March 20th is a Special Day

Happy Birthday to you.
Happy Birthday to you.
Happy Birthday, dear Professor Dilexi.
Happy Birthday to you.

I suppose an appropriate birthday choice would be cake or death, but is that really a door one wants to open with the Professor?

I think it is not. Life-sustaining balloons and adulterously smeared frosting to all of you.

A Prize!

For Rachel and Katie, winners of that long ago contest. Totally unedited, and may not make any sense if you don't know these characters already. Or at least be unsatisfying. But anyway, no more caveats, here it is. Oh, except one, and I will take other precautions re. this... I'm always really paranoid about posting my work online... it's mine, the characters are mine, I made them up and/or have permission to use them, and so keep your hands off, all you random bitches who are coming around to steal my shit. Ahem. Thank you for putting up with my paranoia.

So, this isn’t how I met him, but this is how I knew I was in love. I didn’t know that I knew at the time, but later, I knew that that was when I would have known, if I’d been paying attention and not just fucking around. And do you know? It was before we ever had sex. Which is good, because if we’d just stumbled into sex I’d have been totally blindsided. Every time he gets an award for his work or some kind of honor or whatever I want to stand up and yell, and the best lay on the whole fucking island. I would say planet, but that might embarrass him a little. And overstate my sluttiness, which, while considerable, does not encompass the entire earth.

God, the sex is so good. One time, before the virus obviously, he had just finished some big deal article for one of those journals with the impossibly long names. And we were fooling around on the floor in the kitchen in his tiny apartment. He’d gone in to get some wine glasses and I followed him, and we ended up knocking over one of the glasses—before we started playing, actually, just, you know, normal slippage, and then we got carried away and I ended up with my legs around his waist and my head pressed against the wall, uncomfortably, staring at the oven. But it was incredibly hot, and I was picking bits of glass out of my back for days.

You know, I’ve said I’m a masochist, but that’s not really true. I just like to be taken care of. Swept off my feet. Sometimes I get that mixed up with pain. It’s a little embarrassing, the whole thing. But whatever, my lover reads romance novels, and he’s a fucking Ph.D. So we’re well matched or something. I’m not entirely comfortable with that side of myself. I just pretend to be. You’ll see that in a lot of maricones like me.

Right, but I was talking about being in love. It was… well, here is where I get confused, maybe our third or fourth date. I mean, the first sure wasn’t anything to make you fall in love, unless you get off on car accidents and hysterical boys. Boy, singular, man I guess, but I was hardly ready to think of myself that way. Besides, boys could be a bit more flitting and fey, and men… men were part of that strange class of creatures who could set your throat pulsing when they moved so carelessly from the locker room to their shiny manly cars, hair and skin all damp with sweat. I wanted to be a sponge, to soak it up and remain blameless. But to name myself as one of them would tip the scales, send me tumbling into some other class of being from which I could never return. I remember sobbing in the shower the day I graduated from high school, because everyone kept calling me young man, saying I was growing into a fine young man, things like that. And I wasn’t.

Boys could be fucked, but men did the fucking. Men did the choosing, boys could wait, and dally, and let things happen to them, let everything pass over them like clouds in a blue sky. You would think I’d have done a lot of pot, given my basic desire for a spacey state of mind, but I was afraid of drugs in high school. Reefer madness and all of that. I could see the red animal with small sharp claws under my skin, and I danced attendance on everything that would keep him at bay. I was afraid of everything, really, and the day I graduated from high school I was breathing in the steam and the soap and the tears until my head pounded and my fifteen year-old sister came into the bathroom without knocking and started to put on her makeup, and said, Jesus fuck in the fucking arsehole, David, you’re such a bloody fucking dishrag, why don’t you mop yourself the fuck up? She was going through an extremely profane phase at the time, which seemed to correspond with her extremely cruel phase, and preceded her extremely loud and yet romantic phase, which was a direct segue into her extremely drunk phase… but I digress.

I guess the point is that once I got out in the world, I realized you could stay a boy for as long as you wanted; there were always men ready to fuck you and ask no questions. And a little part of myself kept floating above it all, a balloon on a string, never quite part of the world of the me who went about interacting with things, just tethered a little by the red animal portion of myself.

Of course, I didn’t think of it that way at the time. I figured I was basically happy. I figured that happiness was like that, interspersed with inexplicable nervousness and uncontrollable tears. You just factored those things out.

On our third (or maybe fourth) date, I decided to take Andrew to a bar. Sort of a bar/club/gay dive, basically. We’d done the movies, and a cute little jazz show, but I was nervous because he hadn’t decided to fuck me yet, and I figured I’d get him buzzed and see what happened. That and I liked to dance. I wasn’t completely an insecure asshole. It was quiet there that night, fewer people than usual on the dance floor, and I was a bit uncomfortable with that. Andrew, for his part, was a bit uncomfortable with the whole scene. I mean, he hid it well. But he was quiet. I don’t know how I knew his bad-quiet from his good-quiet even then, but I did. He wasn’t drinking, either, so I followed suit. It felt very awkward. More so than our other dates, even the initial catastrophe.

After awhile Andrew went to the bathroom, and I waited for him so long I began to think he’d definitely scampered out the window, like people you read about or see in sitcoms, trying to escape their Very Bad Dates, and I was starting to get nervous and even a little mad—I didn’t think I’d done anything that horrible. You’ll think this is ridiculous, I guess, but it was at least ten minutes he was gone. And that was after I’d started to check my watch. I suppose I should have gone in and checked on him, but I kept thinking he’d come out any second and I wouldn’t have to make an ass of myself. So, anyway, finally he appeared, and he had this very strange expression on his face.

The thing about Andrew, I guess, is that he has a tendency to look sort of dreamy. I mean, his hair and eyes are rather soft to begin with, and if you’re not really paying attention, I can see how it would be easy to just sort of conclude, absent-minded professor, you know, and move on from there. But if you do happen to pay attention, you realize that the dreaminess actually comes from this focus that’s just utterly formidable. That he’s taking things in and processing them and giving them back at a level that’s probably well beyond you, no offense. It certainly is beyond me. And sometimes the dreamy fog-curtain of his outside thoughts just kind of peels away, and you’re left with his sharp, unvarnished interest. It’s a bit shocking. Like… lemon, or a deep-pore cleanser. Thank God he’s into religion, you know, and not, I don’t know, something black and white. He has a gentleness that he retains, even when he’s just chewed up whatever your argument was and spat out the bones.

Anyway, my point is, that as he came out of the bathroom and rejoined me at the bar, I saw that not-dreamy, not-veiled face of his for the very first time. It was like… well, I don’t know, I don’t want to get too dramatic. But I wasn’t expecting that kind of light in him. It’s like he had some kind of special hidden radiance he had suddenly let out… I don’t think he knew it. I don’t think he saw it. He seemed troubled when he came over to me, upset.

“Hey,” I said. I smiled, all sideways and crooked. I was trying not to run my hand over his arm to see if I could find the bottom of that glow against his skin.

“Hey. Um. Sorry I took so long. That was weird.” He let out a breath, and smiled back at me, looking nervous. “There was a weird guy in there; he sort of hit on me or something, I don’t really…”

I wasn’t sure what to say about that. Some guy in the bathroom hits on him, and he comes back to me all lit up? It looked not so good for me.

“Oh… was he hot?” I laughed. It sounded like my stupid sister’s laugh. Andrew’s eyes focused on me, looking mildly surprised.

“Sure. Yeah, he was.” Apparently this was the last thing that Andrew had considered. Apparently I was a bizarre, idiotic, horny prick.

“Oh.”

“He was… he seemed to have been sweating. He’d taken his t-shirt off and was wiping his face with it when I came in. It was white, the t-shirt, or it had been once. He was rather tanned.”

I bit my lips to keep from giggling inanely. What was this, some kind of porno set up or what? Maybe handsome, studious Andrew was actually a raging kinkster.

“But he was wearing a scarf,” Andrew continued, oblivious to my squirming. “I mean, like a muffler. A big knit one, made of this fuzzy gray yarn. It seemed completely… out of place. And it was torn, on the end. And he didn’t smell good. I sort of hate that, when people don’t smell good, because you know you should just ignore it, but you don’t. I don’t. I have a lot of trouble with that. Well, anyhow, he was obviously sort of agitated, and I didn’t want to stare at him, or whatever, so I just sort of went over to the urinal and tried to mind my own business. And the next thing I know he puts his hand on my back. I mean, actually on my back, not my ass or something, but still, I was very startled and I sort of whipped around, and he said, sorry.

“He had a really interesting voice. Low and a little rough, but not too rough. He swallowed, and he seemed to be hesitating about something. I was… frightened, but less frightened than I figured I ought to be.”

“Jesus,” I said. “He musta been on drugs.”

“Maybe,” Andrew said, slow and considering. He takes so little for granted. He spread his fingers out on the bar, looked at them, drummed them there.

“Well, what happened?” I said at last.

“He said, ‘Did you lose these?’ and he holds out my glasses that I must’ve lost, I don’t know, two months ago, certainly not here, and one of the lenses is broken and the side is bent, but they’re definitely mine…”

“Let me see,” I demanded, as though I had any idea about his missing glasses.

“Well,” he said, looking embarrassed, “I didn’t take them.”

“What?”

“I said they weren’t mine. I was freaked out, you know? Some weird guy handing me my glasses out of the blue sky in the middle of the washroom? I don’t know if he’s a stalker or some weird homeless prophet or what.”

“Oh.” He looked so nervous at this revelation that I touched his hand. “It’s ok, it does sound pretty fucked up. I bet I wouldn’t have talked to him at all. Unless he was really hot.”

Andrew smiled. “Well, so he tucked the glasses back in his pants pocket and watched me wash my hands, and then he was rooting around in his pocket again and I was really scared he was going to pull out my stuffed duck from when I was a kid, or something, and sort of hoping he would, and I nearly jumped out of my skin when he asked if I minded if he smoked… and I said yes. Which I think startled him, because after all you can smoke everywhere in the bar. But I figure, why ask the question if you won’t take yes for an answer, right?”

I laughed. “Gutsy,” I said.

“He took out a cigarette and passed it between his fingers, but didn’t light up. I would’ve thought he was being challenging, or something, but he just seemed curious. Somehow the smell wasn’t so bad now, either. I dried my hands and figured I should leave, but the whole thing seemed unfinished. I turned to leave anyway. After all, this isn’t a fairy tale, right? So I was heading out of there and I felt him touch my elbow again.

“ ‘You dropped this,’ he said ‘Anyway, I don’t like poetry.’” And he gave me this grimy, folded up piece of paper, and I took it, because I didn’t know what else to do.”

I waited expectantly, but Andrew was looking at the bar again. “Geez, what was on it?”

He looked up at me, with that sudden, unexpected clarity. “I don’t know. I wanted you to read it with me.”

“Why?” I said.

“You know, I don’t know,” he answered, and I figured I could trust him, because he wasn’t just being romantic, he was real and strange and talked to strangers and didn’t like cigarettes and saved things just because. “It just seems like it’s your story too.” And he took my hand and we walked out of the bar right then, really, and I couldn’t stop smiling. We read the paper under a street lamp, and this is what it said:

man like a blade of grass in sunlight

boy are looks ever

deceiving, he’s the moon

man.

he’s the moon man,

after all.

I didn’t get it then, and I don’t get it now, except that it produced such a longing in me, such a stupid longing, maybe it was just waiting to come out, waiting for something incomprehensible it could wrap itself around. And I looked at Andrew and I knew he understood, and we joked about how dumb it was to write incomprehensible poetry. And we made out for awhile and he took me home.

I stayed awake all night, and in the morning I called him and I said I wanted to sleep with him right away. And he didn’t laugh at me, but he made me wait until he went to all three of his graduate seminars.

It was great! Well, probably it was horrible and clumsy, and I thought it was great. But after all, I was in love already.

Not It!

Yeah, I'm bored with surveys about me, and I bet you are too. So this one isn't, in a slightly more deliberate way than Cain on a Fucking Stick. If you get it, good for you, but don't post it and ruin the fun for everybody. Be cryptic! You can tell me, though. It's either obvious or hard, and as usual, I have no idea. You-- things people would probably care to know(65)
-|You, basically|-
Birthday?:	Irrelevant
Birthplace?:	Unknown
Heritage?:	There is a happy land, far far away...
Weight?:	I'm pretty skinny, but there's more to me than you'd think.
Hair color? Hairstyle?:	Currently, blond and longish.
Eye color?:	Currently, green and brightish.
School level, or if done, career?:	I'm a prince!
Piercings? Tattoos? Want any?:	It seems a bit irrelevant. Or... disingenuous, maybe.
Describe your personality:	Scintillating.
-|Favorites|-
Color?:	I like tawny colors. And regal colors. And piercing colors. And black. And white, sometimes.
Animal?:	Lion. I like things a little rough-and-regal.
Music genre?:	Classical. And that sort of disco-pop stuff. And really hard and wrenching music, too.
Movie genre?:	Tragic and long, with men and women in pretty clothes. Or just tragic. Or a musical.
Game(if you swing that way)?:	I don't. But I'd have to say I'm one who likes a gamble.
Store?:	Um... here's a surprise... I like hunting/fishing/camping stores. You know, with lots of guns on the walls and army vests and lumbering men who smell like rubber and pine.
Sport?:	Self-delusion. Also ice-dancing, and wrestling, especially if it involves thighs going out of joint.
Food? Drink?:	Oh, mother, must I? Wait... no.
Season? Holiday?:	I like them all, but perhaps winter's my favorite. And holiday... Easter, really. Really. I know, I'm a piece of work.
Website?:	divineinterventions.com
Place you�ve been to?:	Ambivalent about so many. Fond of the desert. Also Ireland. And India, though sometimes I get overwhelmed there.
Past-time(hobby)?:	What a charming misspelling. Perhaps playing various stringed instruments.
-|Love/Relationships|-
Names of your best friend(s):	They know who they are.
Think you�re a good friend? Why do you think they like you?:	Because I'm charming and occasionally fierce with my love? I think I'm taxing to have as a friend, but also fascinating.
Get along with your parents, the rest of your family?:	Oh. No.
Taken? If yes, what�s their name?:	I call him Mr. Wonderful.
Single? If yes, do you have a crush and if yes, what�s their name?:	I'm singular, not single.
Why do you like them?:	Because he's fucking beautiful. Because I am what I am, and so, more obviously, is he.
Your perfect date?:	I'm not picky. Storytelling, a little music, a little emotional connection, sex that lasts for days...
-|Randoms|-
[Have any] Siblings? Pets?:	Yeah, and that isn't the most healthy part of my life, actually.
Goals you'd like to achieve?:	I dislike this question.
Phobias?:	No.
Special talents or skills?:	This makes me smile.
Guilty pleasures?:	You could say that.
Bad habits?:	Indeed.
Disorders? Other problems?:	In spades.
Relatives that are famous?:	Again, in spades.
[What's] something most people don't know about you?:	I'm very sensitive. It's not convenient.
Your most prized possessions?:	I like my ornaments.
Your style/favorite clothing style?:	There's very little I can't pull off. But let's say old fashioned, or very slutty.
Happiest moment?:	There was this thing with an egg... Jesus fucking Christ.
[What] do you want to do for a career?:	Oh, I don't know, maybe go into politics or something.
(you)Body part or feature do you hate the most? Love?:	Let's just go with the scars. That sounds like I'm some battered teenager overly in love with suffering... ah, wait.
Word or phrase you often say?:	I feel I ought to be more aware of this. What I say, I mean.
Pisses you off or annoys you to no end?:	Prancing M with his blocky ass and his skirts and his foot on my head.
Have you �always wanted to do?�:	I have.
Country would you like to visit most?:	Aslan's country. But really, I don't know.
Would your personal shirt saying be?:	Fucking angel?
[Have you] technically broken the law, but never paid for it(or did)?:	Yes, and did.
Learned another language? Any other(s) you want to learn?:	I'm a polyglot.
Regreted anything?:	Yes. But not always what you'd think.
-|Opinions|-
Abortion?:	It seems futile, to me, somehow. But I think I have an odd perspective.
War?:	It always seems like a good idea at the time. I like the way war breaks bodies, but I hate what it does to souls.
Gay marriage?:	Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments.
Death penalty?:	Too often used against the love of your life.
Alcohol/drugs?:	I hate being numb.
Racism?:	I can't hate racists. They suffer from reflections, and they don't even know they are suffering.
Religion?:	That's me in the corner, that's me in the spotlight.
Plastic surgery?:	How could I condemn it? I'm as smooth as a baby's bottom, most of the time.
Animal testing/abuse?:	You have to flick this switch inside of yourself, and then it becomes startlingly easy. Sort of like any abuse, really. Don't believe me? Have a care, in that case.
Suicide?:	The whole concept of suicide being damnable is perhaps the worst catch-22 I've ever come across. Barring one.
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30 Fictional (or semi-fictional) Folks.

Apparently I've become obsessed. But these are all from stories, books, or other not so flesh and blood sources, so maybe it will be fun to think about?

Name 25 random people you know (NO ORDER!)
what is an inside joke with #7?:	Doublemint gum? Not exactly a joke, but inside.
what about #22?:	I don't really know her all that well.
would you go out with #12?:	HA HA! I wanted to in high school. Lots. Even though it's temporally impossible and he's a murderous sex fiend. Or maybe that was why I wanted to.
whats one word that describes #5:	Amnesiac.
would #4 look good with #25?:	Maybe, but #4 is real uptight and #25 is married, and on second thought... they probably wouldn't look that good together anyway.
would u go out with #19?:	Not really, but we are kindred spirits.
when is #11's birthday?:	I don't know. Perhaps in the spring. Or the fall.
would you make out with #28?:	No, I don't think that would work out well at all.
are #3 and #29 BEST friends?:	Not in the slightest. #3 has enough to deal with without bringing in #29, and it would only confirm #3's conviction that maybe he is going to hell. Guilt by association, #29
have you ever liked #21?:	No, but I wrote about him in a sexually aware manner, lord help me.
have you ever liked #13:	And how! High school again. Again impossible. Again murderous. Again sex fiend. And very beautiful.
have you ever liked #6?:	No, in any case there could be even less result of it if I did than with any of the others... literally any of them... but nonetheless he currently fascinates me.
can you tell #17 anything?:	I think I could. He has a history that enables him to be understanding.
how mucuh do you love #4?:	Not a whole lot... maybe that's why he never got very nuanced when I wrote about him.
how do you know #20?:	John Irving wrote this book...
would you make out with #30?:	It's not on the top of my list, nor do I think his, but neither is it a totally repellent idea.
how'd you meet #18?:	Through Kirstin.
what word comes to your mind when you hear #23's name?:	Bravery! And a tail.
have you ever had a crush on #27?:	No, not really the right age group.
what about #2?:	No, and anyway she's married.
do you think #10 is hot?:	Yes, especially with #11.
whats one word that describes #15?:	Gentle, officially. Also... let's say a bit flighty.
what do you think #9 will be when he/she grows up?:	A priest.
give me one random fact about #16.:	He killed a wolf.
and #8.:	He was in love with a rock star once.
and what about #1?:	He was never in love with a rock star. And doesn't like personal questions.
...and #26?:	He's locked in the basement without Peter Smith-Kingsley.
what song does #14 relate to?:	Hard to say! Maybe "Into the Woods." :) Or "All in All."
what movie could #24 be in?:	Dragonheart. Only not really.
what famous person does/should #7 meet?:	Maybe Tim O'Brien. Or any one of a number of poets.
what do you think of #10?:	I think he's incredibly fun and spontaneous, and must come from the one part of me that doesn't overthink everything.
would you make out with #1?:	I don't think that would accomplish anything, or that he would let me.
what about #17?:	Ok, this is probably totally wrong, but yeah, assuming we were in the same age range and it was an ok situation.
whats an inside joke with #11?:	Sort of the whole car accident when he met #10 thing.
what about #12?:	We don't really have inside jokes... but I did finally get "Turn Around, Bright Eyes" because of him. Also, I used to imagine that he was in my time and I had to explain cars
and #13?:	Despite his attractiveness, I'm not 100% sure he'd like my jokes. Maybe something about his flamboyant and numerous love affairs at the hands of his creator(ess)
have you ever liked #8?:	I like him a lot, but not that way. He has other vows and desires.
what about #20?:	I sort of love him. But that's how it is with him, I think.
would #29 make a good couple with #16?:	Certainly NOT. #16 would probably put him to the sword, or something.
what about #23 and #5?:	No, but it's really funny because #5 had the nickname Mouse (it's not from Tales of the City, btw), and #23, well, is a mouse.
whats a random fact about #6?:	He's been castrated.
what about #21:	He's been scarred. Famously.
and...#18?:	She's been killed. But not in a permanent way.
how'd you meet #28?:	Through Rachel.
have you ever gone out with #9?:	No, he's faithful to his promises.
what about #30?:	No, he's unable and uninterested in the likes of me.
ever had a crush on #5?:	No, in fact she baffles me a little.
or #25?:	Not really, I leave that to #7.
has #4 ever liked you?:	I don't think he would, no, he's still obsessed with #5, at least a little.
what about #19?:	I would be proud if she liked me, at least as a friend. I always imagined we'd be such good friends.
one word about #27.:	Sprightly.
do you knwo anyone who likes #24?:	Maybe Jill Pole?
is #3 your friend? why?:	He might be my friend, but I think at the moment he's awfully preoccupied with his own worries. And dancing takes up a lot of his time.
where do you see #26 in 20 years?:	SUCH a question. I wish I could say, with a good lover. But instead... in prison, dead, or else fabulously weathy and successful.
what about #22?:	I really don't know. Hopefully a little more stable... and not lonely.
would you make out with #2?:	I doubt it highly.
have you ever made out with #14?:	No, certainly not.
what # can you most see youself with?:	Um, for real? Maybe #17 or #24.
What # should #11 go out with next?:	#10. Certainly.
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What's In a Name?

Name Association Test
Who/ what do you think of when you hear...?
Jon:	Uncle Alan's partner. Stancato.
Nick:	Gambino, from high school, or Carraway (spelling) from The Great Gatsby.
Jack:	Sparrow, Frost, Sprat.
Amanda:	Rogers, from Star Trek, I think.
Emily:	of New Moon.
Sarah:	Plain and Tall.
Megan:	A friendly girl with short hair, brown or red.
Jackson:	Fast, solid, suspicious.
Mike:	Abbreviated angel.
Justin:	Timberlake. Goddammit, that was my first thought! Also, Justin and Benjamin.
Eric:	The Phantom of the Opera.
Samantha:	The American Girl doll.
Dan:	Ultra-Modern Abstractionist from Haverford.
Matt:	Cousin.
Fran:	Drescher. Spelling?
Claire:	Reyner.
Joe:	Joe, Joe, he don't know. Ain't that so, Joe? The Narrator!
Ally:	Decker, but I don't think she spells it that way.
Kim:	Smith? And there was a Kimmy in that play I wrote in middle school.
Vinny:	Vinny Valentino! The pastor's pin-up! Vinny and... Irving! Which sends me back up to Jack!
Jesse:	paint your picture, 'bout how it's gonna be... by now I should know better, your dreams are never free.
James:	Devron. Mackessy (spelling?) A strong, attractive name.
Greg:	There was this odd kid in my religious ed class named Greg... he was one of the problem kids that they kept promoting this one teacher, Mr. Kimball, with our class for.
Chris:	Aunt, Arabek (spelling).
Jay:	Guss.
Nathan:	Someone in the Revolutionary War. Somebody's brother.
Brandon:	Too modern.
Tiffany:	Way too modern.
Ashley:	Stevens? Don't know why.
Kevin:	Bacon, Martin.
Kyle:	Baker! Our mystery disciplinary problem!
Sean:	Madigan. Never really liked him, though he got better as he got older. And his mother, oddly, was a kindred spirit in some ways.
Victoria:	Had issues with all people I've known named Victoria... well, all two.
Jessica:	The most popular name in elementary school! Rolince, Fikes, Lasda...
Andrew:	Andrew and David.
Zach:	From Zachariah, my troubled dancer. Which brings us again back to Chris, for Chrissy, and Jack, for Jack Rose.
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Cast List

How clinical... Poor Ian.




That's about right.




I could go with it.




How about not?




Ha. Ha. HA.




Um... wow.




Yes, absolutely, Professor Dilexi is my ideal lover.

Some Lovely Quotes from Mark Twain

So... we're getting this one-man show called Mark Twain Tonight, and Hal Holbrook, the actor, has been doing this show for 50 years! Anyway, in the course of trying to come up with promotions, I found these gems...


Statesmen will invent cheap lies, putting blame upon the nation that is attacked, and every man will be glad of those conscience-soothing falsities, and will diligently study them, and refuse to examine any refutations of them; and thus he will by and by convince himself that the war is just, and will thank God for the better sleep he enjoys after this process of grotesque self-deception.
- "Chronicle of Young Satan"

Everyone is a moon, and has a dark side which he never shows to anybody.
- Following the Equator

Each man is afraid of his neighbor's disapproval--a thing which, to the general run of the human race, is more dreaded than wolves and death.
- "The United States of Lyncherdom"

We grant God the possession of all the qualities of mind except the one that keeps the others healthy; that watches over their dignity; that focuses their vision true--humor.
- Notebook, 1902

And my favorite:

But who prays for Satan? Who in eighteen centuries, has had the common humanity to pray for the one sinner that needed it most, our one fellow and brother who most needed a friend yet had not a single one, the one sinner among us all who had the highest and clearest right to every Christian's daily and nightly prayers, for the plain and unassailable reason that his was the first and greatest need, he being among sinners the supremest?
- Mark Twain's Autobiography

That's Nice...

Jude Law: you like them romantic and British with
beauiful green eyes.


Which guy are you destined to have sex with?
brought to you by Quizilla

Despite the womanizing and reputed sex addiction, he's lovely... right, Tom?

That's Tom Ripley, not Tom Abrams, though obviously anyone named Tom can answer the question if he feels inclined.