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cinema, bc independant media, venues, fucking free, t shirt hell, sauna, lampoon, metrotimes, message, thestranger, e cards, stranger,
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wife and high crouching tiger school back-of-your-car crouching tiger fucks? And when G.B. walked into my dreams waving his testosterone stick all over the place, I thought of you thinking of literature as religion's heir, and wonder if you fancied me and my stories as some Christ figure you could put on the cross and still call yourself an atheist and not feel like Marx would spit on you if he met you on the street. But he would anyway, crouching tiger wouldn't he, since if I can be like Jesus, I can also be the poor worker you're exploiting with your fat wallet and fast car and male privilege, and don't try to reduce me you son of a bitch cause there's always another side, you know that, you taught it to me. And you'll never read this because if we ever meet again, I'll be too busy trying to have no shame, trying not to be human, but I am, and just thinking about you accidentally when I'm out, about what we did, makes me have to turn around and go home, embarrassed to be seen by anyone on the street, afraid they can smell it on me, that I am a whore.
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