Like most people, I sometimes become tired of the routine in my life. Things that I'd normally want to do no long appeal to me. I don't want to be around people, and I don't want to do what I'd otherwise enjoy. Mostly I want to be left alone to sleep. But I never, ever get tired of the food that I eat day after week after year. In the nearly 15 years that I've been taking the same bagged lunch to work (chicken sandwich, yogurt, egg, banana, apple), never have I pulled it from the refrigerator and complained or grumbled. Routine in my eating habits has never been a problem with me.

I’m reading a play by Eugene Ionesco called “Rhinoceros.” There’s a character in the play named “Logician.” He keeps giving examples to his friend of syllogisms which are incorrect. “The cat has four paws. Isidore and Fricot both have four paws. Therefore Isidoe and Fricot are cats.” From this faulty syllogism it’s possible to derive nearly anything.

Genet became close friends with Sartre just after WWII, when Sartre was at his intellectual peak. It’s odd that Sartre would be interested in Genet, since Genet was so gay, and Sartre so straight, and since Sartre was more of a philosopher than a novelist or playwright, and Genet was more of a poet than a thinker. But apparently Sartre recognized Genet’s genius, and Sartre was very interested in homosexuality. Sartre eventually wrote a large volume on Genet, which I’d like to read some day. Of course Genet became friends with Simone de Beauvoir as well. Beauvoir claimed she entitled her feminist text “The Second Sex” because “since pansies are called the ‘third sex’ . . . that must mean women come in second.” This is the first time I’ve ever heard of gays being called the third sex. I wonder if gay men are the third sex, and lesbians are the fourth?

White very correctly characterizes Genet’s writing style when he says that although Genet may have themes and schemes, they never “mitigate the reader’s sense that the author is improvising notions and discovering linguistic possibilities line by line, not the global, level, in the language, not in the plot. . . Sartre is fun to discuss, Genet more absorbing to read. Genet cannot be read rapidly just as Sartre cannot be read slowly.” Genet isn’t easy to read. He’s not even fun to read.

I’ve been chatting online with some kid off and on for a few months. He’s very young, and very inexperienced. It’s often the case that the young gay boys are the most imaginative in their sexual fantasies. And those who’ve only ever fantasized about sex always seem to have the wildest fantasies. Those with some experience know the difference. This kid really wants someone to cum multiple times into a container, and to save it. Later, at his convenience, he’d eat it while jerking off. Our tastes aren’t quite aligned in that way. Heheh I can’t imagine anything quite so repulsive. I suppose you’d have to refrigerate it, and then it’d be cold, like a chilled oyster, or like unsweetened yogurt. How would it work? Would he put his face in the mayonnaise jar and let it drip slowly onto his face while jerking off? Could it be simulated with pudding of some sort? Or maybe he’d dip his finger into the specimen like sampling peanut butter? It’s hard for me to place it in an erotic setting. He wants lot of public sex, of course. Slapping, hitting, nipple twisting, toilet head. Lots of photographs, wardrobe changes, mirrors, and videotape. A full array of underwear, g-strings, thongs, jock straps, and razors. There are no limits while the fantasies remain within his head. I’m sure that the moment reality intervenes, it would be something like, “Ouch. Could I just feel your chest?” But it’s sweet to hear him go on about what he imagines he’d like. I never initiate conversations with him. But I’m happy to play along. As our conversation ends, he always promises to call me the next day to come over and begin working our way through his list. He never calls. Still, I always pretend that I’m waiting for his call.

I’ve heard from men all over the country who’ve found my blog entries about the Russian boys Ivan and Sergey. Some take it more seriously than others. Some are indignant; others just want to tell someone how idiotic it all is. It is. No one has been truly deceived by these Russians.