If Existing Is Plagiarism, Then What Is Death?

• More on my inability to knausgaard. As autobiographical as this blog is, there is far more that I want to write about - do, in fact, write about - my life that will never appear here or anywhere anyone other than me can read. While I can claim with some conviction that I am sincerely respecting the privacy of loved ones, friends, colleagues, acquaintances, disliked ones, hated ones, cowardice, a fear of confrontation, motivates my silence as much if not more. So while I think there's a certain cowardice in using real life as source material, it's also cowardice to not use real life as source material, so fuck me.
• My love of language? or my need to hide behind it?
• My fervent anti-wish: FBI waterboards Mohammed cartoon-contest shooters, under duress they confess they were paid by Geller, polarities are reversed, hilarity ensues.
• Ampay Ellergay and free speech.
• What do we see when we read?
• As bleggalgazed as this bleg is, there is far more that I want to write about Blegsylvania - do, in fact, write about - that will never appear here or anywhere anyone other than me can read. Though that might hopefully change, but only in regards to me and my stupidass presence in Blegsylvania.
• But sincere thanks for all Kind sent my way.
• Why Hillary became a goddess.
• I swear to Baal, sometimes I think Republicans exist just to get Democrats elected. I know, of course they do, I mean to say sometimes I think Republicans knowingly exist to get Democrats elected.
• Life isn't linear.
• Percival Everett, for those of you who do (and those of you who should, which is you).

THE ECSTASY OF CAPITULATION

Daniel Borzutzky

I.

One reason to eat is to not speak, said the man

with a mouth full of food. When she told me that my

silence was worse than her silence, I agreed,

even though she was wrong. It is shallow to fight

for things, he said, but sometimes it can be fun. You

look like a tunnel, she said, and kissed my lips. What

I like least about words is their capacity

to invoke more words, she said, as she trashed my

poem. According to the New York Times, gay

teenage boys want monogamy while

heterosexual boys prefer “friends with

benefits.” My psychiatrist told me it was

okay to lie about the important details

of my life. As a result, I fell in love with

her. I stopped seeing her as a patient but when

we dated the spark was gone. If, as Cioran writes,

existing is plagiarism, then what is death?

I was lost all night in the forest only to

discover these were streets I knew quite well. In the

Oresteia, Apollo argues that the true

parent is “he who mounts.” Because the Furies fail

to ask what happens when the woman is on top,

they lose the case. In evaluations, a

student wrote: “Daniel would be a better teacher

if he wasn’t such an asshole.” Weren’t such an

asshole, I wanted to tell her, though as her

comments were supposed to be anonymous, I

could not admit that I recognized her

handwriting. On a first date, I innocently

went to the bathroom when the check arrived. She thought

I was trying to stick her with the bill but when

she realized I was unaware of dating

etiquette she was charmed.  We had a nice kiss

goodnight, but afterwards I was so flustered I

went to a bar by myself, drank whiskey, and smoked

my first cigarette in years.

II.

                       Throughout my life I have always wanted to tell the truth,

                       even though I knew it was all a lie. In the end all that matters

                       is the truth content of a lie.

                                                     —Thomas Bernhard, Gathering Evidence

Before I met Lisa in person, says Jerry,

a user of an online dating service, I

really enjoyed the wit and flirtatiousness of

her emails. But on our first date she was stiff as

a board. I wasn’t attracted to her, though I

slept with her anyway, just in case I might like it.

And I did. I liked it so much, that now we’re

getting married.

I love you, she said, as she smacked her child’s head.

I love you for your holes, she said,

not just the holes in your shoes and socks, but the

gaping holes in your personality.

When she asked me if I was uncomfortable,

I told her I wasn’t.

I really was uncomfortable.

What I neglected to say

was that I enjoy being uncomfortable.

Two old friends meet in a café to discuss

mutual funds and stock options. Thus begins a

story that ends with one man slicing off the

other’s neck, and stuffing his mouth with love poems

to Young Werther.

Life is too short to be genuine,

he said, as he stared into her deep

brown eyes. It was the most genuine thing

he’s said all day.