Survivor

rch. We’d spend our entire lives at work.
“And if you never have sex,” Adam’s saying, “you never gain a sense of power. You never gain a voice or an identity of your own. Sex is the act that separates us from our parents. Children from adults. It’s by having sex that adolescents first rebel.”
And if you never have sex, Adam tells me, you never grow beyond everything else your parents taught you. If you never break the rule against sex, you won’t break any other rule.

“And if you never have sex,” Adam’s saying, “you never gain a sense of power. You never gain a voice or an identity of your own. Sex is the act that separates us from our parents. Children from adults. It’s by having sex that adolescents first rebel.”

Adam says, the cultures that don’t castrate you to make you a slave, they castrate your mind. They make sex so filthy and evil and dangerous that no matter how good you know it would feel to have sexual relations, you won’t.
That’s how most religions in the outside world do, Adam says. That’s how the Creedish did it.

Adam said the first step most cultures take to making you a slave is to castrate you. Eunuchs, they’re called. Just short of that, some cultures make it so you don’t enjoy sex so much. They cut off parts. Parts of the clitoris, Adam calls it. Or the foreskin. Then the sensitive parts of you, the parts that you’d enjoy the most, you feel less and less with those parts

dam says, “You’re still a virgin.”
With one good jump, I tell myself, I could solve all my problems forever.
“You know, the horizontal bop. Hide the salami. The hot thing. The big O. Getting lucky. Going all the way. Hitting a home run. Scoring big-time. Laying pipe. Plowing a field. Stuffing the muff. Doing the big dirty,” Adam says.
“Quit trying to fix your life. Deal with your one big issue,” Adam says.
“Little brother,” Adam says, “we need to get you laid.”

ccording to the agent, the secret to staying on top is to be non-threatening. Be nothing. Be a blank space people can fill in. Be a mirror. I’m the religious version of a lottery winner. America is full of rich and famous people, but I’m supposed to be that rare combination: celebrated and stupid, famous and humble, innocent and rich

you watch close, history does nothing but repeat itself.
What we call chaos is just patterns we haven’t recognized. What we call random is just patterns we can’t decipher. What we can’t understand we call nonsense. What we can’t read we call gibberish.
There is no free will.
There are no variables.
“There is only the inevitable,” Fertility says. “There’s only one future. You don’t have a choice.”

The risk of being famous is you have to take levothyroxine sodium to stay thin. Yes, you have your central nervous system to worry about. There’s the insomnia. Your metabolism ramps up. Your heart pounds. You sweat. You’re nervous all the time, but you look terrific.
Just remember, your heart is only beating so you can be a regular dinner guest at the White House.
Your central nervous system is just so you can address the UN General Assembly.
Amphetamines are the most American drug. You get so much done. You look terrific, and your middle name is Accomplishment.
“Your whole body,” the agent is yelling, “is just how you model your designer line of sportswear!”
Your thyroid shuts down natural production of thyroxine.
But you still look terrific. And you are, you’re the American Dream. You are the constant-growth economy

You know the old saying: It’s not what you know.
It’s who you know.

When you get famous, dinner isn’t food anymore; it’s twenty ounces of protein, ten ounces of carbohydrates, salt-free, fat-free, sugar-free fuel. This is a meal every two hours, six times a day. Eating isn’t about eating anymore. It’s about protein assimilation.
It’s about cellular rejuvenation cream. Washing is about exfoliation. What used to be breathing is respiration.