Hope to Get Laid While Giving up Hope:  The Story of Man
Written by:  Alex Sandell
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11/4/99 11:55 PM

Life alone in the desert has been hard, as of late. I miss snuggling up to a lover. I sometimes doubt snuggling is in my future, even though it has been less than a month since I snuggled last. I won't even attempt the "snuggle" with a girl who is not strong enough to snuggle without interference from an insecure family or bad excuse for an overweight friend.   I definitely can’t find anyone that has the nerve to leave the life they know behind and snuggle up with me under a blanket of falling stars. All I have to provide is a tent and myself . . . nothing more. If that isn’t enough to offer, you aren’t good enough for me.  Well, at least I am not good enough for the parents you come from.  Snob. 

11/5/99 12:24 AM

I feel like a pervert out here. The more I get away from sex, the more I long for it. Cactuses are becoming enticing to me. I’m sorry to admit it, but this experiment isn’t going the way I wanted it to. I wanted to show the world that a male could live without a female, and vice-versa. I find it, at least in the male’s case, to be anything but. Why must I volunteer to be the man forsaken?

11/5/99 12:45 AM

The cries of the wolves blend in with the scream of my Walkman. I can play the independent man all of my life, but even the howling wolves have a social order. Anarchy is a fantasy, along the lines of "The Wizard of Oz" or that new "Harry Potter" series of books that have been coming out approximately every other week. I wonder if there’s anything left to believe in, anymore. Anarchy died when people stopped calling me a child.  Anarchy died when Cost Cutters began doing liberty spikes.

11/5/99 1:10 AM

Wolves, whether in a pact or not, don’t have tits; at least not in the sense that I want to suck them. Wolves have like 8 nipples located on a flat sort of fleshy Frisbee on their underbelly, or something. Eight nipples would be too many to concentrate on. Sometimes two are too many. Well, not really, but it sounded like the right thing to type at the time. I do only have one mouth. I try my best to flick my tongue equally over each nipple, but I always feel that at least one was neglected. I hate neglecting things, even if it is a simple nipple. I bet, if my girlfriend had eight nipples, all eight would be favored, with exception to the 7th and 8th. They’d be located too far down on the belly to come back up and give a big kiss on the lips. There are those "other" lips, but we don’t want to talk about them. The religious right would get upset.

11/5/99 1:30 AM

I don’t care much for nipples, anymore. There has to be more. Maybe even more than a stomach.

11/6/99 11:50 – 11:55 PM

Looking back upon my observations of November 5th, 1999, I see how truly confused isolation and scalding heat has made me. Nipples are miraculous things. I have valued them since childbirth. They fed me as a baby; they turn me, and more importantly, my partner, on, as an adult. They are the sumptuous reward you obtain once you climb up to the peak of the almighty breast. Sex has only truly begun once the female lets out that first moan of ecstasy when your tongue slowly massages her nipple. After letting out that elegant sigh of beatitude, she will begin squirming softly beneath you. Inviting you, through instinct, inside of her. The kisses become more passionate. The breathing grows heavier. The night becomes one of passion. How I miss it all, out here, all alone. I would like to make it back to civilization, if only to have that experience just one more time. A woman put me out here; women will bring me back.

11/7/99 12:15 AM

Will the wolves kill me before I make it back to the lustful eve, which I desire? Their cries get louder. They get closer with every scream. I feel mesmerized by them. I wish I could become part of the pact, rather than being timorous of it. It is only once you’ve isolated yourself from everyone that you wish you could become a part of everything.

11/7/99 12:40 AM

It would seem so much easier as an animal with an IQ below that of 50. One could be a Republican, without feeling guilt. One could join the wolves and spend the night spitting their problems out at the moon. Sex without reproduction. Lust without love. A night separated from the one that you cared about, without feeling all that you lived for has departed without a summary of all that you were.

11/7/99 1:15 AM

So many flock into a Church and pray to a Virgin Mother, a Holy Spirit, or even a God. I don’t need a church to fulfill my flesh and blood desires. I don’t ask for forgiveness when it comes to "sins" of the flesh. I head out into the desert and hope for the best. If I make it through, I am forgiven. If I don’t come home, I am a sinner and deserve to be dead. As of this moment, I am back. I am no longer a sinner, just a sinner in waiting. I am done typing this journal, now.  I’m going home . . . I need to get laid.

Contact the freak that wrote these journal entries at alex@juicycerebellum.com

Text (Copyright) 1999 Alex Sandell [All Rights Reserved]. If you copy this, without my permission, I'm gonna spice you up for the wolves.Rights

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