structure felt empty after a while, I built it. I owned it. It was something concrete to believe in. And even when my divorce was final last year, I didn't call you, because, I suppose, I hoped Mary would come back to me so I could reenter that structure, that home. I didn't have faith in God who I saw in you. I hedged. I was conservative. I was preservative. And I lost everything, including you, who made so much sense when nothing else did.
Go for it, Cranberry! Go for the GUSTO! Screw me, Cranberry, And Be With Kaatje!
I'm sorry I'm such a coward. I'm fighting sleep. I need more Coke.
T.
Day Seven:
Transcript 4
----
I got something right? What?
If you have faith, there is nothing to lose. Okay. So?
With God you are free because you know there's nothing anyone can take from you. You have God. They can even take your life, but they can't take away God, who is eternal, not destructible, right? So—so you're free to make courageous choices . . . like, what? To divorce your wife for another woman?
I think we're confused here. First, I don't think you can be courageous if every choice you have is easy. Second, I don't like your idea of faith. You don't have to have a nice bone in your body and you can be horrible . . . and arrogant . . .
I'm serious. Arrogance. There are World War II memorials all over Amsterdam.
Arrogance causes war, Father Barry. So many of these jerks think they've got God so they don't need to do anything else, because God is on their team. Dumbassed Americans think they can tear up the desert in their dune buggies . . . they can cheat on their taxes without fear, because they have God. Religious people are fantastic. God gives them an excuse to be brutal, and nothing can touch them because they have God. Same logic underlies war, my man. You think Germans didn't have faith in their absolute? The Nazis had certainty, Barry. They knew they were right and God—whatever messed-up God they believed in—was with them, would reward them. Disgusting.
Secular? Not exactly, Barry. Power to the people! The
über
people. Big blond giant magical people! Pretty people who are free to kill because they believe in their divine right!
The Nazis had faith—maybe different rules and gods, but faith—just like you.
Did you just ask me to cool down?
Where are you going?
Letter 24
September 18, 2004
----
Oh shit, Chelsea.
Terrible.
The coffee shop where I had my several Cokes to stay awake apparently is only a moment's walk from the Red Light District. I just wanted to go back to the hotel, to have a beer, to calm down and watch a little Dutch TV before dinner. Instead, I was in the Red Light District after a short walk down the thinnest street ever—no cars could go there, only bikes, and the bikes nearly hit me, the street was so thin. And the windows, the many storefronts on this tiny street, as I walked apparently the opposite direction from the hotel, soon became filled with giant dildos of many colors, some more missile than penis. And right then, at the end of that street, the late day sun broke from behind the clouds, and although it is cool, moist, nippy, that darker sun in combination with the humidity, made me sweat, and the street, the next street after the thinnest street in the world, was filled with windows, and in the windows there were big-breasted African women in neon bikinis, beckoning with big dildos, waving dildos at me, puckering, rotating their hips and enormous, round asses, which made me sweat more. And the cold, sweaty heat was unbearable, so I pulled off my sweater as I walked, which brought the opening of doors, the whistling of women who wanted me to pay them for sex. So I hustled around the corner, which brought me to a street filled with Asian women in windows—apparently the marketplace is niche, segmented by race—who had smaller breasts and smaller asses and were wearing black or white bikinis and were not holding dildos but were posing as if in mid-orgasm,
Go for it, Cranberry! Go for the GUSTO! Screw me, Cranberry, And Be With Kaatje!
I'm sorry I'm such a coward. I'm fighting sleep. I need more Coke.
T.
Day Seven:
Transcript 4
----
I got something right? What?
If you have faith, there is nothing to lose. Okay. So?
With God you are free because you know there's nothing anyone can take from you. You have God. They can even take your life, but they can't take away God, who is eternal, not destructible, right? So—so you're free to make courageous choices . . . like, what? To divorce your wife for another woman?
I think we're confused here. First, I don't think you can be courageous if every choice you have is easy. Second, I don't like your idea of faith. You don't have to have a nice bone in your body and you can be horrible . . . and arrogant . . .
I'm serious. Arrogance. There are World War II memorials all over Amsterdam.
Arrogance causes war, Father Barry. So many of these jerks think they've got God so they don't need to do anything else, because God is on their team. Dumbassed Americans think they can tear up the desert in their dune buggies . . . they can cheat on their taxes without fear, because they have God. Religious people are fantastic. God gives them an excuse to be brutal, and nothing can touch them because they have God. Same logic underlies war, my man. You think Germans didn't have faith in their absolute? The Nazis had certainty, Barry. They knew they were right and God—whatever messed-up God they believed in—was with them, would reward them. Disgusting.
Secular? Not exactly, Barry. Power to the people! The
über
people. Big blond giant magical people! Pretty people who are free to kill because they believe in their divine right!
The Nazis had faith—maybe different rules and gods, but faith—just like you.
Did you just ask me to cool down?
Where are you going?
Letter 24
September 18, 2004
----
Oh shit, Chelsea.
Terrible.
The coffee shop where I had my several Cokes to stay awake apparently is only a moment's walk from the Red Light District. I just wanted to go back to the hotel, to have a beer, to calm down and watch a little Dutch TV before dinner. Instead, I was in the Red Light District after a short walk down the thinnest street ever—no cars could go there, only bikes, and the bikes nearly hit me, the street was so thin. And the windows, the many storefronts on this tiny street, as I walked apparently the opposite direction from the hotel, soon became filled with giant dildos of many colors, some more missile than penis. And right then, at the end of that street, the late day sun broke from behind the clouds, and although it is cool, moist, nippy, that darker sun in combination with the humidity, made me sweat, and the street, the next street after the thinnest street in the world, was filled with windows, and in the windows there were big-breasted African women in neon bikinis, beckoning with big dildos, waving dildos at me, puckering, rotating their hips and enormous, round asses, which made me sweat more. And the cold, sweaty heat was unbearable, so I pulled off my sweater as I walked, which brought the opening of doors, the whistling of women who wanted me to pay them for sex. So I hustled around the corner, which brought me to a street filled with Asian women in windows—apparently the marketplace is niche, segmented by race—who had smaller breasts and smaller asses and were wearing black or white bikinis and were not holding dildos but were posing as if in mid-orgasm,
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