[Does the moon have a purpose? Albert Camus wrote that the only serious question is whether to kill yourself or not. Tom Robbins wrote that the only serious question is whether time has a beginning and an end. Camus clearly got up on the wrong side of the bed, and Robbins must have forgotten to set the alarm. There is only one serious question. And that is: "Who knows how to make love stay?" Answer me that and I will tell you whether or not to kill yourself. Answer me that and I will ease your mind about the beginning and end of time. ...answer me that and I will reveal to you the purpose of the moon.]
Until puberty you think there is no sensation quite as physically consuming as pain. Then the first time you come under the warm fingers of a boy, the whole universe evens out. The next time might feel better, stronger, whatever, but the world doesn’t shift on its axis like during time number one. As a baby you get the base layer of first times. First pain, first shit, first walk, first word, first illness, and most of them don’t even remember. Then age sixteen they ignite again and everything is original there’s the first kiss, the first fuck, and hundreds of those lovely tense moments of anticipation, the pure resin of the moment before you find a new sensation. I want to catalogue all of my first times in this, so that when I’ve used them all up like a box of happy pills, at least I’ll be able to look back at the good, the bad, the violent, and be sixteen again.