Shit, what don’t you have?

When we get to Rip’s apartment on Wilshire, he leads us into the bedroom. There’s a naked girl, really young and pretty, lying on the mattress. Her legs are spread and tied to the bedposts and her arms are tied above her head. Her cunt is all rashed and looks dry and I can see that it’s been shaved. She keeps moaning and murmuring words and moving her head from side to side, her eyes half-closed. Someone’s put a lot of makeup on her, clumsily, and she keeps licking her lips, her tongue drags slowly, repeatedly, across them. Spin kneels by the bed and picks up a syringe and whispers something into her ear. The girl doesn’t open her eyes. Spin digs the syringe into her arm. I just stare. Trent says “Wow.” Rip says something.
“She’s twelve.”
“And she is tight, man,” Spin laughs.
“Who is she?” I ask.
“Her name is Shandra and she goes to Corvalis” is all Rip says.
Ross is playing Centipede in the living room and the sound of the video game carries to where we’re standing. Spin puts a tape on and then takes off his shirt and then his jeans. He has a hardon and he pushes it at the girl’s lips and then looks over at us. “You can watch if you want.”
I leave the room.
Rip follows me.
“Why?” is all I ask Rip.
“Why, Rip?”
Rip looks confused. “Why that? You mean in there?”
I try to nod.
“Why not? What the hell?”
“Oh God, Rip, come on, she’s eleven.”
“Twelve,” Rip corrects.
“Yeah, twelve,” I say, thinking about it for a moment.
“Hey, don’t look at me like I’m some sort of scumbag or something. I’m not.”
“It’s …” my voice trails off.
“It’s what?” Rip wants to know.
“It’s … I don’t think it’s right.”
“What’s right? If you want something, you have the right to take it. If you want to do something, you have the right to do it.”
I lean up against the wall. I can hear Spin moaning in the bedroom and then the sound of a hand slapping maybe a face.
“But you don’t need anything. You have everything,” I tell him.
Rip looks at me. “No. I don’t.”
“No, I don’t.”
There’s a pause and then I ask, “Oh, shit, Rip, what don’t you have?”
“I don’t have anything to lose.”
– Less than zero, Bret Easton Ellis



Just before he died, the woman’s son, the man with one leg, just before he’d lost consciousness, he’d begged me to go into his old apartment. There was a closet full of sex toys. Magazines. Dildos. Leatherwear. It was nothing he wanted his mother to find, so I promised to throw it all out.
So I went there, to the little studio apartment, sealed and stale after months empty. Like a crypt, I’d say, but that’s not the right word. It sounds too dramatic. Like cheesy organ music. But in fact, just sad.
The sex toys and anal whatnots were just sadder. Orphaned. That’s not the right word either, but that’s the first word that comes to mind.

Chuck PalahniukStranger than fiction – True stories

What you don’t know

is how much you know without knowing you know it.
“Depression is like a bottomless pit of apathy that just sucks you in, and the totality of any novelty you find in anything at all is just vacuumed away. The feeling that you’re left with is more like loneliness than boredom.” – Anonymous

The Alter Ego

I look like you wanna look, I fuck like you wanna fuck, I’m smart, capable, and most importantly, I’m free in all the ways you wish you could be.

Tyler Durden, Fight Club (1999)

If you’re what you read…

“I’m manic depressive. The bits of me that make me special – made me special – are just part of my illness. Who am I now? I’ve always thought that I am what I do. I am all my memories of myself. But now that’s been taken away from me, the good times and the bad times. The times of feeling so low I wanted everything to end, and the times of feeling I could do anything, fly high, all the wonderful times I’ve had. Now I think that wasn’t me, not the real me. They were all just symptoms.When I’ve behaved badly, when I’ve behaved well, it was just because of a chemical imbalance in my body. It’s a great excuse but I don’t want it. I want to be me. Me being bad, me being good, me being me.
I wanted to be hugged tenderly, to be held carefully, so that I didn’t break again. I lay in my bed, which felt like a fragile boat tossed on towering waves. I closed my eyes and felt the waters suck me under.”
“I knew it would never be quite like this again, whatever happened between us. If it was going to carry on the way I wanted, maybe we could get to a stage where – unimaginably – we would stop thinking about each other all the time, where we would go a day, two, three, without sex, where the other one would be just a familiar part of the furniture. But not now. Now we were endlessly curious about each other… Every day was tantalizingly short because, whatever happened in the future, this intensity and energy would fade. It would have to fade so that we would be able to become normal people again, normal lovers, or partners or, perhaps, just friends, or maybe strangers once more.”

From a book I loved, five years ago.
Catch Me When I Fall, Nicci French