The Fables
In school, we read a ridiculous story by Aesop,
one not involving wise or foolish animals or insects, but one in which a god allocates emotions
to the parts of the body. Intellect to the mind, Love
to the heart, etc. etc., until only the asshole is left,
to which the god assigns Shame. Understandably, Shame is unhappy
with the accommodations, but it’s too late. Shame
curses, “If Eros should ever seek to occupy that place,
I will leave the body for good.” This is why
homosexuals have no shame, according to Aesop,
or one of his Victorian translators. According to me, this is why
there is no moral order
to my sexual imagination, and why, praising my looks and hair
and white flesh as I lie with you, then falling
silent for days at a time, you really are the master of my pain.
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