November 25, 2022
On Literary Gape
Erotically speaking gape horrifies us, for it stretches and deforms a young man’s anus into what we suspected it was all along, an abyss, so that his arsehole is like a star dying and exploding into a black hole. We prefer our lads to be tight as the proverbial eye of a needle, so that as we enter them we feel like rich men being inexplicably welcomed into the kingdom of heaven.
November 24, 2022
Reading about sex is among the most boring things one could ever do. Middle-aged Wasps and their first-time memories. Those numbing descriptions of dry fucks. Pussy awe. Self-consciousness. The echoing strains of the Star-Spangled Banner. It is sickening. That whole generation, all of it. The fumbling, hesitations, the discomfort, the guilt, and the endless cocktails. I’d much prefer perverts like William Burroughs, Paul Bowles, or Henry Miller. The Long Island prep-schools …any of them,
November 23, 2022
I couldn’t write this before, but I can now. My dad has been dead for 45 years, but my brother Paul was still alive until a few weeks ago. I suppose I could have written this and not shown it to anyone, but somehow writing it would have put the story of Paul and Dad into the air currents, which in my mind could have carried the story to Paul,
November 22, 2022
My phone lights up. I have a new text from my aunt, a famous journalist. We haven’t spoken in a while. A cursory glance at her message is enough to let me know that the news isn’t good. I am filled with foreboding.
There are screenshots.
She has just been contacted out of the blue by a young woman whom I guess I would describe as a family friend,