so please, please please

let me, let me, let me
let me get what I want, this time


The funny thing about infidelity, because of course it is all funny, is that it rarely starts out as infidelity. It doesn't, generally, start out with a hotel room and work backwards. It starts out with a pen. A receipt. A line. A bus stop. Maybe it starts out with a bit of unexpected free time and a common direction, an umbrella. And now we go on from here.

I like infidelity. I think it is fantastic. I like it in the way that I like the atom bomb. Or the ebola virus. Something so small, so, so small, capable of such amazing destruction. I have to almost respect anything that powerful. How can you take a paperclip and use it to destroy the world? Here's how, it will be fun. And not just the people around you right now, but the people that they will meet and the people that those people will meet, and on and on, around and around until you forget where it all started, with a fucking paperclip.

They don't mean to do it, see. They rarely mean to do it. That is not enough. You have to mean not to do it. Actively pursue the not doing of it. Flee from doing it. Not just it, but things leading up to it. You should not have been in that kitchen in the first place, and you know it. You should not have been in that car, you should not have been on that couch, you should not have been in that fucking hot tub what did you think was going to happen? What did you think was going to happen? And where was your wife, your girlfriend, your children your fucking dog, where were the people that you are sworn to protect? Why were they not there, somewhere, in your head, stopping you? Where was your ring? My name is tattooed on your arm, how could you forget me? But you didn't mean to do it. I do not think that is true. I think that at a certain point, even if someone took you by the arm and said Hey, before you do this, know that it will rip to bits everything that you love and everything that loves you and you will lose everything you know and you will be something that you aren't yet, something that you could stop, you could stop right now and none of that would happen just stop right now, I think that you would have done it anyway. At which point yes, you meant to do it. Because you knew those things. Everyone knows those things. You do not get to be an adult, or an adolescent, or a fucking monk without knowing those things. You mean to do it. Even if I am not there stopping you, that knowledge is there stopping you. You are there, stopping you.

But it does not stop. And it does not stop there. It's like a drop in a lake, you see? Like a butterfly's wings. Small and delicate. Doubt. Wispy, wonderful worry. Because everybody knows. Everybody knows. We know, we just don't want to believe and can't prove it, so we worry. We worry when you are late. Why are you late, is there someone else? We worry when you are on time. Why are you on time, is it because you don't want me to know there is someone else? We worry when you do something less than fabulous. Why did you kick that flat tire, is it because now you are going to be late to someone else? We worry when you do something good. Why did you give me that, is it because you feel guilty because there is someone else? Worry. All the time. And it eats at you, it eats at your guts and it eats at your brain and it eats at your confidence and your self esteem until you are no longer yourself, you are this fragile, keening thing and it's no wonder he flees from you, you are nothing, nothing. Nothing. Because of this thing. Because of a paperclip.

And it does not get better. You can't fix it. It will not. Go. Away. It will never go away. It is always there, somewhere, talking to you and telling you that things aren't what they seem or even more fun, that they are exactly what they seem. Nevermind that this one is good. Nevermind that he would sooner put his own eyes out than do that to me, or anyone. Nevermind that, brain, talk to me. Rip me up, and in so doing rip him up, because it will. It will snake into his brain just like mine, because he will be the one to suffer for it. Just like me. It will be a team effort and it will be fun. It will be fucking fun, won't it? Let's see how long I can go without getting that desperate look and let's see how long you can go before you figure it out and last one in's a rotten egg. All because of you, and your fucking paperclip. All because of you, and your fucking selfish stupidity. All because of you and your not getting hit by a train when you should have, because this, this is a thousand times worse. This is infectious. This is oily. Widows have grief, I have disease. And you are still out there, still out there. You don't have the generosity to just fucking die.

I am not going to fuck this up. I am not going to do it. I am actively, actually not going to do it. Because this, this is what I want. I know better than to wish for it or hope for it or even look directly at it, but what I will do is not let you near it, with your sticky hands and your tendrils that come from nowhere. This is not the same. Not the same.

in you I wrap a thousand onward years

It is not one of his best poems. It is not even one of his better poems, in my opinion. Which is admittedly not highly regarded on things like poetry or art. Because I know nothing about poetry or art. What I do know about, though, is that sentiment. I understand it. I embrace that, as unseemly and non progressive as it may be, I know what he is saying and reading it, hearing it from someone else, years and years later, makes me think that maybe I am not so far off in holding on to things like that. I would say that it is an understanding of those things that is what I am after.

It is. I'd go on about, you know, kindness and humor and the ability to take me to the mat Scrabble-wise, but this is really where I separate them. Friends on one side, friends, brothers, accomplices. And you over there. Because it will probably not be a whole group of people on that side. Because it really isn't a popular sentiment. That single minded purpose. That tunnel vision. That honing in on one thing, that one thing, that you can take and see and stretch into something more than it is right now, something longer, something different. Something not at all casual or cool, which is how I keep fucking thinking I am supposed to be. But this thing matters to me, an understanding of what that's like, what that is, and the assurance that it's all right to want it and chase it and refuse to be without it. Because, failing that, how do they understand anything? Anything at all?

And that's really what I want. Understanding. For you to know what it's like. Because then you will know what I'm like, and these things will make sense. I would like for you to know what it's like to lose everything. Because then you will understand why I hold to things the way I do. I would like for you to have come to the realization that nothing was what you thought, nothing was what it seemed, and everything that you believed was wrong. Then you will understand why I seek clarification and reassurance. I would like for you to know what it feels like to have your whole life mapped out, not every single turn or rest stop but a general direction, a plan, and then see that plan wiped out. Then you will understand why I hesitate to make those plans.

These are things that I want, Bread guy. These are things that would make all the difference. Because I try it, I try to be cool and easy. The reality, though, is that I do this. I wrap. I hope. I shoot for something bigger than this, because I know that it's there and we can have it, and I know that I'm capable of it. Not everyone wants that. I do. I want to focus, not my whole life but that whole section of my life. I want to narrow the beam and have something that is ours, just ours, something that is good by itself but better as part of something more. A thousand years. A life.

you wanna sleep with common people

you wanna sleep with common people like me


I had a shitty weekend. It was, yeah, kind of shitty. In a really not important way. Some guy is dumb. All right. My friend had a shitty weekend. My other friend is having a shitty, well, yeah. I hope that gets better. My other friend is not getting married. My other friend seems to have lost his mind completely. My other friend appears to be missing, he can't even find himself. And she is sick. And he is moving out. And on and on, all the time, it seems.

I wonder if anyone, anywhere, has it as good as we have it. Look, we are swimming in shit. However we are still happy. Aren't we happy? I am. I can still go to any of five houses any time and be cool. I can still call any of ten numbers and be cool. I am never alone if I don't want to be. I am happy sitting in a coffee shop all by myself for three hours and you know why? Because I am never really by myself. Not in any real way. Because there is a real by yourself, and if you don't know what it is then you are both better and worse off for it. Because it is not fun. But it is also important to know how bad things can get, I think. But check us out, I'm always amazed. I know I talk about it a lot, but I am always surprised at how lucky we are.

And when someone, someone else, it doesn't even matter who, just that they are 'else', fucks me about, I don't mind as much. Not because, you know, I have this network to fall back on, because that's neither the way it is nor the way I see it. But when those things happen, rather than slipping into something horrible, I go Oh, man. You just blew something huge and you do not even know it. You can have your arrogance and your condescension and your dismissal, I will keep my knowing stare and secret smile and you can wonder why I don't seem as upset as you would expect. Because it is, truly, your loss. Not because I am fantastic, not because I am the pearl of great price, but because all those things that you said you wanted, I already have them. I have a key. I know the secret knock. I have a tattoo of an egg that will get me in at any hour and guess what. I am not going to respond to that last. I appreciate that you were hasty. I appreciate that you would reconsider. But I also know that I can be just as arrogant, if I care to. Just as dismissive, maybe even more. Because I don't actually neeeeed anything. Anything.