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Friday, August 7, 1998
07 Aug 98
By Paul Ford
Gym
Mixed-up Childhood
Darth: Who's your daddy? Who's your daddy? I'm your daddy,. Say it! Say, "Darth, you my daddy!" You my bitch, Luke.
[Slices off Luke's hand.]
Ooooooh, oh shit, how's that feel? You need a little time off? I've FORGOTTEN more about the Force than you'll ever know. Jedi? Jedi? You meant to say puh-huh-say. I'll do you like I did Alderaan.
Confessional: Gym
I went to the gym at seven this morning, off Avenue A, and my friend wasn't there. I felt too scared to stay.
I enter a zone of terror and powerlessness near those machines. Mirrors and sweat. The body is a thing I leave behind.
Flesh, so much of it, pressing and pulling, and me with so much flesh. All my crafted jokes and insights sliced up and useless.
Why I want it? So that people want to fuck me. To please my Dad, who reminds me in subtle ways that my death is imminent, that my heart will burst from my corpulent torso and run away in disgust.
So I can be alone. Being alone when you're fat is cheating. I'll have twice as much power over others if I'm handsome and inacessible, remote, and cold.
Gym terror. I want to be healthy in secret, crawl into a cocoon and emerge shining.
I turned from the machines and walked over to work on 5th Ave. I changed my clothes in the back bathroom.
I would cut out this part of me and put it in a jar.
She Has a Really Great Sense of Humor Fitness Center.
Pretty Inside Gym.
Nice Eyes Gym.
It's Personality That Really Matters Health Club.
Pretty Inside Gym.
Nice Eyes Gym.
It's Personality That Really Matters Health Club.
I go after dogs like women in their early 30s go after babies.
I've been reading that fucking Heinovision and he gets in my head.
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