth and consequence of their behavior is too much. It is unacceptable. It threatens to blow their entire facade. They get too close to the tremendous fear they feel about being seen for who they really are. Lets grow up liars. Lets work on being this person who you really are. Lets stop the cowardice. Lets stop being like everyone else. This life is for being who you are. Lets rebel against the American Way by being truthful in everything we do and say (this is the most important form of rebellion). If there is so much fear around being who you are, see that this fear is destroying your life. Well, maybe it is not destroying your life. Maybe it is making your life easier since everyone else is living a lie. Since America has become the Republic Of Liars. Maybe it is the one who is committed to truth who is at risk of destroying their life. That is fine. I would not have it any other way. I could not possibly go back to living the lie.

Toilet Rumination #113

Dear dad. I am composing this letter to you in my head while I am sitting on the toilet. How are you? I am doing ok. It is day-to-day with me. Somedays are very difficult and I am terrified by cancer, heart disease, my wife fucking up our entire lives and not having enough money. Other days I am just happy to be alive and do not think about these things. I think that nothing lasts forever and I should just have fun now because sooner or later all will be gone. This is a good head space to be in but if I stay in it for too long I freak out. But I have been using marijuana. I vaporize it from the moment I wake until the moment I sleep. It is helpful. It helps me to feel better, worry less, get the things I need to get done, feel more pleasure and have more sex. My wife has been giving me a lot of oral sex recently. Last night she gave me oral sex for an hour as I watched cam girls on my laptop and got very stoned. It was great. I slept like a baby and had no worries in the world. Everything is good enough now. I am trying to make my living as a writer and artist but I understand this will take a lifetime. In the meantime I am just hustling. I am doing what I have to do to survive but I really do not give a rats ass about the work I do. I am just pretending. I am just hustling the general public. Trying to make enough money to get by so I can keep living the life I want to live. It is not difficult to hustle people. They are suckers. If things look a certain way they will buy in. So I go with the stupidity of other people and try to make as much as I can. Of course I do a good job in my work. I work hard and am completly drained by the end of the week. Hustling takes everything out of a person but its my only choice. I refuse to buy into this peice of shit system.  I know you don’t like this. You are a successful and upstanding man. A retired surgeon of the highest order. People think you are amazing. But we both know you are completely full of shit. We know that all that money you have made has allowed you to hide behind this false image. In reality we both know that you are an asshole. You are a fake son of a bitch who treats his wife like shit. You are angry all the time because you know you sold out. You know you are not doing what you want to be doing even though you will deny it till your death. We both know that you basically hate your life. You feel so alone (like I do). The fact that you are always making such an effort to point out how wonderful your life is is a dead give away that your life sucks. We both know this dad. Yes, you have a huge, modern home in a very exclusive mountain community. Yes, everyone around you is very wealthy. Yes, it appears that you have made it in your life. It is so beautiful everywhere around you, how could your life possibly stink of shit? But it does dad. We both know this. You are a fool and a liar. But I know you think you are the shit. But you have been conned by a society that wants you to believe that happiness is to be found in status, material possessions and money. But you know it’s bullshit. You know that all your rich friends are miserable assholes. How empty and vapid it all is, right? I know you don’t like me saying any of this and I am sorry. I just want to be honest with you about how full of shit you are. It makes me very uncomfortable to be around because I have to pretend like I am buying into and enjoying your bullshit. But whatever. I let you do you. I let you be you even though you can’t let anyone be themselves. You hold everyone to an impossible standard. Everyone needs to meet your exact needs. This is why you are a son of a bitch. A messed up mother f_____r. You have your good sides as well. I know. You do nice things for people. But you are still an entitled, rich asshole. I am only telling you all of this because in a few days I will be visiting you. I will be driving the twelve hours to come stay in your beautiful abode for a few days. It will be nice to live like the rich for a few days. But just know that I would rather not come. I don’t like being in that place where you live. But I am not very thrilled about the place that I live in either. I want to get out of here for a while. I want to go someplace different. I am sick of where I live. It is human bondage. I want to get lost for awhile. Escape from the prison of this life. But it is just important to me that I let you know how I feel before I arrive. I don’t want to have to be full of shit like you this time. Just want to let you know where I stand, and I hope that we can have a good time. I am looking forward to having you pay for everything. I am looking forward to all the free good food and booze. I am looking forward to being in the snow and mountains. I am looking forward to getting the hell away from this place I live in and going to your magical paradise. I am not looking forward to seeing you and all your fake friends but that is ok. I am sure we will have a nice time. See you in a few days. Take care dad.

Toilet Ruminations #103

Good towels are important. I am always in a worse mood when the towels grow old and dirty. When my towels are old and dirty I feel poor. I imagine that those who are poor live with dirty and old towels. But I understand this is presumption on my part. I am sure there are many rich people who are too lazy to indulge their ability to have nice and clean towels. They are most likely miserable and depressed as I once was (and sometimes still am). I once had great towels. I had the best towels money could buy. I was a successful psychologist and had enough money to afford good towels. I would buy new towels every few months. I would throw out the old ones. Few things helped me to confront the weight of the work day ahead like a good towel after my morning shower. But I have quit being a psychologist. I could handle it no more. I have worked many jobs in my life. Terrible, low-level jobs. None were worse than being a psychologist. When I was working as a psychologist I looked upon my days working as a waiter or a shoe salesman with great envy and romanticism. Being a psychologist was tormenting. I suffered terribly. My hair grayed and thinned. I got testicular cancer. I knew this could be the case when I was in graduate school and saw two of my professors who worked as psychologists get sick and pass away. I knew then that being a psychologist was not healthy when my therapist’s mentor, who was a psychologist, jumped from a bridge. That there was something fundamentally toxic about working the job. But I stuck with it. I needed the money and the social legitimacy. And I tried. For many years I was a very successful psychologist. I had waiting lists. I saw ten clients a day, four days a week. People knocked on my door to meet me and try to get a session while I was in session with someone else. I was miserable. It was sickening sitting there, stuck in chair, stuck listening to the banality and monotony of other people’s problems, all the day. There is nothing more tormenting and banal than other people’s problems. The worst part of my work as a psychologist was having to be happy to see each client. To treat each client like they were my first client of the day when in reality, after my second client, I was not happy to see my third client. It was tormenting. Having to be fake to keep my reputation good. Having to care about people I could not stand. Having to have conversations with people who were so boring that they could make glaciers melt with their words. No, I am a psychologist no more. It was not the right fit for me. I am already a person who is not fit for human interaction. I had no business being a psychologist. What a miserable career. But now I do not own many nice towels. The towels I do have were once nice. A relic from my more economically prosperous days. But towels age just like we do. Now that I am not a psychologist I can not afford the luxuries. When I was a psychologist I had a multitude of luxuries but could not enjoy them. I have to make do with the towels I have for now. I try to take care of them. I try to slow their aging. As a result of once being a successful psychologist I have collected an arsenal of nice things. Nice clothes, nice furniture, nice eye glasses, nice stereo equipment and on and on. But now that I am not a psychologist I must preserve the nice things I acquired as a result of my miserable job. It’s ok. Luxuries did not make me happy. After the initial thrill of buying a nice thing wore off I lost interest in it. I am better off preserving what I have. But good towels did make me happy for a period of time. I miss the presence of good towels. New towles. There are consequences from the choices we make

Facebook Status Update #1

I notice that it is difficult for me to allow myself to be really happy. To let my life be really good. There is something in me that says, “No you can’t do this. You are not allowed to be really happy and good or else something bad will happen.” It is as if I fear letting my guard all the way down and being really happy with my life (because then maybe I have more to lose). I have to make a real effort, like using a muscle, to really allow myself to be happy. It is like doing something that I am afraid of. For most of my life I sabotaged my happiness. The unhappiness felt safe. But now I am getting to a point where I can allow myself to feel the happiness, to let the happiness in, to feel like my life is really good and to not fuck it all up.

The Blogger


I am a 47-year-old blogger.

I am attractive and like really odd literature and music. I am an outsider. At least that is how I like to imagine myself. In the lineage of Burroughs, Brautigan, Negativland and A Clockwork Orange.

Most of my time is spent reading and writing and listening to music and just wandering around with headphones on. Basically avoiding adult life as much as possible. I know this is not what a responsible 47-year-old should be doing.

But I am a blogger. The moment I become responsible and average I will not like what I write.

Most of my literary output comes in spurts. It is not consistent and disciplined. It is fragmented and micro-dosed. This is what is called blogging.

I blog because it suits my ADHD riddled brain. It is difficult for me to stay consistent with anything for an extended period of time. Even a wife. It feels like death when I do anything for too long.

Blogging is a nice compromise. I can write these brief and fragmented entries and post them. In time I hope they add up to a larger whole. It is how I trick myself into writing a long book.

Blogging is how I trick myself into writing a long book.

This is the hope. This is the intention. This is the dream.

After 30 years of trying to write novels I have had to find a different approach. I seem to be incapable of writing a novel. I finish first drafts but the idea of going back to them and editing feels like extracting teeth. I can’t seem to do it.

Blogging has been a method that seems to work for my abortive mind.

I have been blogging consistently for 11 years. Nothing has come of it. Few read what I write. I think that what I write is too incomprehensible to the uncreative and untormented mind. Most prefer more practical things.

Maybe I am just terrible at marketing.

I have two other blogs filled with hundreds of entries. These blogs float around in digital space like lonely islands no one ever visits. That is fine. I know that one day these islands will be discovered and colonized. I know that all good things come in time. My only job as a blogger is to keep writing and posting.

“Everything is going fine. No trouble. Just get set and get going.” This is what I tell myself every time it comes to writing a blog entry. It is easy to get discouraged when after 11 years of blogging you have no more readers than the day you started. I have to remind myself why I am doing this (to write a longer book). I have to keep myself from being discouraged.

Maybe I need to quit blogging. Maybe by quitting blogging I would be happier and more productive in my life. It is discouraging to be a blogger that few read. If I quit I would not have to deal with that feeling of defeat. I remind myself that if 1 person reads something I post, that is enough.

People do not understand what a blogger is. A blogger is not someone who writes and posts self-help or personal growth essays. A blogger is not someone who posts about politics, current events, music or technology. These people are just opportunists trying to use blogging as a way to make money and be known. They are hacks.

A blogger is someone who writes about what they think and how they feel. A blogger is taking off their clothes and exposing their inner life. Sometimes a blogger will make art out of their life by embellishing certain experiences they have. Maybe a blogger will even make up stories about themselves. Whatever the case, a blogger will always tell the truth about themselves. A blogger seeks out c=therapuetic (therapuetic catharsis) through blogging. An antidote to chaos, anonymity and the status quo. A blog is a location that deviates away from more traditional forms of publishing and as a result allows a blogger to freely unbosom themselves without critique. This is what blogging is. This is what it was meant to be before the hacks took over.

I am a blogger and will continue to try to communicate with you in the most authentic way I have found. That is the point of blogging. That is what a blogger does. The blog is a secret weapon againts absolute conformity. It challenges the way you think because I am free to express myself.

The blogger.