masters of sex
Wallowing about in a sea of self absorbed obsession for the last thirty years, am now trying to crawl to shore from the deep end. There are bubbles in the blood. Well if it kills me at least i will die trying to get a hang of very little, just putting words down on the page.
Do you think you can make a living out of that?
No, but i expect i can live doing it.
It is not going to kill you, the writing that is.
Not directly, no. But i am waiting for the men in masks to kick in the door and beat me to death with batons. Then i will have felt an ounce of success.
Until then sit tight.
You know it. There's no warmer place to be moving onto.
So you do expect a crash at the door any night now, to be dragged off and never seen again?
I don't lose any sleep over it.
How long has it been since you have felt beautiful?
I think i had an orgasm yesterday.
No, no, you would know if you had an orgasm.