I didn’t mean to land in all of this infamy. The thing about it is, a lot of people will look at my situation and say, “I don’t know what he’s talking about; he’s hardly an anybody. He’s never been on Dennis Cooper’s list, and every book that came out in the year that his came out ended up on it. I mean, Dennis reads everything. This guy just pops up, out of nowhere… Does he even have a sponsor? Manuel? What about the rest of the crew?”
“They hate him.”
“Oh, well, see: that says everything. He’s just a pet writer. A real publisher’s type of writer. Probably thinks he’s writing for the future. Posterity. James Franco. Derek, please come back. The show is off the air without you. I mean, I’m losing it. You’re over here writing about boxing, your beard grown out, and your shirt unbuttoned. I had to turn it off. I wasn’t mentioned in anybody’s list of memorable MLC moments, and I almost got hit by a car!”
“You see, this is why I left.” he says. “I seriously hope that he does get better when he gets on medication. It’s a low bar. As long as the psychiatrist doesn’t end up giving him the motivation he doesn’t actually want to commit suicide, then he’s going to clear it. It’s sad, really; but I mean, great book. Yeah, man. Four stars. You’ll rarely if ever see me give anything higher than that. I’ve told all of my friends about you. What more can I do for you, man? You’ve dug this grave yourself.”
“Nuh-uh.” I retort. “It’s the mental illness. It’s what’s caused me to be like this my whole life. I’ve had to have shown signs since I was at least seven. I’ll dump Theresa if you want. I don’t have much want for long term friendships. So long as I can hang my hat on their complete and total turning themselves over to me, then I’m fine. Once I know that I’ve touched the core of their soul, I’m good for life with that subject. That’s plumb bottom. There ain’t nothing there left for an innovator like myself to excavate. I’m not in the market for an archivist. I’ve got the internet at my disposal for that, sweetheart. I’m not in the market for dead horses. I like to break young bucks. I like to watch the virginal cumming. It’s the disorder man. I can only stand a source for just a couple of showings. You can ram your ass. You can make the dildo wider and wider. Cram every hole. Roll around in shit. Depravity will keep me coming back for more, but I’d chuck all that deep cutting album fodder for just one more breath of veal breathed up life into my iron lungs. Without it, I’m not living. I’m an automaton. A CEO. An entrepreneur. I’m worse than a nine-to-fiver. I’m here from six to six. I’ve got children at home. A wife who doesn’t understand me. A cult clawing their eyes out for my next word. I’ve got mouths to feed. Sometimes though, I’m hungry for that next thrill. A little strange. But, go. Run away, Coward. I don’t know what more I could have expected to get from you. A complete surrender, I suppose. Skate city awaits. Choose the right side of this war. No point living in the heart of darkness. Your boat’s going to come in, bud — I guess. I’m really trying to be upfront about everything. Maybe we could say that we got everything out of each other that we really could have hoped to receive. Stay too long at a party and you’re going to get stale. Just look at me every Friday, watching those with more important things to do drop out. Just a couple drunk weirdos chatting about coffee or coffee shop attendants. Social stickiness. That’s what they call it. No more for me. I want to wake up. I’m ready to move on from all of that.”
