I washed my hair but forgot to rinse. The soap suds expanded and grew, unknown to me until they started to cover my face and obscure my vision. A mirror revealed the ungainly truth. In search of a shower I quickly found one, but by appearances I and others thought it was anything from a conference room to a confessional to a transformative chamber of removal, where miracle-seekers and spiritual contortionists convened on hopes of fate’s serendipitous magnanimity. I was able to wipe away the soapy accumulation, but the hair still needed rinsing. Feeling I needed to shower in private I could not clear the room of people who kept arriving. Two men entered so they could argue about the demands of God in private, away from others who might interpret the tone of their argument as a signal of weakness, a signal of hypocrisy, the most common of vices. They recognized where they were, in a place where a naked man needed to shower, and they courteously took their argument elsewhere. A woman I’ve known only casually for many years next entered the room, making a wry comment about bananas before obviously glancing at my bare, half-hard cock, then smiling. She did not leave the room but she vanished from it, returning to the outer area where machines in the forms of dogs and geese deep kissed each other in loveless, soulless depictions of passion. The woman who had glanced at my cock joined a circle of ultrasexuals who masturbated to anything. She chose a grocery store receipt. Others used nails and screws. Some chose empty sealed envelopes. I closed the door once and for all and drew a black curtain, hoping to shower in peace. In the shower was a radio with three station presets. One station was religious, the second was ambiguous, the third station voyeuristically listened in on conversation that occurred in high-rise elevators. I also found a small altar where, it appeared, people worshipped. A spinning wheel let you choose your god, your demon, your rubicon. I didn’t choose, but spun the wheel until it landed on a vacuum. Everything went in but nothing emerged. I worshipped that hole until its seductions became comical.
- Payphone Radio
- Give them a title!
- Flashback: November, 2011
- Today’s AI Disinformation: Let’s Rewrite the History of Old Calvary
- Baby Bizzy
- Flashback: The Bobby Pages. Roosevelt Island Bridge. March, 2007.
- An Abruption
- Felt good yesterday
- Interesting Day Near Death It Seemed At Times.
- Making Connections at Old Calvary
- I Thought This Would Be Fun. It Was Bothersome.
- Coney Island
- Nothing to say
- LinkNYC: Portrait of a Pioneer