William is not going to routine his shit.

"I'm crazy."

"Yeah."

"No. I'm really crazy."

"I know."

"What I'm saying is that I am crazy, why is that funny?

"I didn't say it was."

"But you act as if it is a gag."

"Well I know you are not serious."

"What do you mean?"

"What do you mean what do I mean?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're not crazy. If you were crazy you would be in a rocking chair surrounded by people in white coats or whatever the modern equivalent was. You would be able to hear things that I couldn't hear and demanding that I could."

"No that's not true."

"When it comes to this life you are functioning. It's moving."

"That's all it takes?"

"Yes. Routining your shit."

"I am a functioning crazy person. It's like a functioning drunk."

"Yeah."

"So what you are saying is that everyone is crazy? This behavior is so widespread it's normal."

"OK."

"We are all distracted. Can't concentrate for a moment to reflect. I see people out driving like they are in a fog only waiting to react. Walking dogs with a look of bewilderment on their face. They are not sure why they are in this routine but yet they carry on with it."

"No thinking, just a kind of doing. Just do it."

"Making sure you don't understand your relationship to people, places and things. Just doing things to keep moving along. You don't want to understand. you just want to keep moving it along for reasons you don't know."

"I guess."

"To a destination you are unsure about but that's fine."

"I guess."

"What if you tried to understand?"

"I don't have time for all of that I got bills to pay."

"Huh?"

"Understanding is crazy talk."

"I don't want to routine my shit. I can't help but want to at least know what the hell is going on wit this place. I came out of the womb and got my self into something here. I'm in some fuck up shit here. I'm in a jam. I need to think my way out of this. It doesn't feel right."

"Your in a tight spot."

"I am, but I'm no radical, I'm not trying to protest; I just want to try something else while I'm doing this with you."

"How you gonna do that?"

"I'm going to think my way out. I am going to stop and listen. I am going to observe and not use reaction as tool in the world."

"So your going to stop thinking?"

"Yeah."

"Your not going to routine your shit?"

"I'm not going to routine my shit."

Slowie wants to experience this without even having that.

"For once it just wasn't some dick."

"How's that? This is my trick ear."

"I was forced to desire something else."

"What?"

"Huh?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"I won't say desire, but for once I started feeling that he was this time saying things with his tongue that still got me wet."

"And it's not even noon yet."

"I was confused."

"You?"

"Yeah. He was saying these beautiful things about love, talk in such a way that I can't describe. He would even listen to me, meet my low level demands with ease. Shit, I would forget I was talking. I had such a sexual edifice that this experience left me unprepared. It gathered me by surprise. I slipped and fell."

"Doesn't seem like your type."

"He was physically. it was a trap. Generally with those that I'm attracted to I have no problem with a pre game show. It is generally alcohol ridden or it is loaded with flat conversation and long pauses. But I stay prepared. I stay resilient. The sex is what I am signed up for. The mental abuse is what my ticket stub says; all while I approach the bedroom."

"But again that doesn't seem like his method of operation."

"But that's just it. Something he said out in the living room, something he made me feel fucks with my wiring when we are in the bedroom. It is like his whole visage--not necessarily the sex act, is what makes it more titillating. I can have an orgasm with picture of him in my mind sitting in a pair of chinos, rather than plowing into me from behind."

"You like that?"

"I like that."

"OK."

"It is almost like what he is saying is affecting me beyond what I think is my only sexual satisfaction. It's like what I have demanded for myself has been extremely low. I have under sold myself ."

"But you never expected that much anyway. Your stories of sex have just been silly escapades."

"True, it was a hobby of a distracted mind, but he has forced me to demand something else from my sexual experiences. In the end I just want to feel this...whatever it is, without even having them."

Slowie is in loves waiting room.

"All the questions I have about myself are answered if I was in a loving relationship."

"Do you even know what that is?"

"I fucking know. You never listen to me."

"OK."

"I know, because again everything that I am doing is just a waste of time until I am again exposing myself to it. I'm just distracted and fucked up until it happens."

"What does that mean?"

"The way I am figuring everything in my life is just a dramatic waiting room until I am seen by love."

"Does he have glasses with a clipboard in his hand?"

"All my questions, and all my deviant behavior becomes easily explained."

"What?"

"Turns out, the things I hide from people, the self that I am reserving for that one night stand in Coral Gables..."

"The sexual asphyxiation?"

"The balloon fetish or pie play."

"The fucking and punching?"

"Huh?"

"Not sure you're making sense now."

"I don't change is what I'm saying. I just wait for love to see me and all of my wanting behaviors are explained."

"Dr. Love?"

"I open to it, if I don't want to parcel myself out to sex and emotions with people across the city. It's like I am using different people for different behaviors."

"Your not into piecemeal?"

"I don't change. I can just heighten. I have myself explained to myself."

"Huh? What? Why?"

"It is another way to do some self evening. Like shirts being ironed out. I come in from the cold and everything about me is honored and explained as way to a purpose. I honor the good parts and all of what I think is my shitty self."

"You?"

"Me. Even I can be sanctified."

"Without an exorcist?"

"I'm just tired of forcing myself to hate what I'm attracted to and then give it to some strangers whose anonymity makes it easier for me to disrespect them."

"That can destroy people you love, and is why I personally and temporarily sleep with emotionally vacant women, when I want to kick start something bizarre and twisted I've seen on the internet or was personally thinking about."

"Your absurdity is baseless."

"Right."

"It won't destroy people you love, because the authentic love sanctify what you consider degradation and then--and more importantly begins to make you whole."

"Maybe so."

"It's transforming if you allow."

"But you still like 'piecemealing' yourself across town, don't you? You like being an actress unsure of the emotion this role will bring up. You still enjoy aspects of yourself."

"Like a movie you once thought was excellent, now you only see the sadness in it."

"That sounds sad."

"That's because it is, and I'm tired."

"Ah."

"Which is why I waiting to be seen."

"Of course."

The body is the ego's idol; the belief in sin made flesh and then projected outward. This produces what seems to be a wall of flesh around the mind, keeping it prisoner in a tiny spot of space and time, beholden unto death, and given but an instant in which to sigh and grieve and die in honor of its master. And this unholy instant seems to be life; and instant despair, a tiny island of dry sand, bereft of water and set uncertainly upon oblivion.

Nicholas doesn't like your asshole behavior but he will still take you to the airport.

"My distractions are moving over to where I can see them. It is almost like they have become easily identified in a emptying out party. They stand there completley under dressed and huddled. I see them."

"What kind of party is this?"

"Things are starting to collapse around me. I haven't lived up to my obligations anymore."

"What are you talking about?"

"I don't know."

"Exactly."

"Well. I feel I finally let it go."

"What? He says with trepidation."

"Well maybe not all of it. I stop my support. I stop my support of what my friends wanted to believe about themselves. I stop my support for what my family wanted to believe about themselves."

"What?"

"I let them continue though. That's what it is..."

"What is?"

"My point. I stopped the support and realize my life got immeasurably quiet as I stopped, but I let them continue if they choose."

"Choose what?"

"If they want to abuse themselves I think it's ok."

"So you are telling me that you stop supporting people."

"There are two people in the world: those who think they need help and those who think they can give it."

"What?"

"There are logistical behaviors. I can help them logistically if they need a ride from the airport. Help them move. Pay for their dinner etc. Logistics, yes."

"I hope the latter is something we can discuss after this meal."

"I can do those things. I can do logistics. I can carry your drunk ass up a flight of stairs if you need me. That isn't the issue. I can be a reference for a job, but where it has changed.....it has changed where the disquieted is no longer accepted. I can no longer be a party to your self abuse, or aid you in self bludgeoning, after I have helped you up the stairs or into your new job. I cannot support you there. It doesn't serve me anymore to sit on the phone and listen to you exercise the banality of your life that you are decades away from changing. Matter of fact you would shoot me if I instituted practical application on the matter."

"I hope this is just a self realization and you don't mean me."

"Of course."

"Ok."

"I'm just not as distracted anymore. I can see all of the players in my own distraction. My own life has come in very clear after I stopped doing one of the two and now I have no tolerance with yours."

"Ok. How can you help me then."

"Well there is a third thing I can do. My support can be a friend who is distraction free that can be a mirror to your ass-holy behavior. That is the only beneficial support you will ever need. Someone who allows for accountability. I have cleared myself or I am aware of my hindrances and moved them back so I can be present for your growth."

"How else can you help me."

"I can carry your drunk ass up the stairs."

Slowie has an alien.

"I don't want it."

"What?"

"Love is hard. Like is acceptable."

"You believe that?"

"Love is strangulation."

"What?"

"I don't know. Sometimes I enjoy my life of having sex with people where we are on the same page. We have conversations that are laden with thoughts that there isn't a lot of time here so let's get on with it, but sense we both try to believe that we really like each other; we pretend to be interested in each others mother."

"I love talking about bloody Korean movies before sex."

"I do a lot of 'like' because I'm afraid of love. I almost hate it. There is almost something sinister about it. It is at the root of every interaction, reminding me again to try it out."

"Try it out? What are you talking about?"

"I don't know really. That's part of the problem. But you know I don't think it has anything to do with searching. I don't think we are supposed to be out looking for it. You know tryn' to find love?' I think it is an entity. I think it is some alien inside us. "

"The Thing."

"An alien. Something we don't understand. You know it is so much harder not telling the truth to each other..."

"You mean easier."

"I mean harder."

"Ok, right."

"I don't know if love is truth, or what it is, because that is what drives me insane. There is no love to be found out there."

"It's the Thing."

"I'm having these abbreviated relationships with labels like 'open' or 'not serious' as a way of staying away from the alien, but it is with me. It is inside of me. It is at home alone with me, gnawing at me, choking me with it's need."

"Sounds painful and nothing like the Notebook."

"It's not the strangler. I have to take that back. It's not gnawing at me. You know what? I take all of that back. I don't know what I'm saying."

"What?"

"All of it."

"OK."

"My resistance is all it is. It is just my constant..constant resistance. That resistance is what does the gnawing. That is what does the choking. I have spent my entire life keeping myself back from something."

"That alien."

"Yes and based on my life, it seems more like it is my only friend. A friend that flashes itself at me when I want to sell myself short. It reminds during a kiss that there is no love to find in this."

"Uh huh. So not a question of what you are looking for..."

"But more like what are you resistant to?"

Lanvin wants to sell her cleverness.

"I just didn't want to be clever anymore."

"Huh?"

"I was tired of being sarcastic and witty all the time."

"All the time?"

"Well, as a defense mechanism."

"Why?"

"I did it to stay off myself. I was clever to avoid the cold loneliness."

"It's not that serious."

"It is."

"You are taking all the fun out of things."

"I never said that I didn't still have fun. I just don't have it at my own expense."

"What?"

"I don't have it as a way of avoiding what's going on with me."

"You need it."

"I do still need it."

"What do you mean then?"

"I need it for you. I don't need it for me as much anymore. I hate kidding myself with cleverness. I need it to coddle you. If you still need it. If you still need to feel at ease."

"You will rock me to sleep in it?"

"Only if you desire, I'm not a soapbox preacher, plus I won't hang around people like that as I use to. I will spend most of my time around those that don't need this devise as much."

"Speaks to me of arrogance."

"It's not. If anything it is like staying at home with yourself, no defenses up, taking in what is ugly about yourself--what is salvageable. Sifting through what works."

"What the hell does this serve. What does it bring?"

"Finally a sort of commitment."

"What?"

"A commitment. Without your biting sarcasm you begin to participate. You begin to commit to experiences, if only to understand this new person behind the newly dropped projecting."

"My sarcasm doesn't bite."

"I spent so much time firing back quick responses on any subject a person brings up, like a machine gun game of hot potato. I can't be introspective on just who I am in front of someone. We can never discuss this layer after layer of thought we are encased in that makes us stare in solitude 80 percent of the day. The things that are uncomfortable. The things that are biting us. I want to sell my cleverness so I can be at home in myself and explore."

"It is still just your wish."

"What?"

"It is just your buisness."

"You saying this just so I don't infect your so called good time?"

"Yeah. It can kill a party."

"No worries. It is just an option for the uncomfortable. Those who are acrimonious, contemptuous, there is still tons of real estate left. You who need your wit, your cleverness can continue to fill your face with it. I do this for me and a few people who just need to feel themselves. Those that are tired of their results. Tired and worn out with their experiences. Those that need to treat this life a little more tactile without lacerating themselves."

"I like my cleverness."

"I know. But it is something I have already mastered. I'm now ok with bewilderment."

William is sensitive to your needs, during your entertaining conversations.

"People are adrift."

"I like aquatics."

"Well you can't really talk to someone without them, kind of like disappearing----they just go away."

"Go away?"

"Yeah."

"Walk away?"

"It's me. I am talking about something that is building. I am having this layered conversation that has all kinds of sensitivity. It is sensitive to them, it is sensitive to me. It is ready to be plugged into what I believe is a universal thought. A thought that everyone is concerned about---everyone, deep down wants to discuss, but because they have never had support there---they struggle with it. They check out as I'm trying to build it. They go back towards this fake conversation."

"Fake like what?"

"Well, they have the right idea in some cases, they talk about headlines from this cornucopia of news information, which can make an intellectually allergic person savvy and conversation participatory, but that shit is nothing. People already know what's going on in what matters. The key is building on this conversation where you can meaningfully connect it to you..."

"Sensitively?"

"Right."

"Ah the chronic participatory with his hand in the air and Kool-aide stains on his shirt."

"Huh?"

"Nothing. You say don't fall for it."

"Yeah. Don't take the bait and be distracted, rather find collectively that you are connected and have given birth to the culture, which means it is more of an exercise in self evaluation not just something that allows you to take judgement out for a walk during a coffee break."

"That could work me too much."

"No not at all."

"It could. I am just trying to get home or here for dinner."

"You're always trying to get here."

"I like it here."

"Yeah it's comfortable for you."

"Of course."

"I see what's wrong with people. It is easy to be distracted, but I read in these news and information outlets--eventually what's wrong with me. I see my problems answered if I look closely; my personal answers to deep seated issues are in there somewhere."

"It's entertainment."

"Not just. Again self evaluation waiting to be...."

"Sensitivity."

"Constructed."

"Right."

"There are some answers in there. It is not all rolled pepperoni, cheese and wine tasting. It's not just entertainment. It's not just passing time. It's not just conversation that you have to produce as if you are called upon in class. There is something there. There is always something there.

"I like rolled pepperoni."

"I thought a bologna was more your style."