We live in a political age, and thus we live in an age of lies. So, since lying is now acceptable, I can't make any promises about the truthfulness of anything I may say from now on. Of course, Nietzsche called into question the importance of telling the truth before the turn of the century, since we don't know whose truth you are talking about, but I'm not entirely sure he meant the kinds of political lies we hear all the time. Or perhaps he did. After all, Plato talked about the noble lie politicians had to tell, so there is a philosophical tradition of the "necessity" of politicians lying. Machiavelli also recommended lying to the people. I would argue that many politicians are certainly Platonists and Machiavellians, but not really Nietzscheans. So I don't think they are doing what Nietzsche was talking about in regards to lies. On the other hand, successful politicians are great manipulators of language. But that may also be the same thing Nietzsche was talking about.
In any case, this is a novel full of lies. In fact, what is fiction but one long lie? None of this is true (unless I say it's true), and you wouldn't want to read this if it were true, or you’d have gone out to buy a biography or some other form of nonfiction. We tell our children not to tell "stories," but turn around and spend $20 (for hardback, $7 or so for a paperback) for a novel. We elect the liars whose lies we most want to believe and pay to read a four-hundred-page lie. We want to be lied to. We elect people to do it, and we pay people to do it. So what's wrong with lying again?
Since we now see fiction-writing is really professional lying, we must also realize that Michel and Sarah are both aspiring professional liars. The only difference is, Sarah treats her writing as a purge for any temptation she may have to lie, whereas for Michel, it's only the beginning. Michel's life is so full of lies, he doesn't know what the truth is anymore.
For their first real date, Sarah picked Michel up at his apartment. They were going to a movie - "Shakespeare in Love." It was the first time she had been to his apartment. Sarah was not surprised to see how messy his apartment was, with the couch pulled out to make Michel's bed, but she was surprised to see Jackie standing in the hall wearing only a pair of blue jean shorts and a nipple ring as Michel held the door open for her.
"I'm ready when you are," Michel said. "I'd show you around, but we don't want to be late."
"Fine. Let's go." Sarah was back out the door, darting for her car, a red Nissan. Michel told Jackie bye as he shut the door and turned to chase Sarah to the car.
"Slow down. We're not late."
Sarah opened her car door and slid in, putting her key in the ignition. Michel opened the passenger door and got in.
"What's your hurry?" Michel asked.
"Shut the door," Sarah said. He complied. She turned to him. "What the hell was she doing walking around your apartment topless?"
"It's her apartment too. She pays half the rent."
"What are you doing? You still fucking her?"
"Hell no! I broke up with her, remember? I'm going out with you now. Why would I want to fuck her?"
"I'm not stupid, Michel. I saw her. If I was a guy, I'd want to fuck her. You're telling me you don't want to fuck her?"
"I said I wasn't fucking her, okay? Why won't you believe me?"
"Why's she comfortable walking around topless, then?"
"Honey, we used to date, remember? When we did, we fucked. We lived together. She's used to walking around naked with me there."
"Naked?"
Michel dropped his head just short of the dash. "Shit."
"Can't you see how this looks? You’re still living with your ex-girlfriend."
"I told you why. It's cheaper. And we don't hate each other -- we just don't love each other anymore. But I'll talk to her about walking around half-naked if it makes you feel better."
"You do what you need to do, okay?"
Michel wasn't sure what that meant, but he decided to agree. "Can we go to the movies now?"
Sarah started the car, turned the wheels, and pulled away from the curb.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Chapter 11
It's one in the morning, and I left Donna at work so I could come home and work on this novel. We have a new computer, though it's been disappointing so far. It's already locked up, though it was only a few days old and it has a Pentium Processor, and the place we bought it from did not give us the memory they said they would or put the latest version of Word on the computer for us. Hopefully, we'll take care of all that this week.
I'm glad Donna is working. She's doing something at the hospital here in Richardson. To be honest, I already like her a lot better. And it's not just because she's finally working, either. No, her working has helped turn her back into the confident, pleasant, strong woman I fell in love with.
I like strong, confident women. They have character. That's why I like Sarah and Jackie. Both are extremely strong women, although they did fall in love with a very weak man. Of course, Jackie did break up with Michel, which shows she learned enough about him not to want him anymore, though at the same time, she has chosen to keep living with him and start having sex with him again. One could argue, I suppose, that she has simply started using him, relegating him to a sort of Hegelian slave position, but the fact is, as Hegel points out, the slave in these situations can oftentimes gain so much power over the master, who relies too much on the slave's presence, that the roles are reversed. Thus, Jackie is putting herself in a potentially dangerous position by trying to gain sexual power over Michel. While it is true they both said it would not affect their dating or having sex with other people, how could it not? Even someone as strong as Jackie cannot help but look upon every woman Michel brings home as someone who is using her penis. It’s a form of jealousy - a form of jealousy possible because, truth be told, she really did love having sex with him. She did not care much for Michel himself, but she was fond of his penis.
But you know, I'm sitting here writing all this, thinking about the relationship between Michel and Jackie, which is anything but romantic, on a day when I'm feeling far more romantic toward Donna than I have in a long time, and I'm thinking I should write about something more romantic, something befitting my feelings.
I'm thinking, too, that I should probably listen to something far more romantic than Pearl Jam's "Yield" if I really want to write about something romantic, but I don't know if I have anything you could call romantic in my CD collection. I have lots of 90's grunge and 60's psychedelic, but not much romantic music. The closest thing I have is The Beatles, since they did often write about love. Maybe I'll go find something by The Beatles after I finish listening to "Do the Evolution."
I just put on "Let It Be." I love the song "Two of Us." It's such a pretty song, and should put me in the proper romantic mood to write about something more appropriate to Valentine's Day.
I'm thinking, but I don't think it's possible to do anything sweet with any combination of characters I've already introduced -- unless I want Sarah and Jackie to hook up. I don't -- I don't see either of them as lesbians or bisexual (though Jackie would come closest) -- so I'll have to come up with someone else.
I've already said Michel and Sarah aren't going to work out -- or else he would not be living by himself and sleeping with his neighbor and her daughter, so I suppose I could introduce the man Sarah eventually does marry. I told Donna I used to have a male Readings in Fiction professor named Kim, and she told me she used to date a man named Kim too, so I think I'll name Sarah's future husband Kim. It's an unusual name for a man, but there's nothing wrong with that. It will help him stand out in your mind. How many of you will be able to forget a male character named Kim -- at least, one who is white and not Chinese.
I think Kim is a nice-looking man - he wouldn't remind you of a Greek god or anything, but he's not hard on the eyes either. He should exercise, but doesn't, so he has a tummy, not that Sarah cares. Sarah is not the kind of woman who notices things like tummies. No, Sarah is the kind of woman who notices the kindness of his blue eyes, the intelligent smile he has when talking to her, the gentleness of his touch as he comforts her. Sarah notices the joy he has in being with her, the joy he has in talking with her about all the things she likes that he does and even those he is indifferent to (things you would never know he was indifferent to, he looks so interested in them). I can see them sitting in a restaurant - perhaps the same one Sarah and Michel frequented when they were seeing each other - only there is a tangible difference here. Sarah is not questioning why she is attracted to Kim. There is no question why she would be attracted to him. Any woman in her right mind would be. Sarah concludes, therefore, that since she is the one sitting with him, that most women aren't in their right mind. He is leaning forward, listening as she talks, interested in everything she says or thinks or believes. Michel could never show that kind of interest in her or any woman. No one was as interesting as he was to himself. Kim did not hold this opinion of himself. True, Kim was self-confident, but it was never at the expense of others. He felt he could learn from every person he met. He felt he could love whoever was in front of him by simply listening.
It took Sarah a long time to learn to love someone like Kim. In order to love someone who could love you as much as Kim was capable of loving, Sarah first had to learn to love herself enough not to settle for someone like Michel. Kim was the kind of man who could bring her to the point where she could allow herself to love him. His every word was encouragement, telling her she was beautiful, intelligent, fascinating, interesting, everything he could want. It took him three weeks to talk her into loving him. They had been dating for three months by the time we see them.
Kim and Sarah are sitting at the table in the restaurant. The restaurant always had dim lights, but Sarah was convinced they were more romantic now. There was a little candle on the table, flickering against the wall, light dancing up the wall, on each of their faces, a dance of shadows even more romantic than the dim lights. Their drinks were sitting on the dark wood table, making sweat circles around their bases. Sarah was talking about the problems she was having getting published.
"I don't understand it," she said. "I've read dozens of literary magazines, and to be honest, if that's any indication of what they consider to be good stories, there's no reason why they shouldn't be publishing me. I've never seen so much garbage in my life. How can they publish some of that shit?"
"It's all a matter of taste, honey. Publishing is a game. You have to get your story to the right editor when he's in the right mood when he hasn't published or read anything like that recently before it's going to be accepted. That's not very good odds, even if you are the next Chekhov."
"I wouldn't say I'm the next Chekhov..."
"I'd say you're definitely a brilliant writer, and if you haven't been discovered, it's only because the right editor hasn't read you yet. Sometimes the world's not ready for a certain writer, you know, and it takes a while before you're recognized or even published."
"Yeah, but that doesn't get the bills paid."
"You writing for the money?"
"No, but a woman's got to eat."
"I understand. But don't worry about it. You're a genius. You'll be discovered soon enough, and then everything will be easy."
"I wish it were that easy. But enough of that kind of talk. We're on a date, remember?"
"I see nothing wrong with talking about our future over dinner." They were interrupted by their salads arriving. Kim looked down at his salad to discourage a response. He wanted her to think about what he'd just said. He wanted it to sink in.
Sarah looked down at her salad, then back up at him, contemplating his crown before deciding to go ahead and say, "I didn't realize we were talking about our future."
Kim looked up at her, his blue eyes gazing into hers. "Why else would I want to hear about your dreams if I didn't expect to make them mine?"
"Are you asking me something?"
"If I had a ring, I would. But I don't. Would you settle for being engaged to be engaged?"
Sarah giggled. "Are you asking me now if you can ask me later to marry you?"
"Sure. It's safer than actually asking you to marry me."
Sarah frowned. "Why?"
"Because if you say 'yes' now, there's almost a hundred percent chance you'll say yes when I do ask you to marry me. But if you say 'no' now, it won't hurt as much, because I won't have asked you to actually marry me, but to allow me to ask you later to marry me."
Sarah's frown cracked. "I think I kept up with all that."
"So what do you say?"
"Yes. Of course you may ask me to marry you. Shall we set a date?"
"No, let's not set a date. Let's keep it open so I can surprise you when I do ask you to marry me."
"I don't think it will be much of a surprise."
"I don't know. I think I could still make it a surprise."
"Of course, I could just surprise you and ask you to marry me."
"There's nothing wrong with that," Kim said, taking his first bite of salad. "I'm modern and all that. I'm liberated."
"Whatever," Sarah said. "I don't care how we do it, so long as we get to stay with each other."
"We will," Kim said. "I won't let you go."
Sarah leaned halfway across the table. "I love you," she whispered.
Kim met her across the table, kissing her. "I love you, too."
Sarah moved in with Kim three weeks later, before either got around to asking the other to marry them. The night she moved in was the first night they made love. It was the first night either thought of the other as someone sexual, and it made them see each other in a new light, giving their love new facets for that light to reflect from, to illuminate new aspects of being between the two that neither could have known, absent their making love. Sarah was not a virgin, but that night she felt like it was the first time any man had ever made love to her. Kim had literally and figuratively touched her in ways no man had ever touched her before. As she lay next to him for the first time that night, half-covered by his dark blue sheets so her breasts lay exposed to the cool air of the room, running her hand across his chest, she became determined that their mutual pleasure was to become her primary concern. He was the first man she ever loved enough to want to make the center of her world. Kim felt the same way about her.
I can think of no better place to leave Sarah and Kim - lying together in bed, more in love than either had been before. Over the next few months, both fell further in love, until Kim could wait no longer and asked her to marry him. Being sentimental -- and, unfortunately, not very original in this case -- he asked her to marry him on Valentine's Day. Of course, she said “Yes.” Within the year, they were married, and shortly afterwards, they settled into love together. It lost its sharp edges, its brilliant sparkle, its vital turbulence, and settled into something deeper, something that would nourish and hold them together -- not without conflict, of course, since no two people can live (or love) without conflict -- in a way their former love, as strong and beautiful as it was, never could. In addition to being in love, they finally learned, after their first year of marriage, to also love each other.
And so, I finish this chapter at almost 2:45am, listening to Fiona Apple while Donna's at work. I thank The Beatles, Fiona Apple, and Donna, who has become again the woman I fell in love with, for making me able to write this chapter and talk about the most dangerous, most painful, most heartbreaking, most wrenching, most beautiful thing in the world. Thank you, my love, for allowing me to experience love for the first time in my life so I can actually write about it and not just wonder on paper what it's like.
I'm glad Donna is working. She's doing something at the hospital here in Richardson. To be honest, I already like her a lot better. And it's not just because she's finally working, either. No, her working has helped turn her back into the confident, pleasant, strong woman I fell in love with.
I like strong, confident women. They have character. That's why I like Sarah and Jackie. Both are extremely strong women, although they did fall in love with a very weak man. Of course, Jackie did break up with Michel, which shows she learned enough about him not to want him anymore, though at the same time, she has chosen to keep living with him and start having sex with him again. One could argue, I suppose, that she has simply started using him, relegating him to a sort of Hegelian slave position, but the fact is, as Hegel points out, the slave in these situations can oftentimes gain so much power over the master, who relies too much on the slave's presence, that the roles are reversed. Thus, Jackie is putting herself in a potentially dangerous position by trying to gain sexual power over Michel. While it is true they both said it would not affect their dating or having sex with other people, how could it not? Even someone as strong as Jackie cannot help but look upon every woman Michel brings home as someone who is using her penis. It’s a form of jealousy - a form of jealousy possible because, truth be told, she really did love having sex with him. She did not care much for Michel himself, but she was fond of his penis.
But you know, I'm sitting here writing all this, thinking about the relationship between Michel and Jackie, which is anything but romantic, on a day when I'm feeling far more romantic toward Donna than I have in a long time, and I'm thinking I should write about something more romantic, something befitting my feelings.
I'm thinking, too, that I should probably listen to something far more romantic than Pearl Jam's "Yield" if I really want to write about something romantic, but I don't know if I have anything you could call romantic in my CD collection. I have lots of 90's grunge and 60's psychedelic, but not much romantic music. The closest thing I have is The Beatles, since they did often write about love. Maybe I'll go find something by The Beatles after I finish listening to "Do the Evolution."
I just put on "Let It Be." I love the song "Two of Us." It's such a pretty song, and should put me in the proper romantic mood to write about something more appropriate to Valentine's Day.
I'm thinking, but I don't think it's possible to do anything sweet with any combination of characters I've already introduced -- unless I want Sarah and Jackie to hook up. I don't -- I don't see either of them as lesbians or bisexual (though Jackie would come closest) -- so I'll have to come up with someone else.
I've already said Michel and Sarah aren't going to work out -- or else he would not be living by himself and sleeping with his neighbor and her daughter, so I suppose I could introduce the man Sarah eventually does marry. I told Donna I used to have a male Readings in Fiction professor named Kim, and she told me she used to date a man named Kim too, so I think I'll name Sarah's future husband Kim. It's an unusual name for a man, but there's nothing wrong with that. It will help him stand out in your mind. How many of you will be able to forget a male character named Kim -- at least, one who is white and not Chinese.
I think Kim is a nice-looking man - he wouldn't remind you of a Greek god or anything, but he's not hard on the eyes either. He should exercise, but doesn't, so he has a tummy, not that Sarah cares. Sarah is not the kind of woman who notices things like tummies. No, Sarah is the kind of woman who notices the kindness of his blue eyes, the intelligent smile he has when talking to her, the gentleness of his touch as he comforts her. Sarah notices the joy he has in being with her, the joy he has in talking with her about all the things she likes that he does and even those he is indifferent to (things you would never know he was indifferent to, he looks so interested in them). I can see them sitting in a restaurant - perhaps the same one Sarah and Michel frequented when they were seeing each other - only there is a tangible difference here. Sarah is not questioning why she is attracted to Kim. There is no question why she would be attracted to him. Any woman in her right mind would be. Sarah concludes, therefore, that since she is the one sitting with him, that most women aren't in their right mind. He is leaning forward, listening as she talks, interested in everything she says or thinks or believes. Michel could never show that kind of interest in her or any woman. No one was as interesting as he was to himself. Kim did not hold this opinion of himself. True, Kim was self-confident, but it was never at the expense of others. He felt he could learn from every person he met. He felt he could love whoever was in front of him by simply listening.
It took Sarah a long time to learn to love someone like Kim. In order to love someone who could love you as much as Kim was capable of loving, Sarah first had to learn to love herself enough not to settle for someone like Michel. Kim was the kind of man who could bring her to the point where she could allow herself to love him. His every word was encouragement, telling her she was beautiful, intelligent, fascinating, interesting, everything he could want. It took him three weeks to talk her into loving him. They had been dating for three months by the time we see them.
Kim and Sarah are sitting at the table in the restaurant. The restaurant always had dim lights, but Sarah was convinced they were more romantic now. There was a little candle on the table, flickering against the wall, light dancing up the wall, on each of their faces, a dance of shadows even more romantic than the dim lights. Their drinks were sitting on the dark wood table, making sweat circles around their bases. Sarah was talking about the problems she was having getting published.
"I don't understand it," she said. "I've read dozens of literary magazines, and to be honest, if that's any indication of what they consider to be good stories, there's no reason why they shouldn't be publishing me. I've never seen so much garbage in my life. How can they publish some of that shit?"
"It's all a matter of taste, honey. Publishing is a game. You have to get your story to the right editor when he's in the right mood when he hasn't published or read anything like that recently before it's going to be accepted. That's not very good odds, even if you are the next Chekhov."
"I wouldn't say I'm the next Chekhov..."
"I'd say you're definitely a brilliant writer, and if you haven't been discovered, it's only because the right editor hasn't read you yet. Sometimes the world's not ready for a certain writer, you know, and it takes a while before you're recognized or even published."
"Yeah, but that doesn't get the bills paid."
"You writing for the money?"
"No, but a woman's got to eat."
"I understand. But don't worry about it. You're a genius. You'll be discovered soon enough, and then everything will be easy."
"I wish it were that easy. But enough of that kind of talk. We're on a date, remember?"
"I see nothing wrong with talking about our future over dinner." They were interrupted by their salads arriving. Kim looked down at his salad to discourage a response. He wanted her to think about what he'd just said. He wanted it to sink in.
Sarah looked down at her salad, then back up at him, contemplating his crown before deciding to go ahead and say, "I didn't realize we were talking about our future."
Kim looked up at her, his blue eyes gazing into hers. "Why else would I want to hear about your dreams if I didn't expect to make them mine?"
"Are you asking me something?"
"If I had a ring, I would. But I don't. Would you settle for being engaged to be engaged?"
Sarah giggled. "Are you asking me now if you can ask me later to marry you?"
"Sure. It's safer than actually asking you to marry me."
Sarah frowned. "Why?"
"Because if you say 'yes' now, there's almost a hundred percent chance you'll say yes when I do ask you to marry me. But if you say 'no' now, it won't hurt as much, because I won't have asked you to actually marry me, but to allow me to ask you later to marry me."
Sarah's frown cracked. "I think I kept up with all that."
"So what do you say?"
"Yes. Of course you may ask me to marry you. Shall we set a date?"
"No, let's not set a date. Let's keep it open so I can surprise you when I do ask you to marry me."
"I don't think it will be much of a surprise."
"I don't know. I think I could still make it a surprise."
"Of course, I could just surprise you and ask you to marry me."
"There's nothing wrong with that," Kim said, taking his first bite of salad. "I'm modern and all that. I'm liberated."
"Whatever," Sarah said. "I don't care how we do it, so long as we get to stay with each other."
"We will," Kim said. "I won't let you go."
Sarah leaned halfway across the table. "I love you," she whispered.
Kim met her across the table, kissing her. "I love you, too."
Sarah moved in with Kim three weeks later, before either got around to asking the other to marry them. The night she moved in was the first night they made love. It was the first night either thought of the other as someone sexual, and it made them see each other in a new light, giving their love new facets for that light to reflect from, to illuminate new aspects of being between the two that neither could have known, absent their making love. Sarah was not a virgin, but that night she felt like it was the first time any man had ever made love to her. Kim had literally and figuratively touched her in ways no man had ever touched her before. As she lay next to him for the first time that night, half-covered by his dark blue sheets so her breasts lay exposed to the cool air of the room, running her hand across his chest, she became determined that their mutual pleasure was to become her primary concern. He was the first man she ever loved enough to want to make the center of her world. Kim felt the same way about her.
I can think of no better place to leave Sarah and Kim - lying together in bed, more in love than either had been before. Over the next few months, both fell further in love, until Kim could wait no longer and asked her to marry him. Being sentimental -- and, unfortunately, not very original in this case -- he asked her to marry him on Valentine's Day. Of course, she said “Yes.” Within the year, they were married, and shortly afterwards, they settled into love together. It lost its sharp edges, its brilliant sparkle, its vital turbulence, and settled into something deeper, something that would nourish and hold them together -- not without conflict, of course, since no two people can live (or love) without conflict -- in a way their former love, as strong and beautiful as it was, never could. In addition to being in love, they finally learned, after their first year of marriage, to also love each other.
And so, I finish this chapter at almost 2:45am, listening to Fiona Apple while Donna's at work. I thank The Beatles, Fiona Apple, and Donna, who has become again the woman I fell in love with, for making me able to write this chapter and talk about the most dangerous, most painful, most heartbreaking, most wrenching, most beautiful thing in the world. Thank you, my love, for allowing me to experience love for the first time in my life so I can actually write about it and not just wonder on paper what it's like.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Chapter 10
A lot has happened since I began work on this novel. One of our neighbors (who was noisy in the first place, always playing her music so loud we could hear it through the walls - and always after midnight, when we wanted to go to bed) got into an argument with her boyfriend at three in the morning. We couldn't hear what was being said, only that it was being said extremely loud. And it continued through the night and well into the morning. When I left to go somewhere (I forget where), my upstairs neighbor said they were outside arguing at eleven that morning. When I found out what it was about, I understood why. In a strange account of real life unknowingly imitating fiction, she had caught her son, who looks to be maybe six or seven, in a similar sexual act as Michel cause Jessie in with man who lives in one of the other apartments in our complex. And her boyfriend knew about it. Donna tells me the cops were at the man's apartment later that night.
I'm sure if you asked the guy, he would claim he wasn't homosexual. And, except for liking little boys, he's probably not. He has probably had several girlfriends. But what possesses him to be into little boys? I'm not going to claim to know. Most homosexuals I know would find him disgusting. So it seems his sexual perversion goes far deeper than homosexuality, which I don't consider a perversion, but a natural desire found in all people, as can be seen from the ancient Greek and Roman cultures, where bisexuality was the norm. In fact, the term homosexual wasn't even coined until the late 19th Century.
But all of this brings us back to the problem of Pat and her daughter Jessie. At the same time Michel was trying to see Sarah and had asked Jackie to start sleeping with him, Pat was fifteen, seeing her boyfriend Mark, and sleeping with every man possible. This is when Pat became pregnant with Jessie, and though she was dating Mark at the time, it is unlikely he was the father.
I learned from the Discovery Channel (or maybe it was the Learning Channel) that when women are unfaithful, there are various mechanisms that work to make a woman more or less likely to become impregnated by any given man. For example, this is what happened when Pat got pregnant:
Pat was unusual in her ability to have an orgasm at a very young age. Three days before she got pregnant, she had sex with a guy she met at a football game. He had a condom, so the only consequence was an orgasm. But having an orgasm make a woman's uterus more acidic, a condition which destroys sperm cells.
The next night, Pat went out with Mark, and as happened with every date they ever went on, they had sex, and she had an orgasm. This, as well as the sex from the night before, caused the acidity of her uterus to increase even more, killing a large number of his sperm. But Mark believed she was unfaithful, so, due to an unconscious mechanism we don't understand, he ejaculated twice the number of sperm into her than usual, though most were either slower sperm that act as a net to slow foreign sperm or killer sperm that killed any other sperm it ran into. Thus, his sperm and her own acidity protected her for the next five days from any other sperm.
But late that night, one of her friends, Jim, came over to her house, snuck in through her window, and had sex with her. Her uterus wasn't nearly as acidic by then, and she orgasmed at the same time he did, pulling his sperm deeper into her before it made her uterus acidic. He, too, produced a large number of killer sperm, which went to work against the sperm from Mark, killing many of them.
The next night, she had sex with yet another of her friends, Robert, again orgasming at the same time he did, pulling more of his sperm into her, where his, Mark's, and Jim's killer sperms tried to destroy as many of each others’ fertile sperm as they could find that had made it past the barrier Mark's sperm had created.
I don’t need to go into any greater detail about the other times she had sex with Mark, or who else she slept with that week, because it was sometime during that day that one of the fertile sperm from one of the three boys (at sixteen, they were all still boys) made it to the egg traveling down her fallopian tube, broke through the protein barrier surrounding it, and fertilized the egg, which continued traveling down the fallopian tube as it began dividing over the next few days before reaching the uterus and embedding itself there to finish developing into Jessie.
Two months later, she told Mark she was pregnant and that it was his. He told her he'd help take care of the child, but he didn't want to get married. They had already broken up and were dating other people. Mark's new girlfriend didn't take it too well, though, and broke up with him a week later. Pat's new boyfriend took advantage of the situation, knowing she couldn't get pregnant, and only broke up with her after he thought she had become too unattractive with her bulging belly.
I'm sure if you asked the guy, he would claim he wasn't homosexual. And, except for liking little boys, he's probably not. He has probably had several girlfriends. But what possesses him to be into little boys? I'm not going to claim to know. Most homosexuals I know would find him disgusting. So it seems his sexual perversion goes far deeper than homosexuality, which I don't consider a perversion, but a natural desire found in all people, as can be seen from the ancient Greek and Roman cultures, where bisexuality was the norm. In fact, the term homosexual wasn't even coined until the late 19th Century.
But all of this brings us back to the problem of Pat and her daughter Jessie. At the same time Michel was trying to see Sarah and had asked Jackie to start sleeping with him, Pat was fifteen, seeing her boyfriend Mark, and sleeping with every man possible. This is when Pat became pregnant with Jessie, and though she was dating Mark at the time, it is unlikely he was the father.
I learned from the Discovery Channel (or maybe it was the Learning Channel) that when women are unfaithful, there are various mechanisms that work to make a woman more or less likely to become impregnated by any given man. For example, this is what happened when Pat got pregnant:
Pat was unusual in her ability to have an orgasm at a very young age. Three days before she got pregnant, she had sex with a guy she met at a football game. He had a condom, so the only consequence was an orgasm. But having an orgasm make a woman's uterus more acidic, a condition which destroys sperm cells.
The next night, Pat went out with Mark, and as happened with every date they ever went on, they had sex, and she had an orgasm. This, as well as the sex from the night before, caused the acidity of her uterus to increase even more, killing a large number of his sperm. But Mark believed she was unfaithful, so, due to an unconscious mechanism we don't understand, he ejaculated twice the number of sperm into her than usual, though most were either slower sperm that act as a net to slow foreign sperm or killer sperm that killed any other sperm it ran into. Thus, his sperm and her own acidity protected her for the next five days from any other sperm.
But late that night, one of her friends, Jim, came over to her house, snuck in through her window, and had sex with her. Her uterus wasn't nearly as acidic by then, and she orgasmed at the same time he did, pulling his sperm deeper into her before it made her uterus acidic. He, too, produced a large number of killer sperm, which went to work against the sperm from Mark, killing many of them.
The next night, she had sex with yet another of her friends, Robert, again orgasming at the same time he did, pulling more of his sperm into her, where his, Mark's, and Jim's killer sperms tried to destroy as many of each others’ fertile sperm as they could find that had made it past the barrier Mark's sperm had created.
I don’t need to go into any greater detail about the other times she had sex with Mark, or who else she slept with that week, because it was sometime during that day that one of the fertile sperm from one of the three boys (at sixteen, they were all still boys) made it to the egg traveling down her fallopian tube, broke through the protein barrier surrounding it, and fertilized the egg, which continued traveling down the fallopian tube as it began dividing over the next few days before reaching the uterus and embedding itself there to finish developing into Jessie.
Two months later, she told Mark she was pregnant and that it was his. He told her he'd help take care of the child, but he didn't want to get married. They had already broken up and were dating other people. Mark's new girlfriend didn't take it too well, though, and broke up with him a week later. Pat's new boyfriend took advantage of the situation, knowing she couldn't get pregnant, and only broke up with her after he thought she had become too unattractive with her bulging belly.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Chapter 9
Last night Donna and I got into a huge argument. The origin of the argument was bizarre. We were over a friend's house and had finished watching this movie called "Pi," which was about a numbers theorist who comes up with the numerological name for God while he's looking for the way to figure out the pattern behind the stock market. Throughout the movie, images of chaos were used, so I made some comments about chaos theory and about how people are using it to try to understand things like the stock market. On the way home, she said she didn't believe there was just one number that could describe everything, so she didn't believe in chaos theory. I said I agreed that there wasn't just one number, but that there was probably a mathematical formula that could describe everything - we just hadn't found it, and that what she described wasn't chaos theory at all.
When I tried to explain that chaos theory said that things that appeared to have patterns were actually chaotic in nature, while things that appeared random actually had strange patterns underlying them, she said she didn't care about chaos theory and didn't believe in it. I wondered how she could refuse to believe in something she didn't understand, and she repeated that she didn't care. So I told her I didn't care to be with someone who preferred to remain ignorant her entire life.
Now, Donna is almost finished with her B.A. in nursing, so she's not exactly stupid, but at the same time, she's never shown much interested in learning anything she hasn't had to. I'm addicted to learning new things. I suspect she feels inferior to me for that reason, so that is a sore spot for her, and she started yelling and I started yelling back and she slapped me and I returned the favor, for which I immediately apologized, explaining if she hadn't slapped me, I wouldn't have slapped her. In the argument, I accused her of being a liar, of misrepresenting herself for, among other things, refusing to get a job after she said she would when we moved down here. (I'm working 40 hours a week and attending Graduate school full time while she sits around the house and watches T.V. or plays on the computer while not keeping the house cleaned or the dishes washed or doing the laundry in time for me to have clean socks (most recent), which is the least she could do since she's not going to work and only going to school). After accusing her of sponging off of me in retaliation against the other men she's had to support all her life, she went through this ridiculous, childish litany of things she "must" be lying about, ranging from past boyfriends to her mother dying, then finally admitted to what I'd accused her of by saying she wanted to see what it was like to have someone take care of her. I told her the truth and said I would love to take care of her, but that I can't. I'm behind on my credit card bills, my phone has been shut off for months, and I'm lucky if I can pay the electricity bill every other month - all because she wanted to see what it's like to have someone take care of her. She's ruined my credit to be spoiled.
By the end of the argument, she had a list of things I had accused her of lying about, and she had only managed to find one thing I had lied to her about: I had promised to never hit her. And I had promised. Because I despise abusive people. But I never expected to live with a woman who would make the Dalai Lama want to hit her. Now don't get me wrong -- I never actually hit her until last night, after she slapped me first, but I had thrown a plastic spaghetti scoop at her when we were cooking and she was mad and throwing the spaghetti in the water like a spoiled child. I was actually throwing the spaghetti scoop to her, telling her to cook the meal herself if she was going to act that way, but it hit her arm instead, and I instantly apologized.
There was also another thing I told her last night. She asked me if I loved her, and I said, Yes, I did love her. But I didn't like her, and the fact that I loved someone like her was a bad reflection on me and the kind of person I was. That was about the only thing she didn't get mad about last night. I would think most women would have gotten mad if they were told something like that. But it's true. I don't like her. On so many levels she represents the very things I like least in people. So why am I sleeping with her? Why do I love her? I don't know. I wish I did.
So what does this have to do with this novel? I hate to say it, but I can see Michel and Sarah acting the same way if they moved in together. Only, Michel would be the one acting childish.
When I tried to explain that chaos theory said that things that appeared to have patterns were actually chaotic in nature, while things that appeared random actually had strange patterns underlying them, she said she didn't care about chaos theory and didn't believe in it. I wondered how she could refuse to believe in something she didn't understand, and she repeated that she didn't care. So I told her I didn't care to be with someone who preferred to remain ignorant her entire life.
Now, Donna is almost finished with her B.A. in nursing, so she's not exactly stupid, but at the same time, she's never shown much interested in learning anything she hasn't had to. I'm addicted to learning new things. I suspect she feels inferior to me for that reason, so that is a sore spot for her, and she started yelling and I started yelling back and she slapped me and I returned the favor, for which I immediately apologized, explaining if she hadn't slapped me, I wouldn't have slapped her. In the argument, I accused her of being a liar, of misrepresenting herself for, among other things, refusing to get a job after she said she would when we moved down here. (I'm working 40 hours a week and attending Graduate school full time while she sits around the house and watches T.V. or plays on the computer while not keeping the house cleaned or the dishes washed or doing the laundry in time for me to have clean socks (most recent), which is the least she could do since she's not going to work and only going to school). After accusing her of sponging off of me in retaliation against the other men she's had to support all her life, she went through this ridiculous, childish litany of things she "must" be lying about, ranging from past boyfriends to her mother dying, then finally admitted to what I'd accused her of by saying she wanted to see what it was like to have someone take care of her. I told her the truth and said I would love to take care of her, but that I can't. I'm behind on my credit card bills, my phone has been shut off for months, and I'm lucky if I can pay the electricity bill every other month - all because she wanted to see what it's like to have someone take care of her. She's ruined my credit to be spoiled.
By the end of the argument, she had a list of things I had accused her of lying about, and she had only managed to find one thing I had lied to her about: I had promised to never hit her. And I had promised. Because I despise abusive people. But I never expected to live with a woman who would make the Dalai Lama want to hit her. Now don't get me wrong -- I never actually hit her until last night, after she slapped me first, but I had thrown a plastic spaghetti scoop at her when we were cooking and she was mad and throwing the spaghetti in the water like a spoiled child. I was actually throwing the spaghetti scoop to her, telling her to cook the meal herself if she was going to act that way, but it hit her arm instead, and I instantly apologized.
There was also another thing I told her last night. She asked me if I loved her, and I said, Yes, I did love her. But I didn't like her, and the fact that I loved someone like her was a bad reflection on me and the kind of person I was. That was about the only thing she didn't get mad about last night. I would think most women would have gotten mad if they were told something like that. But it's true. I don't like her. On so many levels she represents the very things I like least in people. So why am I sleeping with her? Why do I love her? I don't know. I wish I did.
So what does this have to do with this novel? I hate to say it, but I can see Michel and Sarah acting the same way if they moved in together. Only, Michel would be the one acting childish.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Chapter 8
Michel eventually puts down his story and lies down on the couch. The couch was also his bed, and he had not put it up, so he figured Jackie must have had company over earlier. He wonders who it was, but finds his thoughts turning instead to wondering if he could get Jackie to have sex with him. It had been two weeks since he had had sex with anybody, and that was the day before he and Jackie broke up. He decides he needs to either get together with Sarah soon, or else he and Jackie were going to have to discuss whether they could become fuck-buddies. She didn't have a boyfriend yet. He may be able to talk her into it. He decides to go discuss it with her.
Michel knocks on Jackie's door. The T.V. is on. "What?"
"You busy?"
"I was fixing to watch Babylon Five."
"They’re just DVDs."
"I haven't gotten to see them all."
"Look, I'm horny."
"What do you want me to do about it?"
"When was the last time you fucked anybody?"
"I got toys."
"And I've got my hand, but it's not nearly as much fun or enjoyable."
"We broke up, remember?"
"What does that have to do with fucking?"
"So, what? You just want to fuck or something? No relationship?"
"No relationship. Just sex."
"What about your girlfriend, Sarah?"
"She's not my girlfriend. We’re a writers’ group."
"What if that changes?"
"Then we'll stop fucking."
"No."
"No?"
"That's not fair. Why should I stop getting dick just because you started getting pussy? You're the one who approached me, remember?"
"Won't you want to stop fucking me if you get a boyfriend?"
"Not if I can help it. But if worse came to worse, then yes I would. But I didn't approach you with this proposition. You approached me."
"So if I start fucking you, I have to keep fucking you?"
"So long as we're roommates."
Michel thinks for a few seconds. "So when can we fuck?"
"Right after dinner and Babylon Five."
"I'll be in the living room when you're ready."
I can understand Michel's position. If you are used to having sex and are suddenly cut off, you miss it. It's Saturday and I haven't fucked my girlfriend since Monday. Before that, it was the Saturday before, over a week. Most men probably wouldn't complain (well, they probably would, but wouldn’t actually mean it), except that I have an extremely high libido. Most men say they want to have sex every day. I really do. Twice a day, or more, if Donna would let me. I sometimes want to more than I’m able to in any given day. But recently the amount of sex with Donna has gotten less and less, despite her claims before we moved in together that she was a nymphomaniac. If she is, she's the worst excuse for a nympho I've ever seen. Before now, I could not understand how men could cheat on their girlfriends or wives. But after only having sex once in a two-week period, I'm beginning to understand. Before we moved in together, all she wanted to do when we were together was have sex. Now, nothing.
Another thing that has been bothering me is her constantly talking about what her next boyfriend is going to be like. She quickly qualifies it by saying, "If we don't work out," but I'm not that naive. I'm beginning to wonder when she's going to decide she doesn't love me anymore. She won't let me touch her, she won't let me fuck her, she's always talking about other men and what her next boyfriend is going to be like. I'm afraid she's trying to figure out a way to leave me. I wonder if she weren't so far from home if she wouldn't have left me by now. She's been talking about moving in with that girl Maddy she's friends with -- could that be her plan, to move in with her and move out? Then why has she been talking about the three of us moving in together? Donna's always said she was bi, but I never saw any actual evidence of it. Maybe Maddy as a transition out? Is she cheating on me with Maddy even now? I never thought of that until now.
In any case, Jackie solved that problem by breaking up with Michel, but not leaving him. She had started doing the same things to Michel before she finally told him she wanted to break up. It did not surprise Michel that she immediately started dating someone (something I don't fear from Donna), though she broke up with that boyfriend after only a week. Michel and Jackie had agreed to continue being roommates to save on rent, and because both their names were on the lease, and it was not going to be up for another eight months. Neither wanted to lose their deposit. It was not a perfect arrangement, but they mostly stayed out of each others' way. Until they agreed to start having sex again. Avoiding each other seemed ridiculous after that.
Michel knocks on Jackie's door. The T.V. is on. "What?"
"You busy?"
"I was fixing to watch Babylon Five."
"They’re just DVDs."
"I haven't gotten to see them all."
"Look, I'm horny."
"What do you want me to do about it?"
"When was the last time you fucked anybody?"
"I got toys."
"And I've got my hand, but it's not nearly as much fun or enjoyable."
"We broke up, remember?"
"What does that have to do with fucking?"
"So, what? You just want to fuck or something? No relationship?"
"No relationship. Just sex."
"What about your girlfriend, Sarah?"
"She's not my girlfriend. We’re a writers’ group."
"What if that changes?"
"Then we'll stop fucking."
"No."
"No?"
"That's not fair. Why should I stop getting dick just because you started getting pussy? You're the one who approached me, remember?"
"Won't you want to stop fucking me if you get a boyfriend?"
"Not if I can help it. But if worse came to worse, then yes I would. But I didn't approach you with this proposition. You approached me."
"So if I start fucking you, I have to keep fucking you?"
"So long as we're roommates."
Michel thinks for a few seconds. "So when can we fuck?"
"Right after dinner and Babylon Five."
"I'll be in the living room when you're ready."
I can understand Michel's position. If you are used to having sex and are suddenly cut off, you miss it. It's Saturday and I haven't fucked my girlfriend since Monday. Before that, it was the Saturday before, over a week. Most men probably wouldn't complain (well, they probably would, but wouldn’t actually mean it), except that I have an extremely high libido. Most men say they want to have sex every day. I really do. Twice a day, or more, if Donna would let me. I sometimes want to more than I’m able to in any given day. But recently the amount of sex with Donna has gotten less and less, despite her claims before we moved in together that she was a nymphomaniac. If she is, she's the worst excuse for a nympho I've ever seen. Before now, I could not understand how men could cheat on their girlfriends or wives. But after only having sex once in a two-week period, I'm beginning to understand. Before we moved in together, all she wanted to do when we were together was have sex. Now, nothing.
Another thing that has been bothering me is her constantly talking about what her next boyfriend is going to be like. She quickly qualifies it by saying, "If we don't work out," but I'm not that naive. I'm beginning to wonder when she's going to decide she doesn't love me anymore. She won't let me touch her, she won't let me fuck her, she's always talking about other men and what her next boyfriend is going to be like. I'm afraid she's trying to figure out a way to leave me. I wonder if she weren't so far from home if she wouldn't have left me by now. She's been talking about moving in with that girl Maddy she's friends with -- could that be her plan, to move in with her and move out? Then why has she been talking about the three of us moving in together? Donna's always said she was bi, but I never saw any actual evidence of it. Maybe Maddy as a transition out? Is she cheating on me with Maddy even now? I never thought of that until now.
In any case, Jackie solved that problem by breaking up with Michel, but not leaving him. She had started doing the same things to Michel before she finally told him she wanted to break up. It did not surprise Michel that she immediately started dating someone (something I don't fear from Donna), though she broke up with that boyfriend after only a week. Michel and Jackie had agreed to continue being roommates to save on rent, and because both their names were on the lease, and it was not going to be up for another eight months. Neither wanted to lose their deposit. It was not a perfect arrangement, but they mostly stayed out of each others' way. Until they agreed to start having sex again. Avoiding each other seemed ridiculous after that.
Chapter 19
Michel returned as Sarah finished the last page. “Where do you want me to put these?” Michel asked, holding up the bags.
“Put the milk in the ‘fridge. Put the rest on the cupboard, and I’ll put it up.”
Michel complied, and asked as he returned, “You finish it?”
“Yeah. It’s pretty good. Good exposition. I learned a lot in this chapter. What are you going to do with the next chapter?”
“I think it’ll be the first chapter of his book.”
“Are you going to just have parts of his novel, or are you planning to have a novel within a novel?”
“I was thinking novel within novel. I think it would be cruel to tease people with only excerpts.”
“I could see that. But wouldn’t putting excerpts of his novel in your novel break up the action?”
“Sure. I think it will create dramatic tension -- you have to read this chapter from his novel to understand what is going on in his head, but reading it causes you to have to wait for the next series of actions from the “real” characters.”
“Won’t that draw attention to the fact that they aren’t real people?”
“I don’t know. Probably. What’s wrong with that? They’re not real people.”
“
But people like to think of the characters as real.”
“Maybe, but they’re not going to get it from my novel.”
“You may not have too many people reading it.”
“Maybe. Or maybe I’ll create my own audience. Why would people want to read the same expected things every time? This will be unexpected, fresh and new. Why wouldn’t people want to read something like that?”
“We think a lot of ourselves don’t we?” Sarah said.
“I’m not saying I’ll be able to pull it off like I imagine it. But I think the idea is a good one.”
“I can’t argue with that. But you’re already marginalizing your audience with the gay main characters... why would you want to do it even more with this structure?”
“It’s an experimental structure. What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing...”
“Look, if you don’t like it, say so...”
“I didn’t say I didn’t like it. I was thinking of marketability...”
“I’m not worried about marketability. You’re thinking of vertical sales, where the book makes a ton of money right away, but then peters off into oblivion. I’m thinking of horizontal sales, where I sell a few thousand this year, then a few thousand the next year, and I sell a steady number of books for decades - or even have the sale of my book go up over the years...”
“Great literature does that. Hemingway and Faulkner do that. Do you really think this novel is that caliber of a story?”
“That’s the plan.”
“You’re delirious.”
“No, I’m dreaming big. There’s a difference.”
“Put the milk in the ‘fridge. Put the rest on the cupboard, and I’ll put it up.”
Michel complied, and asked as he returned, “You finish it?”
“Yeah. It’s pretty good. Good exposition. I learned a lot in this chapter. What are you going to do with the next chapter?”
“I think it’ll be the first chapter of his book.”
“Are you going to just have parts of his novel, or are you planning to have a novel within a novel?”
“I was thinking novel within novel. I think it would be cruel to tease people with only excerpts.”
“I could see that. But wouldn’t putting excerpts of his novel in your novel break up the action?”
“Sure. I think it will create dramatic tension -- you have to read this chapter from his novel to understand what is going on in his head, but reading it causes you to have to wait for the next series of actions from the “real” characters.”
“Won’t that draw attention to the fact that they aren’t real people?”
“I don’t know. Probably. What’s wrong with that? They’re not real people.”
“
But people like to think of the characters as real.”
“Maybe, but they’re not going to get it from my novel.”
“You may not have too many people reading it.”
“Maybe. Or maybe I’ll create my own audience. Why would people want to read the same expected things every time? This will be unexpected, fresh and new. Why wouldn’t people want to read something like that?”
“We think a lot of ourselves don’t we?” Sarah said.
“I’m not saying I’ll be able to pull it off like I imagine it. But I think the idea is a good one.”
“I can’t argue with that. But you’re already marginalizing your audience with the gay main characters... why would you want to do it even more with this structure?”
“It’s an experimental structure. What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing...”
“Look, if you don’t like it, say so...”
“I didn’t say I didn’t like it. I was thinking of marketability...”
“I’m not worried about marketability. You’re thinking of vertical sales, where the book makes a ton of money right away, but then peters off into oblivion. I’m thinking of horizontal sales, where I sell a few thousand this year, then a few thousand the next year, and I sell a steady number of books for decades - or even have the sale of my book go up over the years...”
“Great literature does that. Hemingway and Faulkner do that. Do you really think this novel is that caliber of a story?”
“That’s the plan.”
“You’re delirious.”
“No, I’m dreaming big. There’s a difference.”
Chapter 22
Yesterday I learned my grandmother has two months to a year left to live. Why does it matter so much to me? She raised me. My mom abandoned me to join some cult, and nobody ever heard from her again.
A few months ago, doctors found a cyst on my grandmother's lung. They planned to remove it, along with the lower lobe of her lung. A minor operation. But shortly thereafter, she became sick, and they couldn’t operate until she became well. She never became well. This month they discovered my mother’s lungs were covered in cancer, a fast-growing sarcoma that would fill her chest cavity. Her body’s already not making any new blood.
It all happened so fast. The last time I saw her was in May, at my brother’s graduation. Admittedly, she was starting to look a little old, but she was, after all, over sixty. Still, she had seemed to age all of a sudden. Then, in a few months, the cyst. Then, the sickness. Now, she’s going to die within a year. I don’t know how my grandfather will survive this news. He’s already had so many strokes. How can he survive it? If he does survive the news, I doubt he will survive her death.
And here I sit in Richardson, TX, a flurry of disappointments. I’m living with my girlfriend, which they do not approve of, I’m getting a Master’s Degree in Creative Writing, which they consider a waste of their money, and, and this is a disappointment for me as well as my grandmother, she will never get to see her grandchildren. She’ll be dead before any are conceived. But right now, I have to finish the semester. Grandma won’t be home much before then anyway, I don’t think. Then I’ll take some time off from work and fly home. It may be the last time I see her. I know my grandmother. The news of her immanent death (they are supposed to tell her today) alone could kill her. It’s already beginning to kill a little bit of me.
A few months ago, doctors found a cyst on my grandmother's lung. They planned to remove it, along with the lower lobe of her lung. A minor operation. But shortly thereafter, she became sick, and they couldn’t operate until she became well. She never became well. This month they discovered my mother’s lungs were covered in cancer, a fast-growing sarcoma that would fill her chest cavity. Her body’s already not making any new blood.
It all happened so fast. The last time I saw her was in May, at my brother’s graduation. Admittedly, she was starting to look a little old, but she was, after all, over sixty. Still, she had seemed to age all of a sudden. Then, in a few months, the cyst. Then, the sickness. Now, she’s going to die within a year. I don’t know how my grandfather will survive this news. He’s already had so many strokes. How can he survive it? If he does survive the news, I doubt he will survive her death.
And here I sit in Richardson, TX, a flurry of disappointments. I’m living with my girlfriend, which they do not approve of, I’m getting a Master’s Degree in Creative Writing, which they consider a waste of their money, and, and this is a disappointment for me as well as my grandmother, she will never get to see her grandchildren. She’ll be dead before any are conceived. But right now, I have to finish the semester. Grandma won’t be home much before then anyway, I don’t think. Then I’ll take some time off from work and fly home. It may be the last time I see her. I know my grandmother. The news of her immanent death (they are supposed to tell her today) alone could kill her. It’s already beginning to kill a little bit of me.
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