Masturbatory Habits

1. The usual struggles with self denial–– occurring after meals, breakfast primarily dinner secondarily (lunch and snacks are temples within the daytime), when I begin to check my thoughts (are they too British? Too scientifically(which isn't to say necessarily scientific) oriented? Too out of touch)–– tend to engender a certain breed of self doubt wrought, like all self doubt, by the unfortunate combination of anxiety and angst (one in the same?––((perhaps))).

2. Confidence, the voice of struggle, steps in with its well placed arguments; the ego's resistance to change one may suppose if one is to suppose self doubt is an instrument of change (Adam goes into a bar and drinks a hunched beer to enjoy, but not particularly watch, whatever game happens to be on new the 60 inch Samsung plasma. Eve, a big breasted buttery bob of red hair, sits down in the stool adjacent indicating she'd like a campari and soda. Adam, gobbling peanuts as if they were brains, notices, but pretends not to, the stunningly attractive woman sitting next to him. He is pasty. He is underweight. He has unfortunately greasy hair. A point is scored on the new 60 inch Samsung plasma but it goes unnoticed. He isn't so bad. In fact he's sweet; once called a poet by his 5th grade English teacher. (No chance) why not? Adam makes a decision, "an appletini, for the lady" awkwardly vibrating the words as they reach his lips. Eve smiles with gracious delicacy. They talk about small things: the dramatic weather, his favorite pizza place, her failed relationship with Yakov the up-in-coming inner city soccer star. Snake, the sociopathic bartender with a Godzilla tattoo on his right cheek, slides Eve the shimmering neon drink; she sips gently. The conversation gets more animated: "Didn't go to college, went to a trade school" "I'm a photographer" "What made you want to live in San Salvador for a year?" "You play the piano?". Eve starts feeling sick suddenly; she'd just gotten over a cold, maybe she shouldn't be drinking. Seconds pass with a languid crunching sound. "Are you alright?" "Listen, I know we just met, but do you think you could give me a ride home? Its not too far from here". Adam confidently puts his hand around her shoulder lying her prostrate in the backseat of his 2002 Corolla. At some point during the trudge up the narrow, urine stained staircase of Eve's building she passes out. Adam carries her the rest of the way, gently resting her on the overstuffed magenta couch in her living room. At the door he notices her legs frailly accentuated by skin toned nylon stockings which converge at the very tip top to reveal the petals of her bare off-pink vagina. When will you get this chance again poet? She wants me, She wants me not.)

3. Breakdown, blinds closed, boxers off; a story about anal sex (Right Up Her Alley) shines brightly off the screen. His eyes glance down the scroll bar partly skimming, partly savoring the erotic discourse on the roof of his mouth. What happens, why he might enjoy it so much, is fiction in its greatest sense, shallow underdeveloped characters with the freedom to do or say anything, invites him to actively be apart of the fiction as if he could almost touch it.

4. I regret my lack of self discipline strolling through online catalogs of crap I don't particularly need while I watch a video on you tube, something funny. I check my thoughts (too one dimensional? too unimaginative?) I am immaculately impregnated with an unreal language I now have to laboriously abort.

5. A rag, hard mucousy blue cotton blend, waits patiently in back of the underwear drawer to clean up the many messes to be made.