Fantastic Lives

These days my todger is putting in more overtime than a US State Department official during a Middle East crisis. I'm exhausted. Not that I'm complaining.

As you know, my periodic reveries here are an exercise in forgetting, dreaming, meditation. This is wine and codeine therapy. My life improves; I don't fear death. I think it is because I have separated myself (intellectually, emotionally, spiritually) from the filth that surrounds me, and created my own 'private world' or sphere of thought and activity distinct from the mainstream.

The trick to all of this, I think, is to avoid despair and nihilism. I follow EJ's example of 'inner emigration' as best I can, but this does not entail a hermit's life or a prude's existence. We must accept the conditions into which we are born and move forward. That is fate. Life is to be enjoyed, even in these dark times. It is an unfolding of mystery and beauty. Our attitude should be one of affirmation, a 'yes-saying' to fate. And soon, I think, after all is done, the sun will rise again.

The tests came back negative, certifying me plague-free, thank the gods. The symptoms instead were attributed to the combined effects of traumatic sex and excessive alcohol ingestion. Surprise, surprise. Will I ever learn? Let the whoring recommence.