HEALING
I started by writing a poem about it:
“MAIDEN VOYAGE”
On a trip to the beach
I lost my glasses in the ocean and
Took the opportunity to pray
—To Poseidon, the Lorelei, Agwe, La Serene
(Or whatever sea god or monster listening)
Kissed my glasses goodbye and said
“Here’s what I’ve seen . . .”
Blind as fuck
And finally free
I’ve noticed since I’ve lost my glasses
More people flirt with me . . .
Here’s how it started:
It was simple enough. So simple. The simplest. Some referred to him as “Ken Doll” ’cause he really was that perfect and, beyond that, was the fact that he was really sweet. In a world with some many incurable shitheads, a sweet man can get what he wants. Or rather that’s how it should be, but I digress. Two years earlier, I was wasted online and asked him if he wanted to cuddle. He never responded. It surprised me something terrible when he called me and asked if I wanted to ride bikes to the beach. I agreed. Very platonic. He talks about his boyfriend a lot on the ride and since he seems to be an authority (at least to me he reads “boyfriend material” like he should wear it on a T-shirt or get it tattooed on his forehead), I asked him questions about boyfriendship like, what maybe was I doing wrong? He spills his most secret method and I was like, “Oh, that’s why I’m single.” (I wasn’t willing to do any of that shit.) So now I knew. I feel like he can tell I’m heartbroken. We’re naked on the beach, or rather I am, and all the most beautiful fags are there. We go in the ocean and he says “LET’S DIVE IN THIS WAVE!” Okay handsome dude, whatever you say. The coldness of the Pacific sobers me in this way; he looks concerned, “Where are your glasses?” OH SHIT! I dive to look but, of course, they are long gone. The fact that he has to point out that they’re missing sobers me up too in this way, and I love what a total fuckup I am. Beyond the static of lowliness and a million failed romances, I look past the horizon line where the ocean and sky blur. A blue million miles. I take stock. There was the sun, the ocean, this pretty man, and a million more pretty men on the beach. There was friendship and also the realization that I would probably be single the rest of my life. And it was okay, maybe even preferable. And with that little bit I was healed from my two-and-a-half-year depression (if only for that day, which was good enough for me—I had felt so bad so long). I didn’t worry anymore about what I didn’t have.
NATAL CHART
My evil therapist had won. Again. I was coming down off a two-week drinking binge and needed something to whine about, so I scheduled an appointment with my therapist even though that bitch is my worst enemy. I bitched for two hours straight (with vigor) about being thirty, single, with no hope of fitting in and finding a stable mate in sight. “Everybody I date eventually wants to hit me,” I explained. She told me I had to start putting myself in the “boyfriend mindset.” My assignment was to go to Ikea (with my imaginary boyfriend, mind you) and start picking out pieces of cheap (yet cute) Euro-bullshit to decorate our imaginary apartment. I got high, naturally, and was so carried away that before I knew it I was in the parking lot of Ikea with seven-hundred-dollars’ worth of shit I didn’t need and no way to get it back to my imaginary apartment because I didn’t have an imaginary car. I could’ve kicked my imaginary boyfriend’s ass for not taking control of me and the situation. I felt like my therapist had done this on purpose to humiliate me, and it was time to admit that therapy wasn’t working. I had been going to therapy for years and I was still a raging sex addict and a creep. What the fuck was the point? Just as I was about to finally admit that maybe the problem was me, I had another idea: I figured I had a better crack at internal healing if I just paid five dollars and mapped out my natal chart, underlined my negative qualities, and either ignored them or worked on them, so I did. I entered in my information (date of birth, time of birth, location of birth) July 2, 1982, 6:11 p.m., Athens, Alabama . . .
(Things to consider: A Square creates tension between the two planets or points involved. A Trine is when two planets are 120 degrees from each other and are approximately four signs apart. A Conjunction is when it’s two planets that are in the same sign. Opposition is when a planet is in an opposite sign from another planet’s sign. Sextile is when two planets are complimentary, but not the same element.)
Sun in Cancer
He has a strong survival instinct and a reputation for moodiness. He is sensitive and impressionable. He is easily influenced and sometimes manipulative.
Ascendant: Sagittarius
He has grand schemes and big promises, and a willingness to explore. He may be restless and constantly looking for something just out of grasp. He has incredible insights that may be lacking in details. He has an opinion about everything, even when feeling down he still finds humor in life.
Sun in the 8th House
He often goes further and deeper than most. He has a magnetic quality and is attracted to the taboo areas of life.
Square: Sun-Mars
In youth, he could be described as a “bundle of energy” and “can’t sit still.” He meets-up with his fair share of conflict, but does not fear it. He might be hot-headed and temperamental at times. His parents tried to “tame” his excess energy in youth. He meets challenges head on.
Square: Sun-Saturn
He was thwarted from self-expression in the earlier half of life. He feels unlucky at times. Attempts at control might be frequent. He may not always see that he is his own worst enemy. When he expresses egotism in any form some part of him feels guilty. He may possess a sarcastic sense of humor, and an ability to apply caution and strategy.
Moon in Sagittarius
He needs personal space and freedom. It’s hard to stay angry at him. He possesses blind faith. He is generally on the go. He prefers to “wing it.” He takes great risks in throwing himself into the unknown. Bold and rebellious, he may risk everything to achieve his goal.
Moon in the 1st House
He is very sensitive and fantasizes often. He is fearful, shy, and emotional. He must learn to develop an awareness of others’ feelings even if they are not as overt and immediate.
Opposition: Moon-Venus
He may give in to others too easily. He may become friends and lovers with people too readily out of a need for approval and a hunger for affection. He gets involved before considering if he actually likes the person. He sometimes replaces love with food or shopping. He can be intensely sexually active and lustful. He may possess a lazy streak.
Conjunction: Moon-Uranus
His life is out of the ordinary. He has knowledge of the world not through reading, but through experience. He likes to be surrounded by artists.
Mercury in Gemini
He is quick witted. He may come across scattered. He gets bored easily. He has a certain nervous energy.
Mercury in the 7th House
He likes to write. He comes alive verbally with one-on-one conversation.
Opposition: Mercury-Neptune
He makes errors of judgment. He lets things happen. He sometimes retreats to a dream world. He may become a drug taker.
Square: Mercury–Mid-Heaven
He is very sexually active. He has a full sex life.
Venus in Gemini
He will try to win over the object of his affection with witty conversation. He may be fickle in love affairs.
Venus in the 7th House
He tries to maintain peace in relationships to the point of bending over backwards.
Trine Venus-Mars
He is not a peaceful and calm lover
Opposition: Venus-Ascendant
He frequents doubtful company.
Mars in Libra
He is easily excitable. He often criticizes himself.
Conjunction: Mars-Saturn
He has energy and is determined. He is tough and, at times, insensitive.
He is not particularly popular, but is feared and respected.
Jupiter in Scorpio
He looks for deeper meanings in things taboo or mysterious.
Jupiter in the 11th House
He achieves his objectives.
Saturn in Libra
He is not always open to new ideas.
Saturn in the 10th House
His childhood was severe. He wants to have power one step at a time.
Uranus in Sagittarius
He is shy yet bold and lively.
Uranus in the 12th House
He has a hard time adapting to new technology and the modern world.
Conjunction: Uranus-Ascendant
He is inventive.
Neptune in Sagittarius
He likes long voyages and the unknown.
Neptune in the 1st House
He will cure identity issues by taking the artistic path. He may be psychic.
Aquarius in the 3rd House
He likes the new and original. He prefers a life of change.
Scorpio in the 12th House
He wants to investigate other people’s private lives.
DEEP WITCHCRAFT AND POT REVIEWS
1. I was an American Waiter bored at work. I was also a practitioner. I went to my local Wiccan priestess and asked rather earnestly “How do I fuck someone up?” (Willowy enchanted voice) “Young soul, remember the law of threes and that we must always spread peace and love and light.” Clearly this bitch was on one, but if I walked around dressed like Stevie Nicks (circa “Gypsy”) I’d probably feel all peace and love too. I was over all this West Coast woo-woo shit. The spirits crowned above my head wanted WAR. I knew I would have to honor that or face the consequences. I called my aunt back in Alabama who was a Conjure. I love all that nasty Deep South Hoodoo shit because it was meant to kill people. I asked my aunt rather sheepishly, “Auntie, how do I fuck someone up?” “IT’S EASY!” she said. Here’s how:
a.Take an egg “straight from the chicken’s duke.” (I just got an organic one.)
b.Write your enemy’s name on it as small as you can, followed by “run run run.”
c.Go to a non-landlocked body of water and stand with your back to it.
d.Say the sacred chant:
FUCK THAT MOTHERFUCKER
FUCK THAT MOTHERFUCKER
FUCK THAT MOTHERFUCKER
FUCK THAT MOTHERFUCKER
e.Toss the egg over your left shoulder into the water.
I did all this bullshit and breathed a breath of relief. This was the last time Quentin Tarantino was going to assault my senses with his tawdry bullshit ever again.
2. My aunt back in Alabama was a Conjure. She gave me a spell that, if done correctly, would reveal the nature of the universe around me. She instructed me to sleep in white sheets, wrap my head in white, and not have sex. “NOT HAVE SEX?!?!” “Just for a day,” she said, and I calmed the fuck down. I did this and dreamed . . . I dreamed of my wedding day. I looked up the stairs of the church and went with my bridesmaids to have them assist me in putting on my wedding dress. But then like a hot poker, the voice of reason kicked in and said Are you fucking kidding me? Dude, FUCK THIS . . . I ran out of the church, threw my wedding dress in a dumpster, and hightailed it for my life. I woke up and knew exactly what this dream meant. I called the diner and told those motherfuckers I quit. Not even a day later I got a phone call from the marijuana dispensary I had applied to; I had got the job. Twenty-two dollars an hour just to clip pot! I hung up the phone feeling like God had given me a blow job.
POT REVIEWS
Working at the pot club was the best job I had ever had. Like, ever. Part of my job description was reviewing pot. Some reviews:
Peppermint Kush: Sativa Power! Smokey flavor and an awesome effect! Like smoking a cup of coffee! Yum . . .
Starfruit: A good staple! I think this is a sativa I’ve smoked before, but I’m too fucking stoned to remember. Or care. Either way it’s a smooth, piney taste that packs a punch!
Lime Kush: Smells like lime but when you smoke it, it tastes just like pot! Just like all pot really . . . Don’t trip though! Blaze this and life will get better . . . for a little while at least.
Hazy Jim: Hybrid indica and sativa and at ten dollars an eighth you can’t fuck with the price. Its unfuckwithable. It smokes like a bag of seventies swag weed. Like an old feeling coming back in the night . . .
Indica: weed with a downer effect
Sativa: weed with an upper effect
FAG SCHOOL
JUVENILIA: WRITINGS FROM FAG SCHOOL #1
CRUISING REVIEWS
1. This dude was a sweet talker. “You’re soooooo handsome, are you a real mailman?” “No, sir,” I replied, “I got these shorts at a thrift store.” He wanted to take me home, fuck me, and buy me beer. This was way better than I did at the bar on a Saturday night, the fact that it was Tuesday morning in the park bothered me none. No cover charge, no walk of shame . . . PERFECT! I went to his house, where he had pictures of his wife and kids everywhere and every solo male jerk-off film ever. We spent three hours in the shower pissing on each other and he bought me a burrito later. PERFECT DATE.
2. I felt a sense of mission accomplished when I finally got down in the bathroom at Gilman St. Getting it on at Gilman is problematic. Everyone is fourteen and screwing to thrash bands takes lots of concentration. I took the easy way out and partied with a balding (i.e., postpuberty) member of the staff between bands. We kept being interrupted by a line of kids waiting for the stall so they could do drugs. I later found out the same dude wrote a detailed account of our encounter FOR HIS GIRLFRIEND! And then left me out of 90 percent of the text! DIVA! Every time I’m at Gilman I scratch my head (and balls) in confusion.
3. Two hours into my friend’s wedding party, I found myself in the bathroom with an older Cuban guy, score! “I only like you ’cause you’re young and you got big lips.” This was the hottest thing an older dude I was blowing had ever said to me, so I got really hot and started going double time on his dang (he-he). He told me I had a “big load for a little gun,” jizzed all over my glasses and hair and then left my drunk ass to wander the party putting on my “oh, that wasn’t me getting slammed in the bathroom” face. (Everyone saw right through me.) And then I walked home in the rain. It was by far the hottest sex ever and I would recommend it to a friend.
4. Normally, as a rule-of-thumb-type thing, I try not to fuck dudes with Jerry beards, cops, or men with kids because it is understood that all these things are fucking gross. I thought I’d covered the bases with this dude, but little did I know! So, I was at a party and decided to bring him to the bathroom. I kept reaching for the D and being denied. He finally explained (think: Southern accent) “I can’t screw ya I got genital warts . . . LOOK!” And sure enough, he did. I had never gotten a non-erection so fast. He continued, “I been puttin’ cream on um, but they won’t go away.” Some would applaud him for his honesty but, quite frankly, I hated his ass. No decent girl should have to endure this, would he pull this shit with his grandmother? He made me say things I never thought I would (“Put it away!”). And just when I thought I could be traumatized no more, “Um yeah, I should hurry up and pick up my kids, it’s late.” I wanted to vomit. “Oh my GAAAAWD! You’re a father?! THAT’S DISGUSTING!!!!” I took the hint and left.
JUVENILIA: WRITINGS FROM FAG SCHOOL #2
JOB REVIEWS
1. Retail: I tried to get a job at Goodwill and the lady who interviewed me was a total dick. She questioned my ability to be able to put like colors with like colors, and in the middle of the interview stopped and asked (very abruptly), “WHERE DO YOU EVEN SEE YOURSELF IN FIVE YEARS?” I wanted to cut that bitch, but I was crying too hard.
2. HO(stess): I got a job at a twenty-four-hour diner in the gayborhood. It was very “interesting.” I worked the graveyard shift (midnight to 4:00 a.m.) and spent my nights (or mornings, rather) being harassed by drunken gay frat boys (and believe me that shit ain’t al
l hot like it is in pornos) and their straight female counterparts, who because they were on hella blow thought they were so fucking awesome, but who were, of course, sadly mistaken. I hate cocaine. It makes nice farm girls from Iowa do shit like move to the city, dress like hookers (the kind that don’t get paid) and then roll into diners at 3:00 a.m. to have very long and unwanted conversations with underpaid restaurant hosts. Many a night I had to tell some dumb bitch to move eight feet away from me ’cause her rabbit fur coat was upsetting my allergies. Some nights I would do shit loads of coke in the bathroom (for when coffee just wouldn’t do), cry, and ponder my situation. Why couldn’t I just date a drug dealer? My life would be so much easier. I wouldn’t have to work some bullshit job at all! I do have to admit there were perks. Being sexually harassed by all the hot-bitch gay waiters was cool, and the night I worked in my underwear and made fifty extra bucks in tips was way cooler, but the coolest was when I got to tell that asshole gym bunny that I didn’t give a fuck if he was Falcon Studios “Porn Star of the Year” he’d get a table when I say he gets a table (that shit made my five-inch dick feel twelve feet long). I wanted to give a shit when I got fired, but somehow I didn’t have it in me.
3. Fundraising: Going to my telemarketing job was such bullshit. Every morning I would wake up and pray for the courage to turn tricks. Being rejected by seven hundred different people every day started to fuck with my self-esteem. I started walking with a slouch and drooling (a lot!) I became a generally sketchy individual, and none of my friends would hang out with me. And no wonder! I was hanging out with vampires! One time this asshole sitting next to me started bragging about how he upsold to a sixty-year-old cancer patient. I was disgusted, but immediately followed suit. Soon, without so much as a blink, I could sell to busy mothers, people at work, people eating dinner, and even people with no legs. Some might wonder how I got so soulless so fast, but with a script in front of you it’s a fucking breeze. Little things got me by at this job, like reminding myself that at least I wasn’t a child molester and, better still, at least I didn’t work retail. And there was the time the 375-pound guy who was always in the breakroom and only ate canned meat and who fucked with everybody, fell down the stairs and everyone in the office laughed their asses off. The day I got fired, me and my roommate got stoned and hung out in the breakroom for two hours.
Johnny Would You Love Me if My Dick Were Bigger Page 7