Category Archives: Strange Text

Crush II (Crumpled)

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Billy Sonic didn’t (couldn’t, wouldn’t) entertain the possibility he sabotaged possible relationships with like-minded younger men because he didn’t want to meet a human after all. At the age of 42, with thick white hairs sprouting from his balls, Billy hadn’t ever had a relationship last more than four months. He said he wanted an LTR. He said he was open to dating black guys, too. Humans wanted Billy to be emotionally vulnerable. They wanted to hear stories that hurt to tell, and then disappeared after he summoned the courage to tell some stumbling, incomplete version of the truth.

An older couple, friends, tried telling Billy he needed to focus on something other than looks. They wanted Billy to identify what he really wanted in a guy, by which they meant some abstract quality; loyalty, kindness, generosity or good company. Billy always nodded along with what they said (one of the couple smoked top-notch cannabis that he was willing to share with Billy.) Billy went home and (before the buzz from the weed wore off) searched for and found pornography of a quality that in previous generations could only be found in the Vatican’s private collection. He didn’t search on loyalty, kindness, generosity or good company.

Billy Sonic told himself that someday, he’d make it work. He just needed to meet the right boy (21+). Until then, he was happy, enough. That was what Billy Sonic told himself, as he hurried into the bathroom, hunting for a towel that could clean the whole mess up.

Fleeced

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Mary had a little lamb
A little lamb
A little lamb

When Mary’s parents posted pics of their kid cuddling with, uh, another kid, they got traction like you wouldn’t believe. Clicks! Likes! Shares! In the front seat, her parents talked in quiet voices about exposure, and leverage, and monetization schemes.

Mary had a little lamb

Mary wasn’t her real name, and her excitement about encounters with domestic feed animals was quickly dispelled. She continued to pose and giggle as instructed. At first because she soaked in her parents’ attention. Later, fear made her smile, and clutch whatever smelly, wriggling animal her parents ordered her to hug. No one threatened Mary with physical harm. No touched her inappropriately. But as her parents tried, without success, to recapture the charm of that first, viral image, Mary worried the only value she brought to her family was as a prop. Mary’s father circled his child, phone obscuring his face. “Relax,” he ordered Mary. “Hug the nice lambie and smile for Daddy, okay?”

Her fleece was white as snow.

4-20 Impressions

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I’ve been cleaning out my phone, prepping for a switch to a new model. Moving images, contacts, and all that stuff should be easy, but over the years I also created over 250 text memos, some fanciful (see the previous post) and some more sober. This particular snippet captures my impressions of the celebration of 4-20 in Chicago this year.

A crowd of more than a hundred people. Ages, gender, apparent socio-economic status, all diverse. Maybe the most diverse event I’ve ever attended in Chicago.

Let us give thanks the day is warm.

Activists are active. A man has stood rock still beside a concrete flower bed for half an hour. His shoes are nice. Now he tilts his head forward. Now back. Now, he puts his hands in the planter. He could have my chair, but he doesn’t want a chair. He wants to hunch over the planter, fingers in the dirt, repotting himself on 4-20.

Based on the rate of customers processed during my wait so far, I’m guessing that inside customers are treated to a slide show and oral history of weed throughout the ages before being allowed to purchase product.

Smoking weed is strictly forbidden at the street festival. A wasted man sits opposite me, basking in the sun and warmth of the edibles consumed (he whispers to those of us in the vicinity) an hour ago.

What a strange new holiday this is.

Wanting (with Flowers)

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I wanted something and I came up wanting. I came down with a condition, and I came back with something missing, and if I could do it all over, I’d do it all the same, except harder. I’m sorry, that’s true, partner, I’m not on a mission but I could never be true, not to you. I’m not your man of the hour, I’m a man having a moment or a momentary fit. Except (saying it!) with flowers.