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83 / LEASH
hand, if, as Heraclitus has shown, each day, each
minute, each second is utterly unique and unredu-
plicable perhaps, just perhaps, these lessons are
in fact false and misleading rationalizations we
cowards use to conceal from ourselves the utter
meaninglessness, pointlessness, etcetera of life. That
night, due to the youthfulness of the girl, and per-
haps the soft summer air, I more than half-hoped my
perhaps was the correct alternative, even though
this would confirm the very uselessness, irrelevancy,
even vanity of my experience. For in my more altru-
istic moments, I told myself the relevancy of my life
didn t matter not just in the grand scheme, of
course but perhaps even to myself. Normally I was
totally caught up in the frivolousness of my everyday
existence less frivolous, perhaps, than most peo-
ple s, but still, in the context of the eternal, vain and
superficial but every once in a while the tedium and
repetitiveness of all this would astonish me as it
were afresh, and I would look at myself as I looked
at other people, with amazement at my narcissistic
egocentrism. What was I, after all, but a leaf? a bac-
terium in the sand of time? Could I honestly pretend
that my life was significant or interesting even to
myself! I who watched sports on television every
chance I got? Obviously not. And if it was not inter-
esting to me, why should it be interesting to other
people, even as a subject of conversation, even
though the amusing, self-deprecating (if I may say so
myself!) mode in which I invariably spoke about it to
84 / JANE DELYNN
other people so that their laughter would absolve,
as it were, my ephemera of its more negative conno-
tations was as far removed from the earnest, self-
pitying, replete-with-significance demeanor which
others brought to any discussion of their lives....
36
During a short break the producer, while playing an avant-garde
musical composition so repetitious it could be interrupted at any
time with perhaps not even the composer any the wiser, provided
me with the coke and Perrier I had requested. Then, after a brief
Q & A during which she demonstrated an almost frightening
awareness of my entire oeuvre, she shut off the overhead lights
and opened up the phone lines. In the dark, with only the glow
of the knobs, the CD player and turntable, the two mikes, the
questions seemed to come not from other people but the hidden
parts of my own soul.
How autobiographical is your work? the first caller asked.
About the same as Philip Roth.
Is there anything you like as well as sex?
Sports talk radio.
Do you think gayness is genetic?
For most people, yes. It s linked to the gene that causes
faggots to like musicals.
Next.
What do you think about that area in the hypothalamus
that s smaller in gay men than in straight?
I think that if gay men s were bigger than straights they
85 / LEASH
wouldn t have been nearly as pissed. But the question I m really
interested in is, is a dyke s larger or smaller than a gay man s?
Next.
From a woman: It sounds like an offensive book and I don t
think anybody should read it.
You re entitled to your opinion, of course, no matter how
stupid it is.
After the show I acceded to the request of the producer (a
graduate student in the School of Arts), to have a beer and
something to eat at a nearby college-type bar a repast paid for
(as she assured me) out of the radio station s budget, during
which she plied me with a lengthy series of questions concerning
the writing process and my life. She seemed unduly astonished
and a bit disappointed to hear that I lived with someone who
was almost my own age. I could tell she was interested in me,
but no doubt because of shyness, she refused to conform to
the internal rules I have developed concerning who I will and will
not have sex with: i.e., if I am seriously attracted to someone I
don t mind making a pass at them, but in cases of equivocal
attraction, or extreme dichotomies of age, income, achievement,
or degree of physical attraction, it is up to others to make their
intentions clear. Perhaps because she was young, and had not
yet come to realize how easy it is for someone of that age to
achieve their objectives, she did not, and so I went home alone,
wondering all the while as to whether by any chance Box had
been listening to the radio station and recognized my voice.
86 / JANE DELYNN
37
I had difficulty working the next few days, going so far as to
actually fall asleep at the computer. I did not need my shrink (to
whom I was uncharacteristically silent concerning my adven-
tures) to tell me I was avoiding something. Eventually, after much
internal debate as to style and content, including an exceedingly
painstaking effort to evoke the appearance of spontaneity (lots
of parentheses and dashes) I wrote:
Friday
Dear Box 392,
Yeah. Yes. Of course. How could it be otherwise?
I love you (of course).
I m petrified (of course).
A contract is on both sides, right? so here s my part: you ve
GOT to leave my life out of this!!! By my life I mean respecting
my anonymity even if you find out who I am and you can t
do anything that will impact on my relationship with the Current
(any more than this obviously will, that is!). I mean, you can t
contact her or interfere with my contacting her in any way, even
if you ve got me tied up in your apartment for days.
(I do not mean to be putting ideas in your head, by the
way!!!)
You also ha ha! can t mutilate or do anything to perma-
nently disfigure me by tattooing, piercing, etc. (I m not even sure
about cutting. ) Perhaps it is unnecessary to write such things
but I have never been in such a situation before, so I do not
know what is necessary to include or preclude. (Of course I am
aware that the very mention of such taboo acts may inflame
87 / LEASH
your desire to perform them is not this the very essence of
perversity? Yet if I don t mention them, would I not be prey to all
you might choose to do?)
If you agree to the above paragraph, I will be happy to
become what you have requested till the week before Labor
Day, anyway, when the Current is due to return.
Anxiously awaiting your reply,
Chris
38
Saturday
Dear Box 392,
Of course the answer is yes ; how could it not be?
I think of you constantly. I imagine you knocking at my door,
coming in and raping me. (But of course I could not know that it
was you.) (But I would, I am sure.)
Am I scared? Of course, but that cannot equal the fear of
not seeing you again. Not just the longing for you, but the moral
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