tuck arms in jumpsuit
matted hair against the ground
listen to the din

one hand over chest
and one beside the scrotum
forty hour nap

the floor is warmest
when you find yourself in jail
sleeping like a child

easy to avoid
I already sleep in fire
the faithful martyr

standing for justice
against the pigs and their guns
I will keep my pride

some say it's a sin
wheel turning 'round and around
John Galt wields his stick

I've been here before
seen the underlying theme
following my heart

call dad, post the bond
I dance like I'm seventeen
feeling mighty fine

Beware the Ides of March.

I think I may have mentioned that Valentine's Day is the anniversary of the first time I ever engaged in coitus. A woman from my past (I am allowed to take creative liberties with how I describe people in my daylogs) used the famous phrase about March and reminded me of something else. My first girlfriend, the one I lost my virginity to on Valentine's Day, The Legend, predicted at some point at the beginning of the school year that I would lose my virginity by the Ides of March.

That was then, this is now.

Today I had a run in with the law. That's the kind of shit I IM my friends instead of saying "hey" sometimes. It's the kind of abbreviated version of reality I constantly throw out to the world to see if anyone wants a story. Does anyone want a story?

It isn't much, but it amused me. Do you know what $15,000 in hundred dollar bills looks like? Man, I really am a tease sometimes. I mean, it's a pretty select few...those of you that know me well enough that I'm not kidding around...I was actually reprimanded by a law officer today...and of those you still need to have some desire to think about how the hell $15,000 plays into all of this. Well, it wasn't that much. It was $150 in singles...which LOOKS the same as 15k in hundos, right? I didn't have a poo-satch to put them in though. I actually put all those singles with even more money to make a stack of cash so large I didn't know how to carry it. It was kind of too big for my jeans pocket.

The thing is I decided to walk to the bank. Why? Well it saves on gas and months ago Mr. Positive said something about going for a walk and sometimes that guy burns things in my head. Walking is a nice change, I suppose. Anyway, that was the plan. So I put on a jacket and managed to fold this huge wad of green and stuff it in a pocket with a zipper. I got to the bank (inside the grocery store...I also brought 78 cents with me to get a loaf of bread, because somehow, this place has bread cheaper than Wal-mart...I was comparing vegetables a while ago and Wal-Mart's were fricking half as much per once. HALF. But I can save a nickle if I don't buy bread from Wal-Mart, so I don't) without anything interesting at all happening. The guy who took my deposit doesn't like me, I don't think. He tried to sell me something once. Don't try to sell me something.

So deposit: check. Bread: check. Walk back home: not so check. See I live on the other side of the street from this grocery store and a week or two ago when I walked there I was watching all these people jay walk and really I'm pretty obsessed with efficiency, so I jaywalked to the bank and back.


It was a female voice, slightly annoyed the way I imagine my mother sounded when she told my brother to stop kicking his new little brother in the legs with his cowboy boots. Okay, I imagine my mother was more upset than that, but really I don't have a lot of experience with authoritarian mothers who are slightly annoyed.

I don't have any experience with a driving police officer using their loudspeaker either. I thought that was just from The Blues Brothers. I looked up and saw her patrol car speeding (just an expression, I have no clue how fast or slow she was driving) and I said, "Thank you," pretty much reflexively, but completely sincerely.

I actually had the nerve to go into a little routine in my head about how I was sorry, I didn't mean to be so poor I try to save gas by walking to the bank, for all of about ten seconds when it hit me. Just because I walk to the bank doesn't mean I have to jaywalk! I mean if I trip over the median and end up the latest asphalt mess, this poor woman is going to be the first one there dealing with it. Who the fuck do I think I am?

Quick poll on suicide, if I did trip and fall in the road and die, how many of you would think I just made it LOOK like an accident? What if I was found dead from auto-erotic asphyxiation?

I would like to switch gears and write about leopard print peep toe shoes for a moment. These shoes are amazing for three reasons, really. They are leopard print. That's two reasons. Yes, I realize I'm not making sense, but it makes half sense to two different women. The third reason they are amazing is that to some people, if you simply string together the words "leopard print peep toe shoes" it SCREAMS Las Vegas. My first reaction was that if you have these shoes, you should totally come to Vegas, work in the strip club I recommend, and give me a cut.

Coincidence is awesome.
I took some more notes this week. One of them was about how people sure did respond to the little dating site thing I shared in my last daylog. I think it's because sex is so interesting. Like some people really like things in their ass, and some people REALLY hate it, isn't that interesting? A LONG time ago I polled some girls: would you rather have anal sex with me, or do heroin. So many chose heroin. Go ahead and poll for yourself, although I might suggest you ask if they'd simply rather have anal sex, and not necessarily "with me" (I mean you can ask if they'd like to have anal sex with me, assuming you are polling someone who knows me, I'm just talking about you actually using the words "with me") because this is how I creep some people out. That thought aside, though, seriously? Heroin? I've never heard of anyone dying from anal sex...

The idea of me creeping people out segues so nicely into something else I wanted to write about that I think I shall do it now.


When I first realized I'd be living alone in this condo, one of the things that annoyed me was that it's a one bedroom condo, and therefore I couldn't easily split the rent with anyone. A friend offhandedly told me I needed to clone myself.

I fell in love with the idea.

These days when you say "clone" you are actually talking about something that is possible. I have no clue how close scientists are to cloning humans, but let me just be clear: I have no interest in raising baby Brian.

What we are really talking about here is a COPY of myself, completely identical to the original until the copy is made, at which time we start having different experiences. I've talked so much about "my clone" with people, though, that I'll continue to use that nomenclature. Just think copy.

The reason "Brian creeps some people out" made me think of this is really inspired by one fine woman I worked my office job with. I told her about the clone idea, and after a couple days she just flat out asked, "Would you have sex with your clone?"

It's a testament to my creepiness that she thought this, because I had never so much as hinted at THOSE benefits of having a clone.

Of course I'd have sex with my clone. Some of you might be wondering how that would work, two completely non-selfish lovers trying to please each other so much. It works just fine. We'd take turns.

Really this idea was posed in The Time Traveler's Wife first. (SPOILER ALERT) If you, as a just barely post pubescent boy, traveled back in time a few days, or a week, or whatever, would you have sex with yourself? Of course I would. If I was visited by my future self I'd be sure to try and give him the best blow job of his life (and that is saying a LOT). Why? Because that's me in the future, baby.

This reminds me of some excellent blow job advice I recently got from a lovely twenty something. "When I was 19 my friend taught me how to give a good blow job. It wasn't really my thing, so she said she'd teach me. She said you had to love it. No matter what, the whole time, love it."

Back in the days of heroin or anal polls a friend of mine was asking how much he have to pay me to suck his dick. He just wanted to see if I'd really do it. I tried to explain how THAT was kind of the point, not the act itself. Like he could get a much better rate purchasing a large amount of blow jobs. We never came to an agreement.

But say we had. My point is, as he jams his enormous cock (back then I hadn't heard the stories I've heard over the years, maybe that was the whole point of his inquiry, he wanted me to agree to something not knowing I would surely die from the attempt!) in my mouth and I figure out he's about to come, then is not the time to worry about if I'm going to enjoy the experience. Then is the time to love it. And that would pay off for me in the future if I was with my future self.

I mean I hope. It's super interesting to think that the future self has his experienced lessened by the empathy he feels for past self, who he knows is about to start choking/laughing and have semen come out his nose. We never know. But future self would.

But Clone and I don't have that problem. The extent to which Clone (I'll use that name, no clue if we'd both just go by Brian, or what, I know neither of us would really care) cooperate is ridiculous to most people.

One of the first questions I posed was if I got two clones, and one took a life insurance policy out on the other, then I killed the insured clone, would they be able to collect the money? I could go to prison or suicide or whatever, it doesn't matter. All that matters is if Clone gets to stick it to the insurance assholes.

People don't think like I do. People say "but you'd be dead!" I just laugh and think of how Clone would be there to make fun of their silly concerns over old Brian's death. Why are we wasting time thinking of him when we have all this money to spend?

You just couldn't convince Clone that the insurance scam wasn't a fun thing to do. Now you can certainly convince him that he and I would have a MUCH more fun time just living together, though.

And I'm not just talking about the sex. Wouldn't it be interesting to play games with yourself? Like you have to wonder how just seeing things from a different perspective starts to effect your learning.

And can you imagine how incredibly annoying we'd be interacting with women? The poor girls would think we are twins. Any woman we'd ever fuck would get recommended to the other or we'd tell each other not to waste our time. And we'd take each other's advice.

"What if your clone is better in bed than you are?"

Who cares? People ask about jealousy...people think they only want a clone to do their work for them. Insanity! I know my sample size is still pretty low, but it certainly seems that my clone and I would be doing much better than most people and their clone.

What would it take for my clone to turn on me? I never say never, but hey, when the sun comes up every day....I just don't see how total cooperation with my clone can be argued against. Oh, how much fun it would be to have people ask me what he was thinking, and we'd both laugh at them and I'd ask back, "How should I know?"

I mean it's kind of hard to put in the context of reality, because creating a copy of a human being like this would be big news. But if we assume that it happened somehow and my clone and I decided we'd just tell people it turns out I have a twin...then think about how our lives start getting different. For sure only one of us could do the office job. There is just too much information you need to know from the day before to imagine it being a good idea to split time at the same job like that.

So say we flip a coin and clone goes to work. That day a chess playing friend of mine happens to be at his computer more than usual. We end up playing a lot of chess. I'm getting better at chess than my clone, right?

I think really the most amazing thing is how much we'd do for each other. My first roommate in college and I were REALLY considerate of each other. My clone and I would be even more so. The thing is, how often do you REALLY want to do something? Do you think you go out and say, "I want a hamburger, and nothing is going to stand in my way of this hamburger?" Or do you call up your friends and say you want a hamburger and then your friend says, "I was actually thinking of Mexican, I'm buying," and then you go enjoy some Mexican?

But when my clone feels like something I immediately cater to his desire for instant gratification. Why? He'll do the same for me.

What's also fun is to think of how my clone is different from women I've been in a relationship with. Just a degree of trust. Trust AND wanting the exact same things.

You can make fun of my dumb hypotheticals all you want, but I'm convinced thinking about this random shit can get you to some interesting conclusions about yourself and other people you know.

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