Anything Done For The First Time Unleashes A Demon
A thing happens. Then another thing happens as a result of the first thing happening. One, two, infinity.
That no one could have predicted the other things happening from the first thing happening is of course unfortunate. But who could predict these things? If we knew all the things that would happen from the first thing, then we would never do the first thing, and then no one would do anything, and nothing would ever happen, and that’d be boring.
So we have to do something. Don’t we? Even if the first thing might lead to bad results.
Which is of course my way of saying that I’m really really sorry that I kissed that girl in the stairwell at that party the other night, and then bit her neck, and then she bit my neck, right above the collarbone. You wouldn’t have noticed the kiss. But you definitely noticed the bite marks on my neck. But that was unavoidable: there was no way you couldn’t see that.
Another unavoidable thing is that then you got really mad at me. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” you said. “Why the fuck did you do that? You thought you could get away with having a girl bite you on the neck?”
“I don’t know,” I said. Then I thought for a little longer and said: “…Sure! Sure; I guess I thought I could get away with it. I guess. Why not? Lots of people get away with lots of stuff.”
“But they’re all… smarter than you,” you said. “Or at least they put more effort in. You don’t even try to hide stuff. You don’t even try.”
Sure. A good point. You’re right. But I’m also right, except for the part where I lied. …I know why I did it. I saw a thing that could happen and so I did the thing. …And isn’t that better? To do a thing rather than not do a thing? A thing could happen, so it happened. Things have to happen from somewhere. Without things happening, nothing would ever happen. Without that, the universe wouldn’t even exist, and there’d be nothing — no Big Bang, just entropy; no stars, just dead air. Millions and millions of miles of dead air.
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image – Cerebus the Aardvark (Issue 65)
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Even as I write this now I am debating whether or not to erase it all together.
When I say I’m in love with you, I mean I love the story I can tell to my next lover, about my ex-lover, about how beautiful things were, how intense, how storybook, what a couple we were, and how you gradually, inexplicably, painfully, bit by bit, disappeared.
“I used to be afraid of failing at something that really mattered to me, but now I’m more afraid of succeeding at things that don’t matter.”
I was 24 and, while not gay, ever since college I had been getting more attention from gay men than from heterosexual women.