To Tisch:
How indebted I still am to all of your affection.
Consider the $160,000 as a simple token of my gratitude. I owe you much more in terms of dignity, spirit, confidence, and virility.
I would have needed to have walked all the way to Esperanto Cafe to make the same contacts I made through you... Instead I was able to use those precious minutes to converse with fellow alumni after dropping a dime into their cup... I do to this day, heed their advice... “Let me tell ya! It’s not the real world out here! It’s not the real world!”
I did adore the way you inflicted ambiguity upon the straightest male... You know, I must have been wrong all of my life... There must be no way that I’m straight... I’m too smart, good-looking, creative, and great in bed to be a male that prefers the scent of vaginal fluids over anal fissures... I now admit you were right... I’m sorry K, K2, E, J, and M. Only now do I fully comprehend why you decided to hold out and try to wrap me in a longterm relationship... You wanted me there for shopping...
Oh! And the wondrous drugs were just MUAH! Because of this reason alone, I didn’t mind missing out on the whole I'm-in-college-and-fuck-two-girls-at-once-on-a-routine-basis experience... or ONE girl... I totally empathize with the fact that ALL woman at NYU gave up on looking for a hetero guy because I just didn’t meet them soon enough before their clitoral sensitivity was destroyed by Christopher St. vibrators contraindicating with their foul attitude... And absolutely none of it had anything to do with the fact that all of my film classes were limp-sausage fests, where I too was categorized as another limpdick chill dude unburdened by animalistic passion because I like Ingmar Bergman flicks... and can explain the pertinence of “A Touch of Evil” in film history.
Your dorm-room-door delivered psychedelics brought me face-to-face with my newly acquired narcissism... which convinced me that I need only love my self... sex is not necessary... semen retention IS necessary to be able to stay awake five days in a row, thriving on sheer sexual frustration... because a three minute black and white film will guarantee me greater conquests in the future... reclusive asexuality is a virtuous norm, my classmates say... regardless of whether I’ve turned into an asshole sitting cross-legged in front of my apparitional self... trying to take a yoga breath... mumbling filmic metaphors to a fading Scorsese... scared shitless, locked in a cramped, old-wood dorm bathroom, hiding from my tweaked-out roommate who carries a kitana, a machete, and numerous daggers in his 6 cubic feet of space ... thrashing them about the air because it just so happens that it’s Monday and has to be just as special as those other Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday nights we love under the influence of ayahuasca, dmt, or just plain THC oil... muttering about HER service... over loud steel creaking... while I murder every decent moral-driven ambition and goal in my head... WHO THE HELL IN NYC BELIEVES IN MORALS ANYWAY???
Oh and the introduction to THE long-awaited love of my life, it's just not your fault... that her genitalia brought back long-repressed memories of showering with my mom at the age of four... That's my fault... I did appreciate how you were there with six free sessions of therapy, at my convenience on the twelfth floor... don’t worry, I fully respected your move to hook me up with the hottest girl at Tisch... under the guise of my chaste therapist... and no I was not thinking about how HER genitalia would never provoke such a reaction... during such a rare moment for mind-altering sex... I always preferred Jung anyway... And which archetype, Tisch, you are... I don’t know... But I do love you Tisch and I miss you... The tears are too much for me to continue writing...