They said something like, "wear a condom if you gaze into the abyss, because Cheever, the abyss stares right back, right into your own hole." And me, like Mr Clairol, trying to create a natural red, to support one blue, and stymie the other, under a pretense of gross expenditures, that now, so close to the big crunch, we become "budget hawks."
Light in August. Joe Christmas, self-hating orphan, telling the prostitutes, before they collected his money, "I'm a ni**er", then getting run off before they collect. As Faulkner took pains to explain, the white half hated the other, and the black half hated it's other. He just, shut his mouth and ate toothpaste in the middle of the night, hiding in the darkness, feeling for once, at home.
And in such placid moods, I non-chalantly named a lady friend's dildo this morning.
Like, meeting the universe on its own terms, you know? Fire with fire, love for love's own sake, four in the console, one in the seat. There but for my own swerve, and then the Long Road Home, back to the monkish virtues I embrace so well, knowing there will be fallout from the recent "seeing". The little girl will be ostracized. Shunned for having seen me(not the friend I mentioned earlier).
"Out damned spot" a spritz of hand sanitizer, looking almost like fountain syrup or Caro. "How much blood the king had!"
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