mm, baby, spill verbiage on me

have you ever wondered what it would be like to fuck a genius. have you ever wondered what it would be like to be a genius being fucked. i don’t, because i can tell you what it’s like.

my parents are thinking about taking a weekend trip to sacramento, but you never know with them. “now” is never “now” or always “later,” and seldom “soon.” so i am told we live on a merry-go-round of portended possibilities. my mother asks me why i am so intent on their weekend trip. i need some space, i tell her. i see her eyes calculating the number of guests i will bring over. zero. she looks away. maybe.

when you are a genius fucking another genius, foreplay is abstracted. there are jokes. no talk about nietszche, because you are the ubermensch–respectively, but that is to say, collectively. everything is pixellated; things move out of order. there is a frenetic buzz. only, you are not sure if it is the hum of anti-matter or if it is the ungraspable sexual tension or if any of it matters at all, really.

my mother closes her laptop screen and rises from the table. i can see that she is upset with me, but it is a gentle kind of rage. she is confused, but in her confusion she finds blame. i am driven crazy, stirred by chipping paint and a swirl of plastic hair. please give me some space, i say. we narrow our eyes at each other. behind me, my father grunts. the elephant in the room has awakened.

i once gave my instagram handle to an uber driver with braces. he was a manager, as they all are in tinseltown, but all i could see were the glittering chips guarding his teeth. he asks, what brings you to los angeles? i say, i’m just here for school. he says he’s managing an artist named chill zee. new album out, have i heard of it? no, i say, but i like hip hop. we riff on chance the rapper, common, the good days when rap was a colored man’s sport and i was not yet born. i say i want to go into the entertainment industry but i don’t think i’d make it. he says sure you will, you are very pretty. he says he’s always looking for models to star in chill zee’s music videos. i give him my instagram handle, sure that a few sexy pictures never did hurt anybody. we grouse about the surveillance state and how no one can own anything, anymore.

the last time i had sex, i was high, rocking back and forth in the front seat of a KIA compact. can the absurd inspire truth? i could almost see the halo of the aurora borealis, then. the thought of the absurd — a la absurditee a la the lite a la the light, the real one — swam lazily across my mind; soft, pink, aching. i will tell you what it’s like to be a genius being fucked, because i am though surely not a genius too secure in my own mediocrity to admit otherwise. i wonder if geniuses don’t engage in synaptic explosion like the rest of us. isn’t it true that a tenet of refined intelligence is a magnified appreciation for pleasure which is to say geniuses give and receive the most delightful cunnilingus… to receive without consuming. to give and receive without aspiring to beauty for beauty’s sake

my uber driver follows me on instagram and liked five of my most recent pictures, gracing one with a heart eye emoji. the offer never comes. thank goodness.

suiyi tang