the rematch was held near the grave of a mannerist painting of Isadora Duncan
–aka–
Redaction action, what’s your traction?

I discovered accidentally that WS Burroughs might be interested in a rematch. My friend CM introduced me to his sometimes boxing manager, Tattoo Rodeo. CM wrote about this man before. He’s just like that in person.

I didn’t want a rematch. I couldn’t take a beating like it again. I wet my bed that night and I hadn’t done that since I was 8. But the idea that Burroughs had requested it suggested that there was something about me he was afraid of. He would only request it if he thought he hadn’t beaten me completely and still felt he needed to, I reasoned. I was, as always when it came to Burroughs, approximately half-right. You could say 49.9% correct. The exact percentage of votes Nixon took to Kennedy’s 50.1%. I’ll bet Burroughs didn’t think of it in those terms. He probably saw us as more of Burr/Hamilton race, that bastard.

Tattoo Rodeo said that I couldn’t lose. Even if I lost, he said, “You can’t lose because it’s all about a real thing. This time.” Though I did not actually understand his insinuation I was compelled by him. I believe him to be one of those rare individuals with charisma. This dread affliction allowing _____ __ ____ ___ _____ ____ _ ____ _____ _______.

Burroughs was early. _____ _____ face up __ ____ _ _ __ ____ ___ ______ _____ _______ ___ Seaworld that afternoon—____ ___ _____ _____ ____ _____ _______. Styrofoam _______ _______ _____ _________ a 12 pack of syrettes _____ _______ snorkel ______ _______. ___ ___ like he’d heard the recess bell or ________ __ ___ _____ ____.

Whatever advantage that came from sacrificing my _____ ____ _______ ______ _______ _____ ____ _ _______ _____ ____ the point of which could only ___ ____. It felt like a belt but as I said, I couldn’t see because ___ _______ _______. _______ ___ _______ embarrassment the most utterly domesticated of emotions; and laxatives _______ _____ _______ __ market standard _____ ____.

___! I mean, __ ____ _____ _______ _____ ____? _____ ___________ ____ _______ ____,” he intoned like Paul Robeson reciting Marx for adolescent readers.

_______ ____ _____ _____ ____ _ __ _______ _ ___ _______. _ _____ _______ __________ __________. __ ____ _ _ ______ ____ ____ ______ ______ __ _____. _____ _____ _____ _ __________ ____. __ _____ _____ _ _ ____ _____ _____ ______ ____ _ ____ __ ____ ________ ______ __ ______; _ ____ ____ ____ ____ _____.

____ __ _____ _____ ___ again, and again, and again, and again as ___ and I _______ _____ ____ _____…? Sticky.

This wasn’t losing. This was ______.

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