- i cannot imagine a different life/ the one i’ve had still scares me half 2 death/ i am worn out/ all the things you’re not supposed to say/ impotence/ it’s another one of those unspeakables/ i have no knowledge how the list of the unspeakables is computatedated/ like someone’s lover is a sadist whoever the fuck gets to decide what it’s okay 2 say; do i really need to know this person god no i only know those bitches who are out there defending the status quo to their teeth/ mainly because the status quo is run by the men who fervently believe they are, indeed, the alpha of the wolf pack — it can all be managed all it takes is toughness — and anyone else who does not keep up with this part of the pack can go fuck themselves if i had it to do over again, i would have no friends, nor would i need them i do not need them if you need a friend get a dog i am not a good friend i am not even a good companion/ my friends tend to go on at great length as to how hard life is 2 live, but i already know that, and i tend to know it 2 my tits because i live with a walking version of it, and this is not a fucking party/ it gets very grim/ i am always treading water here, and i do listen to people carry on about how tough it is, having just come off some stupid kid who is only now beginning his medication when it seems to be making him ill, and, often, art, and the act of making it and how the camera speaks to the past because the past is what any camera produces and in hubris calls art, and all art i said all art is a lie but especially art that implies anything like a future because when you look back, which is what art does (too often), you mainly find yourself quite alone and it is okay/ it is okay with me to be impotent although i was in the past of the opinion that for life to be lived — the act of sex — had to have some value attached so i am quite, almost shocked 2 say, i don’t miss it, sex is overrated, i love how i can slide into a project and focus like a laser beam and it can only be done without a hint of sex, and my critics say i am antisex, which is patently absurd, i just don’t miss it; i don’t feel compelled by it, it’s all very strange but nice, it’s something i can walk away from, and even laugh, and all of the self-appointed critics are beneath contempt, even the dead ones, we all die alone, and we can admit it, we live our lives alone as well, and i do not mind it in fact i welcome it, and i am glad to not have anything to do with it one way or the other, and if you read sex into what i do, it’s because you are bouncing off your own internal stuff and none of it whatsoever belongs to or was created by me/ just me/ it will probably be dark, dark is what i do but why is the darkness 2 difficult 2 endure, it’s only darkness, darkness can be quite comforting and it’s true that i keep people around because they amuse me, and i am having fun with them, and i am not asking anyone to understand jack shit, i am not alone in this i am alone in this mainly because what i do only requires one person/ and if it requires a multitude there is a multitude and it’s about what we can do together that holds me tightly to the thing, and i am acutely aware of the reality that the people who think they know you the you of you is just another dog on the edges of the reservoir/ turns out, they don’t know you/ but they have formed judgments i can live without they are NOT your therapist because they’re just not, and you don’t need a therapist, honey, what you need is a double bombay gin martini up with a twist, and a weekend BY YOURSELF on Ipanema Beach in Rio de Janeiro/ it’s in brazil/
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