I slept like a stadium with the lights turned out.

Life is a gig.

I have never felt natural about putting on socks. It is not any discomfort of the physical act of reaching for my ankles or any kind of laziness. It is just that it feels like a non animal thing to do.

I was naked and alone, masturbating in the shower.  Minutes later my still-wet hair would be studied by millions.

Watching her now, asking myself, is a comma a suitable replacement for “and”? She moves, like a living human would. But I observe others and see less gesticulation, less wasted theatrics. Less nerves. What does she worry about? She just scratched the back of her head. Now she presses her left hand to her face. She looks to her right, whilst engaged in the work of the moment she suddenly turns to the right. Why? What is there? What did she expect to find by suddenly looking to her right?

I could not look away from her, so I had to look away. I left the room. She seems soft, but weathered. Strangely weathered, as if by her own decisions, her own volition. Her own violation.

I think my head is still full of vodka. I am well fed and sturdy in the gut. Today’s Morning Mas was all about my flesh, and the dildo, that aspirational totem I keep handy for no good reason except that a future playmate might want to have fun with it. To me it’s just a harmless plaything.

I savor textures of light without corrective lenses. I take off the glasses and, while legally blind, I feel like I see clearer in some ways. Color itself is more natural. That’s the main takeaway. Taking off the glasses feels like I’ve been robbed all this time, robbed of the natural colors and the nuances. Color looks like cake. Soft and foamy. If not for the blur I might feel an erotica. Maybe I do feel erotica in the naturalness of color and light. Watching my hands type these words, now through the corrective lenses, it looks flat and sterile. What do I see clearer when legally blind? Relationships of space. Distances of separate but interdependent objects.

Any day I take the subways I hear the twangy voice announce “Grand Central.” She says it like “Graaaaaaaaaand Central.” It always reminds me of my first substantive website. “THIS IS COMMAND CENTRAL SOAKED IN GRITS. / WE HAD AN AUTOCRATIC KITTEN SITUATION ON THE FOUR THOUSANDTH FLOOR. /  MAGGIE’S MENSTRUATION WAS CAUSED BY A MICROWAVE OVEN. /  THERE IS NO NEED TO SCRATCH YOUR LOINS. / SOMETHING ABOUT A CHICKEN SHOOT. / I LOVE YOU!

It was a lot of id, and celebratory use of colors and meta-refresh when all that stuff was new to the nascent world of the web browser.

The “COMMAND CENTRAL” thing came from an actual announcement made at the 9 West 57th Street building. A dull, sleepy voice slithered over the public address to inform everyone that some kind of situation on a higher floor had been resolved. Maybe it was a fire or a false alarm, I don’t know. But the announcement was so dreary and perfunctory that all I wanted to do was electrify and amplify, fill it with the childish id that screams through my head.

I don’t think “MAGGIE’S MENSTRUATION” was any reference to a long-time friend Maggie. At the time I do not think I even knew her or knew of her existence. There were a lot of Maggy/Maggie/Magdalen/Magdalenæ on the early WWW, or so it seemed.

Going back to look at her some more, to watch. Want to get her attention again, like I did last week. She seemed positively impressed with my thoughtful comments. I can be human again?