the sweeter the revenge, the more carcinogenic
My friend, CM, wrote me a sharp and nasty letter. This wasn’t his fault. I’ve not been drinking because I’m too poor to drink and I guess I got all sincere and faggy (this is the first time I’ve ever written “faggy” and I don’t remember ever saying it so please cut me a break). He didn’t like that. Sometimes guys don’t like that. It’s okay to be lonely for women but not for other guys so they get worried and write sharp and nasty letters. He used Stephen Wright to hurt me. I don’t think Mr. Wright would like that either or maybe he would laugh. I suspect he might not even care.
CM’s little brother went to NYU. His name is Calvin. He plays flamenco guitar like a motherfucking riot but if the riot was conducted by Ashkenazi. We used to live together. He would practice 4 hours or more most days. He thought it bothered me and he was very apologetic about it all the time. I loved it. I love flamenco and I buy flamenco albums just because of him. In Korea I bragged all the time that I knew him because the record store had an album with his picture on it: front and back. I like to pretend I’m a flamenco dancer. I’ve seen Paco de Lucia three times in two countries all because of my friend. I know how and when to shout, “Olé.”
I have to go to see Paco because I haven’t heard anybody else that plays better than Calvin yet. I always thought it was funny that he apologized all the time about making me happy with Spanish gypsy music when he never apologized once that I had to wash the dishes over when he did it because he washed ’em like he thought they’d break and there was always crud left on them.
Calvin lived down the hall from Stephen Wright in New York. He passed him in the hall sometimes. He never knew what to say. I might have tried, “Hello,” but maybe I wouldn’t have known what to say either.
The point is that I think Stephen Wright is probably a nice man and he wouldn’t approve of CM using him to hurt me. It’s not my fault that I can’t afford $30 right now. That’s how much the tickets are and I don’t have that much.
So I would like to get back at CM. This is what writer’s are chiefly preoccupied with. Revenge. Melville was the only one who was square about it except for me just now. But I’m not gonna drag you through an 800 page novel about revenge. Just a couple paragraphs.
I will make up a short conversation between me and CM. It will be good revenge.
“Just outta curiosity,” I began, “I was wondering. You talk about sex all the time so I figured you’ve probably had more sex than me. How many girls have you had sex with?”
“I don’t know,” CM mused, “How about you?”