PATRICK STEPHENSON

Earthbound concerns of an ascendant adult

Love & Space

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This Saturday night, despite my youth and vitality, I’m sitting at home scouring the ole Internet for information on “erotic massage.” Turns out several purveyors exist Cities-wide. One of whom is 24 with a quote toned body unquote, and a blurry face in the photo provided. A brunette seated naked-wise on steps in some mansion. My search here is Amesian, I believe. In Stephen Elliott’s recent The Believer essay—which is weird, w/r/t the non-sequitur gay strip club dancing—a friend of his explains his illicit actions w/this statement: “I’m a writer,” to which he’s clocked in el face-o. Unpleasant.

I watched the brunette’s video, and as the camera focused on her night-vision face and before-a-fireplace gyrations, I listened to Akron/Family’s “Before and Again,” whose lyrics include: “All of my dreams are memories / That I can’t place to a time or a face / But my body knows / Of the ribbons and hose / That I once was tied in / In my mother’s skin.” The music drowned out the sound in her video and the pathos was overwhelming. I considered calling as a lark, but her rate’s $200, excluding gratuity, and I’m dirt poor. I’m using my credit card for food lately, as my remaining money’s tied up in ScottTrade, and my insurance money is held up till I provide proof my doctor released me from work.

So, I’m just sitting here, waiting till E.’s done. After work, the day was temporarily great cuz my family and I went to Minnehaha to see the waterfall and walk all over sidewalks onto which snow is melting. There are lakes on these sidewalks. I got my shoes wet and stood in the middle of a bridge near Minnehaha overlooking a gorge with trees and a stream flowing through. Work was a major bummer. Last week’s in-your-face wooing occurred again on Cameras #28 and #29. You just can’t miss it. I talked with C. about the LSAT and the GRE. I talked up my book to people who didn’t care. I talked to the weekend clothes boss about her teeth and her dream-travels to Cape Cod.

From the back room, I watched a Stephen King lookalike converse with himself about Bose speakers and Skull Candy headphones. T. and I looked through Post Secret and Encyclopaedia Erotica, featuring 1890 pornography. The guy in the photos looked akin to DDL’s Bill “The Butcher” Cutting, hook mustache and all, though no trace of the Cutting malevolence. The two women looked bored. How long did it take to photograph these people? How long did they remain in these positions? Ultimately, the day at work was quite boring, and in a way previously mentioned, soul-killing, a source of soul-death that is becoming easier and easier to overcome as time passes. As it will, as it does.

After work, to celebrate two birthdays, we ate pizza from Papa John’s at my Aunt’s. I watched two episodes of Scrubs back to back, entranced by the cable television. We free-ordered a movie from my youth—Doctor Detroit, starring Dan Aykroyd—and I fell asleep during its run because I was so tired from last night and wanted badly to go home. When I woke up I played with Eggy the cat and teased my cousin. In the dining room, my aunts and mom were seated around a table, one aunt reading aloud from the paper about a fire in New York City. Apparently, a woman on an upper floor stood at a window and screamed for someone to help her. Help me please, she screamed. Uncle T. gave me a ride home and I slipped on the ice as he watched me walk toward my building. “Well, Patrick,” he said as I stepped from his truck, “always a pleasure.” I grinned at him. With that, we find me back here, listening to Akron/Family still. The story, the whatever. Yo mama.

I’m still very tired. I have a headache, but I won’t be to bed for a while. I have editing to do, a sister to pick up from work.

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Written by patiomensch

March 10, 2007 at 10:31 pm

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