My mother

Some of my thoughts about WHY I want the things I want.

There’s something dead inside of me. Also, sirens.

There’s something about curls. When I had hair, I had them, in droves. A big, long Jew-fro of a mane. My mother had them too. But these curls – tight, corkscrew ringlets aren’t what I mean. What I mean are…

“You really are difficult,” Sofia wrote to me. She’s right, of course. We were talking about how I respond to the sensation of being desired.

The other day, I wrote about some of my self-destructive impulses, about how, when lonely, I sometimes act (and often feel compelled to act) in ways that simultaneously exacerbate the sense of loneliness and make me feel responsible for that…

A loyal reader asked me recently about loneliness, and I tossed off a quick response: “… in general, I don’t think of loneliness as one of my key issues.” Predictably, within a few hours of sending that e-mail, I began…

I used to imagine that there was a simple explanation. To anything. To everything. I imagined, for example, that there was a simple explanation for my out-of-control sexual behavior. I thought someone (my shrink?) could just tell it to me,…

Sometimes, events in one’s life have a heft, a magnitude, an awesomeness, such that it simply feels inconceivable that life continues for others, untouched. This can be because of something wonderful – the birth of a child – or something…

T and I were debriefing about last night. We had a debauched time on a boat in New York harbor, and I wrote up a brief post describing our time.  You’ll read a version of that post shortly, but not…

I have written a bit, and will write more, about my experiences in the land of paid sex.  In this post, though, I’m not going to write about my experiences, or about that land – I’m going to write about…