2005-04-07 - 7:51 p.m.

SEX!

I'm feeling metaphysical in the way that insists I live off coffee and cigarettes until it induces a mystic trance.

Either that or I'm just high-stung and trying to cover. You know, frontin', yo.

In the meantime I skipped class today to work on one of those short stories that isn't that good and will never go anywhere. Typical me. Now the day is almost over- the week is almost over- and I'm still sitting at my computer. My grossly unhealthy and stimulant-heavy diet insures that, like Tweek on South Park, I am wide awake yet incapable of having a coherent thought.

Subject change: Been having weird dreams again. Last night they were all about sex, but I won't divulge the details because I'm sure there are some Freudian and/or Jungian types in my audience who would have a field day with the who, what and where of those dreams. Instead I'll leave you with one word: penis. Just keep saying that to yourself until it loses all its meaning.

Speaking of sex that's the consensus. About what to do about Cyrus, that is. Someone I hardly know asked me what the Hell is up with the guy in the cape. Of course the caped college student in question is Cyrus. The fellow I hardly know said that one time he was just standing in the middle of the quad when Cyrus began shouting in another language for no reason. I told him that was typical Cyrus. The guy I don't know laughed and remarked that Cyrus probably doesn't get laid a lot. I laughed and rolled my eyes and said an emphatic no. Then the guy said that would probably fix him. If we could just get Cyrus laid he would quit being so... the way he is.

The funny thing is that then I ran into a girl who knows both Cyrus and myself. She, completely unprovoked, remarked that maybe Cyrus would mellow out if he could just get laid.

At that point I began contemplating the price of a cheap prostitute. Then I remembered that I would just be wasting my money because Cyrus a'int down with the sinnin'.

I wonder if he's happy. I know I wouldn't be. I can't imagine life without sex. The two are so intermingled. Celibacy seems like a horrible way to waste your life. After all, we only have this flesh for 80 years max. In cosmic time that's a split second- a tiny blip. That's all you have. While some see this as a reason to live a good and upright life for the sake of a heavenly afterlife, I see it as an invitation to senseless hedonism. Life is short, death is long, and for all my glamorization of the later I have no high hopes for it (hence my previous failure to commit suicide). Now you may ask if I don't believe in a Christian afterlife. Sure. But I think it's presumptuous to assume that you know if you are saved or damned. You'll know when you get there, okay? I've known very nice people who thought they were damned and very horrible people who hid behind the mask of salvation. Now you might suggest that I read the Bible and divine from that the specific things you can and cannot do and thus learn and do the good things becuase death is longer than life. While that's all well and good and the Bible is certainly a lovely book filled with glimpses of the nature of God I fear it sets forth a slightly antiquated set of ethics which cannot be considered valid in the present. Don't get me wrong, the generals are great- help the poor, love others; great stuff. As for the fact that all it's social and cultural legislation is based on a society in which women and children are chattel, slavery is super-duper and animal sacrifice is normal- well, you can see why I don't think the Bible is a legitimate source modern ethics. The point to that ramble? Sex is not bad. Sex is very, very good and if anyone trys to tell me different I will whap them upside the head with my very heavy student study edition of the NRSV.

Oh, and can you find a thing in the Bible that says premarital sex is wrong? Because I can't. Please leave me a note if I'm missing something obvious, but until then I'll be wondering how the "true-love-waits" kids got that into their heads.

Where was I? Oh yes- Cyrus needs to get laid. Cyrus needs to get laid but I'm not gonna be the one to do it. Neither is anyone else we know. Now I'm back to square one- you know, the prostitute- but crap- I already decided that wouldn't work.

Hmmm, Getting Cyrus Laid... that sounds like the title of one of those absurd college buddy-movies. Sometimes I worry that my whole life is turning into one of those.

The last thing I wrote before this thing. The next thing I wrote after this.