You go in like a boxer. That's the only way to make art. Because art isn't a fucking job. I know it's been co-opted, and I do hope we live in a future that doesn't need art—I really do. That would mean that all emotion has been perfectly articulated and thence made unnecessary. It's nice to think of that, but I think we're just a blip on the evolutionary scale. We think we're so awesome but we haven't figured out anything. We still speak and think in symbols. Our entire reality is just metaphor—jeez that's depressing! We forget all the time that language is just a way to sort things in our head and we get caught most of the time thinking that our words are real things, rather than just barely past being onomatopoeic multi-syllabic grunts that sorta-kinda-maybe signify what we could be thinking if we were to think more visually instead of just representationally...
But I don't want this to be clock-punching. I don't want you to feel any clock-punching-ness when you're reading, I mean I feel like that every time I see a movie these days. There's just been something about greatly made, hour-long TV shows that has made movies just the most tedious fucking things that exist in art right now. Anything over an hour and a half is just untenable for today. And if I am going to spend that long with something I'd rather it be a book. And the only movies that I have liked recently were ones that all would have been better served by being mini-series, because if it was good at all then I just want more time with those characters, and then if it sucks then it's just an excruciating amount of time to be spending with anything. And I guess what I'm saying is that with movies coming out now I totally feel the clock-punching-ness of every second of them.
This was totally, originally, all supposed to be all very practical sorta info for you, lots of statistics and shit about the average person who moves to New York, how long it will take on average to find a job, and how the average age of the average person moving to New York is very average. Do you care about that stuff? If you genuinely do then I'll give you some great things to type into Google, because, truth be told, I do sort of kick ass at Google. So, if that's what you want then I'll totally make a list of shit for you to Google on your own. I'm sure it will make this a lot more salable. You know, like a point of a point of a percentage above zero... wonderful. But I really don't want to write that book. I thought I did. That was actually like my "fallback" writing plan, because the last book length thing that I wrote was all about how I want to kill myself all the time, except with anything that could be mistaken as humorous or even mildly amusing taken out... so it's just a really long suicide note, which, ya know, I like, but not really sure how "viable" a "product" that is. Who knows, if you guys want to read it (all two of you who have made it this far) then let me know and I'll start putting them up.
I think it's pretty interesting because a lot of it is a lot of the same stuff that I've mentioned in this book, just taken from another one of my moods, which, I always thought I might do anyway, just because—you know, like the stuff I was talking about last time about the only thing left to report on is what's in our heads, and I really think that most of the action stays pretty much the same, which is enough of an achievement in itself if my stories haven't mutated so much with each telling that they're unrecognizable by the time I get to them for the third or fourth times—but I do very much like seeing how my different moods make everything come out differently... maybe I will end up doing this. Just like every five years or so just rewrite these stories, sorta like how Kerouac (before he drank himself to death) had envisioned going back through all his books and just making the names uniform so it all was just one continuous storyline instead of separate events. Well, I'd like to just retell the same story over and over and see how my mindset at the time changes the way I tell the same thing. That and it's always fun to see what moods produce what details.
Most of my moods just produce more memories of assholes—literal assholes. The second I started thinking "memory" I just envisioned the asshole of every girl that I've had sex with. Like in a row, in little segmented boxes, like CCTV footage of each close-up asshole bent over as I'm fucking them. Is that what your memory looks like? I bet it does now. One of the best friends that I've ever had, he used to ask me questions like, "You ever wonder what the President's asshole smells like?" And it wasn't to be gross or as a joke, it was a very real question. And, now I do wonder that, and I'm sure you will, too, but it's those sort of details that I love to get out of everything. I like knowing what people think about. Like another thing that I'm always fascinated by, is I love knowing what curse-words people say to themselves. It's so telling of who they really are. Ask anybody you're around next, or ask your friends if you've never asked them, the answers you get are amazing. It sort of fits into my list of attributes I've discovered that can tell you everything you need to know about someone's true personality, like who that person is down to the very core.
I know I've talked about them already but I'm talking about them again because I do believe that it's very real. The first (of course) is how they fuck, or, more precisely, what makes them cum. The second is driving with someone in heavy, but fast-paced traffic. This is them under pressure and semi-isolated, what better way to see who someone really is (sorta the inverse of knowing what gets them off). And the third, is the one I just talked about, what pejoratives people say to themselves. If they say things like "CockBallsAssfuck," then you're dealing with a normal human. If they say stuff to themselves like, "DarnitAllMotherFlower," to themselves... just run like Hell.
Okay, so I just had to piss and I was thinking about how—you may have noticed—that I do go into "florid" detail about sex. But that's probably because remembering sex is so much more fun than actually having sex. God, it's so much fucking effort just to put your dick into someone, it's not worth it. But I've got this whole bank of the times I've had sex in my life that are so much more fun to think about than having to go out and try to have sex in the present. And if you're smart about it, you can get most people to fuck on camera now, which is like being able to free-base sex, because you can just watch the part that makes you cum, which is you cumming in/on them, and then you avoid all the displeasure both before and after... and you only have to clean up yourself. And, if you're like me, you rarely fuck people over 30, so that way all of your videos are of young 20-somethings getting their faces cummed on BY YOU!
Speaking of which, now back to Anna since that will get us back to Brooke, and then to New York (which you could have moved to and back about 50 times by now had you not been reading this "How to," but thank you anyways for your patronage...). Oh! Great! This actually gets me (sorta) to the end of Anna (been there), because she was a summer fling. She was going back to college at the end of this summer, she was 27 (I think) when we were dating and teaching wasn't really her "thing" or something, and really, if college is good for anything, and it really is only good for this one thing, and that is falling in love with girls in March and then by the time they've given you enough time to learn to hate them... they're off to school! Bye! See ya later! Try not to fuck too many frat-boys! Get the FUCK outta here already! So Anna was off to college and now I could try to resume my real relationship with Brooke now that I wasn't having to hide things from two girls. But for the first few days I missed having someone to fuck in the ass before I skipped off to work at the next building over, and I attempted to start a long-distance thing with Anna as well as Brooke, and, as you well know I'm sure, any long-distance relationship starts off with the mutual trust building exercise of the telephonic transmission of naked pictures. So I sent Anna some picture of me with my hard dick in my hand in a full length mirror with a glistening pearl of cum at the tip of my penis, you know, something that could be incriminating... esp. to those of us who still had other girlfriends.
And Anna sends me a close-up picture of her right tit. BOOOOOOOO!!! BOO! BOO! FAIL! BOO! So I called her and told her I didn't love her anymore and I didn't think a long-distance relationship was gonna work yadda-yadda-yadda...
Now I'm monogamous to Brooke again. See? Like magic. But Anna was the gateway to fuck from which a relationship can never return. Because really, honestly, someone could kiss someone else and you could get mad at them—really, really mad, but there would still be room for forgiveness. Maybe. But after you've fucked someone else some kind of chemical gate has been opened in the brain that there is no human knowledge of how to close. And then fucking other people becomes your answer for every tiny little misgiving you have with the other person.
"You burned my toast I'M GONNA FUCK SOMEONE ELSE!"
"You made me wait in the car an extra 30 seconds I'M GONNA FUCK SOMEONE ELSE!"
"You didn't get us good enough seats at the dinner you paid for I FUCKED YOUR SISTER!"
It can never end after that. And who knows what the other person would even go through (that's why you don't tell them), this is just the fucker—not even the fucked over—who's got all this emotional detritus to deal with just from fucking other people, esp. for the reasons I was fucking these other people that was just so I would have fucked the same amount of people as Brooke, which could never even really work how I wanted it to because I never wanted to be broken up with Brooke, so I would never have a time in which to tell her that I had caught up to her, lest I forfeit the relationship right then and there, therefore negating the whole point of fucking these other people because the real whole point was so that she would know that I had caught up to her, because it turned out that just me knowing that I had fucked as many people as she had was not enough to quell my, once again, oh so pathetic (but very, very real) envies.
And this is another good way to know if you were really in love with someone or not, is if you want them to know if you cheated on them after you're broken up with that person. When Brooke and I broke up I was still terrified of her finding out that I had fucked other people because I still wanted to be with her so badly that I didn't want to do anything that would jeopardize the chance of a second-chance. I couldn't wait for the Cretin to know that I had fucked Brooke while we were together just because I wanted her to know that she never meant shit to me and not only do I not want a second-chance with her, I want her to know that the whole time we were together that I was just completely using her for her money... TA-DA! I'm basically the Lewis & Clark of modern day romance.