One can't stay home and screw all day, though. One can't just... languish. "Elegant waste" I once heard it called. If you want to keep the body around to play with, you have to feed it and clothe it and shelter it.
So I take off the masculine polish, I stop growling and graveling and making eyes at any pretty thing that strikes me. I put on the plastic, raise my voice an octave, and put on some sweetness, put on some light. I bury my contempt for people who hit all the wrong notes and expect me to sing.
But never a moment slips by that it isn't on my mind. Every person I look at, I wonder what goes on in their mind, I wonder what they're concealing. I have to resist the urge to bare teeth and pick apart to get at the bones of every person I come across.
At my heart, I'm a corrupter. I break other people's diets, I'm the devil's advocate, I'm a stranger with very good candy, if you're a consenting adult, I can find a beautiful rhetoric to justify whatever you want to do with any other consenting adult. I can rationalize anything. I can take the guilt away and make sinners feel good about their sins.
There is no morality, only ethics, and I'm really only interested in the ethics of filth. I'll try it all, someday, repeat what feels good, repeat vigorously what feels bad in a very good way, and abandon the rest.
There is no reason in this world to resist.
And I'm always falling in love again, not with another person, but with another idea, another experiment, another concept to penetrate.
Sometimes I think my curiosity could change the world.
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