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At thirty-five you visited your first S&M bar, and while said wife was home singing lullabies, you were watching women get chained to a stone wall and tortured. (Then went to a hotel and made your lover du jour get down on her knees and present her ass merchandising for you to fuck, and she cried, and you got impatient and never saw her again, you cold bastard.) At forty-two you described both incidents to me while I was bleeding from your teeth, burnt from your candles, still cuffed merchandising to your apartment-in-the-city bed. Oh, but I loved those stories. You merchandising weren't even touching me when you told them, and I swear I almost came. ECSTASY BEGINS WHERE HORROR IS SLOUGHED OFF "That struggle and inequality are present even in beauty, and also war for power and more power . . . How divinely vault and arches break through each other in a wrestling match; how they strive against each other with light and shade, the godlike strivers-with such assurance and beauty let us be enemies too, my friends!
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