Disappointment

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

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• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  “Gone,” said Jessica. “But so are my feelings for the artist, I’m afraid. He didn’t want to paint me the way I really looked, and that bothers me. I really want to see more of Hax.” “Well, that’s unfortunate, because Bosco paid for your tattoo removal by having a voluntary head detachment.” “That’s not good.” “He reveres you, but his head is, for the moment, physically separated from his body.” “Oh, dear,” said Jessica. “How awful for him.” [image "decoration" file=image_rsrc2SW.jpg] Wade Presses the Sex Now Button and Koizumi Visits [image "decoration" file=image_rsrc2SX.jpg] Wade woke up in his hotel room and pressed W, for woman, on the Sex Now button of his remote control. Then he dozed off. About ten minutes later, he heard the door open—the woman had a keycard, he supposed. He heard her slip off her slippers and her bathrobe in the dark and get into bed next to him. He could tell from the way she moved in the bed that she was naked. “Hi. Wow, that was fast,” he said. “Hello, my name is Koizumi. I’m a sculptor. I am also a collector of wet-dream memories. Do you have a wet-dream memory for me to collect?” “I’m sorry, I can’t remember. I had only a few, and it was a long time ago.” “Try to remember,” said Koizumi. “You will remember if you try.” Wade shifted so that he was lying on his back, his arms on the blanket. He breathed, thinking. “Okay, I remember one. A woman looked at me. I didn’t know her. She was sitting under a red beach umbrella and wearing a black bathing suit. Nobody else was around. She held out her arms and I asked, ‘Me?’ She nodded. She liked me. She understood me. She wanted me. I walked toward her and knelt in the warm sand, and I put my arms around her, and then I felt this gulping overflowing fizzing of sexual goodness, and I woke up, and I discovered that I had a dab of something in my underpants. I went around for a week thinking, Wow, I’ve had a wet dream. It was great because it was a dream in which something real really happens. I didn’t tell anyone. That’s it. Not very detailed, I’m sorry.” “Thank you,” said Koizumi. “I will let you feel my breasts now.” “Okay, great. Thanks.” Wade felt her breasts. “I’m sorry they are quite small,” Koizumi said. “Nonsense, they’re exquisite, and you know what the Be Good Tanyas say. The littlest birds sing the prettiest songs.’ You know the Be Good Tanyas, right?” “Yes, they’re Canadian. I’m Canadian Japanese. I believe in supporting Canadian singers.” “Makes sense,” said Wade. “I believe in Canadian art. Also I believe in men who have quite big penises.” “Do they have to be Canadian men?”

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  “Gone,” said Jessica. “But so are my feelings for the artist, I’m afraid. He didn’t want to paint me the way I really looked, and that bothers me. I really want to see more of Hax.” “Well, that’s unfortunate, because Bosco paid for your tattoo removal by having a voluntary head detachment.” “That’s not good.” “He reveres you, but his head is, for the moment, physically separated from his body.” “Oh, dear,” said Jessica. “How awful for him.” [image "decoration" file=image_rsrc2SW.jpg] Wade Presses the Sex Now Button and Koizumi Visits [image "decoration" file=image_rsrc2SX.jpg] Wade woke up in his hotel room and pressed W, for woman, on the Sex Now button of his remote control. Then he dozed off. About ten minutes later, he heard the door open—the woman had a keycard, he supposed. He heard her slip off her slippers and her bathrobe in the dark and get into bed next to him. He could tell from the way she moved in the bed that she was naked. “Hi. Wow, that was fast,” he said. “Hello, my name is Koizumi. I’m a sculptor. I am also a collector of wet-dream memories. Do you have a wet-dream memory for me to collect?” “I’m sorry, I can’t remember. I had only a few, and it was a long time ago.” “Try to remember,” said Koizumi. “You will remember if you try.” Wade shifted so that he was lying on his back, his arms on the blanket. He breathed, thinking. “Okay, I remember one. A woman looked at me. I didn’t know her. She was sitting under a red beach umbrella and wearing a black bathing suit. Nobody else was around. She held out her arms and I asked, ‘Me?’ She nodded. She liked me. She understood me. She wanted me. I walked toward her and knelt in the warm sand, and I put my arms around her, and then I felt this gulping overflowing fizzing of sexual goodness, and I woke up, and I discovered that I had a dab of something in my underpants. I went around for a week thinking, Wow, I’ve had a wet dream. It was great because it was a dream in which something real really happens. I didn’t tell anyone. That’s it. Not very detailed, I’m sorry.” “Thank you,” said Koizumi. “I will let you feel my breasts now.” “Okay, great. Thanks.” Wade felt her breasts. “I’m sorry they are quite small,” Koizumi said. “Nonsense, they’re exquisite, and you know what the Be Good Tanyas say. The littlest birds sing the prettiest songs.’ You know the Be Good Tanyas, right?” “Yes, they’re Canadian. I’m Canadian Japanese. I believe in supporting Canadian singers.” “Makes sense,” said Wade. “I believe in Canadian art. Also I believe in men who have quite big penises.” “Do they have to be Canadian men?”

• From The City of God

  385 community, but he knows that it’s a possibility for that community—at least as he believes it. That’s why he holds it out there as an option. For none of this about the heavenly Jerusalem is actually true, and Augustine knows it. For the New Jerusalem, the city of God on pilgrimage still lives in the morally and spiritually homogeneous era of the saeculum and still partakes in all ways of the tedium and the sinfulness of the rest of humanity before the Second Coming. While the Christ event punctuates and structures the otherwise mundane and empty account of history, it does not completely alter the fact that all humanity still lives in the era between Eden and Armageddon. It inaugurates the resolution of this history, but it does not decisively complete it. This severely complicates—some would say, utterly obstructs—any hope for a sort of stable or durable progress or sanctification of humans in the church during history. There will be fallbacks, failures, and all sorts of other disappointments. The churches will grow and then shrink; they’ll be filled with saints and then overflow with sinners. During this whole time, the shape of history is not mounting steadily to some final climax. No moment is in any meaningful way closer to the eschaton than any other; some are just more temporally proximate to it. This raises deep questions about the relationship between exegesis and historical ontology—between what we are supposed to take history to signify typologically and its actual first-order experience and significance for its concrete inhabitants. If historical events take on other meanings, is there one definitive real sense to them? Why should we seek to read and understand history at all, according to Augustine? Is the whole value of all this merely a series of cautionary tales? What exactly does this understanding amount to? Doesn’t it require an empathetic and intimate curiosity about the felt experience of other people, in other ages? Doesn’t Augustine’s approach actively discourage this kind of understanding? Lecture 18 Transcript—Translating the Imperium (Book 18)

• From The City of God

  482 Books That Matter: The City of God 482 to see that our politics is always, inescapably, a disappointed politics of heaven. Knowing that, for Augustine, is the first axiom of political wisdom. „Augustine offers no discrete and portable political philosophy at all, but only a political theology in which the activities and affections that we count as political are a haphazard collection of phenomena scattered across the several dimensions of human life in the world as a whole. Humans must inhabit political communities, in part out of a need to suppress or expel the kinds of turbulent passions and people who make social life so dangerous in a fallen world. „We must critique the religious propriety of patriotism, but we cannot deny the religious duty of public service. Christians must seek the welfare of the city where they live, and in doing so they serve that city better than its more fanatically attached devotees. Vision of Humanity „The second great theme of The City of God is the picture of the human it propounds: a theological anthropology. ›The human is a creature of excess, of gratuity. We are eccentric—that is, having our centers outside of ourselves. We find our true end not in enclosed self-satisfaction, but in ecstatic going outside of ourselves in praise and union with God. ›Once we are untethered from God after the Fall, our affections keep flowing from us. We are, essentially, a creature who loves to praise, to give glory, to worship. „Augustine chooses to capture this fact about us by making love the key term of his anthropology. It is hard to overestimate the decisiveness of this choice for future thought—not just politically, but theologically and morally—in the West. Theologically and

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  There was a bonging sound and a commotion. A disembodied male arm leapt up, twirled once in the air, and seized Dune by the wrist. Krock hurried in and grabbed the knife. Mischa set out the chopping block on a towel. “Dune, why did you do it?” said Shandee, full of disappointment and concern. “I forgot myself, I’m sorry,” said Dune, disengaging the viselike fingers of Dave’s arm. He turned to Krock and Mischa. “Now hear me out, guys. I play keyboards and guitar, and to be honest I’d rather lose my pecker for a little while than my ability to make music.” That statement got Krock’s attention. “Daggett,” he said into his communicator, “tell Lila that Dune has verbally agreed before witnesses to lose his pecker.” Lila was pacing up and down in front of her desk when Dune was led in. “All right, Mr. Pussyfinger,” she said firmly. “Just for that bit of defiance, we’re going to do a switcheroo on you.” She opened a door. In walked Marcela, the art critic, in a black slip. “Hello,” she said, with a nervous smile. [image "decoration" file=image_rsrc2SW.jpg] Chilli Goes to the Porndecahedron with Dave [image "decoration" file=image_rsrc2SX.jpg] Chilli met Dave at eleven o’clock at the border crossing. She’d put on a little makeup and was wearing sandals and a sleeveless white shirt with black buttons. “Hi there,” she said. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m really sorry, I can’t go with you.” “Oh, pshaw, sure you can,” said Dave. “See the sights!” “Well, just a quick visit then.” They walked through a thicket and emerged at a clearing and climbed a low stone fence and walked a little farther. Dave pointed out the White Lake and the midway. They bought some falafels and ate them, while Dave told her about the darkrooms, where you talked in utter darkness. Chilli seemed to like that idea, so they checked into a darkroom and sat. “So how did everything go yesterday?” asked Dave in the dark. “Just fine,” Chilli said, enigmatically. “Now, tell me how this Porndecahedron works.” Dave said, “It’s a twelve-sided projection theater, like a dodecahedron. You’ve heard of buckyballs, right? It’s a big buckyball that you go inside of. There’s a cluster of seats in the middle, either single or tandem seats, and you go in and sit in a seat, buckled in for safety, because you’re suspended. You sit there and movies play on all the screens around you.” “Dirty movies.” “Well, you pick the playlist. Could be music videos, or a mashup from Brad Pitt movies, or handjobs, or beautiful Balinese dancers, or men having sex with each other—some women like to watch men having sex, it seems. Some people are into fetishes, so then there’ll be twelve screens of, say, men coming on women’s feet.” “Oh, wow,” said Chilli.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  7. Then said he unto the dresser of his vineyard, Behold, these three years I come seeking fruit on this fig tree, and find none; cut it down: why cumbereth it the ground? 8. And he answering said unto him, Lord, let it alone this year also, till I shall dig about it, and dung it: 9. And if it bear fruit, well: and if not, then after that thou shalt cut it down. TITUS BOSTRENSIS. The Jews were boasting, that while the eighteen had perished, they all remained unhurt. He therefore sets before them the parable of the fig tree, for it follows, He spake also this parable; A certain man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard. AMBROSE. There was a vineyard of the Lord of hosts, which He gave for a spoil to the Gentiles. And the comparison of the fig tree to the synagogue is well chosen, because as that tree abounds with wide and spreading foliage, and deceives the hopes of its possessor with the vain expectation of promised fruit, so also in the synagogue, while its teachers are unfruitful in good works, yet magnify themselves with words as with abundant leaves, the empty shadow of the law stretches far and wide. This tree also is the only one which puts forth fruit in place of flowers. And the fruit falls, that other fruit may succeed; yet some few of the former remain, and do not fall. For the first people of the synagogue fell off as a useless fruit, in order that out of the fruitfulness of the old religion might arise the new people of the Church; yet they who were the first out of Israel whom a branch of a stronger nature bore, under the shadow of the law and the cross, in the bosom of both, stained with a double juice after the example of a ripening fig, surpassed all others in the grace of most excellent fruits; to whom it is said, You shall sit upon twelve thrones. Some however think the fig tree to be a figure not of the synagogue, but of wickedness and treachery; yet these differ in nothing from what has gone before, except that they choose the genus instead of the species. BEDE. The Lord Himself who established the synagogue by Moses, came born in the flesh, and frequently teaching in the synagogue, sought for the fruits of faith, but in the hearts of the Pharisees found none; therefore it follows, And came seeking fruit on it, and found none.

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  “He’s kind of angry,” she whispered. Then she listened some more to the telephone. “He wants to talk to you.” Cardell took the phone. “Hello, sir?” There was a strong voice in his ear. “I don’t know who you are, but stay away from my wife. Leave the condo immediately.” “I will leave the condo, but I would really like to see her come first, and I know that’s a problem for you, but I also know she wants to see my mandingo. I’m just going to shuck my boxers off, and my mandingo will be sticking out, and she’ll get a good look at it. She wants to, I know it. Do you say yes?” “No, you will not bring out any such mandingo!” the husband choked. “You will absolutely do nothing of the sort! You are out of line!” He hung up. Cardell handed the phone back to Betsy, shaking his head. “Oh, he’s such an old poke-in-the-dough,” she said. “Are you disappointed?” He nodded. “You poor thing, you wanted to see me come, didn’t you?” He nodded again. She looked at him appraisingly. “And then you’d come, wouldn’t you? You probably have a cock that you’d jerk off big-time, wouldn’t you? I know you just love jerking off that proud nasty cock.” “That I do,” he said. “Hard as a ship’s biscuit, but fresher.” She had an idea. “I’ll tell you what we’ll do. Let’s go out on the back deck and I’ll pretend to have sex with my husband, and I’ll tell you all about it, and you’ll watch me pretending. Will that work?” “That sounds like a good fallback,” Cardell said. So they went out to the back deck, and she started with the running commentary. “Usually I’m in bed first,” she said. “He stays up doing the crossword—he’s good at it, but it takes him a long time sometimes, and I read a book.” “Like what?” “Oh, maybe something a little frisky, a little naughty,” said Betsy. “And sometimes I just turn my light off and go to sleep, and sometimes I’m still reading when I hear him washing up and sniffing. He hangs up his pants carefully and puts on his pajamas, which are on a hook on the back of the closet door. We have two hooks. Am I boring you?” Cardell was smiling, watching her tell the story, lying back on a lounge chair and feeling perfectly happy. He shook his head. “Good. Then he gets in bed, and if I’m awake and I stir he says, ‘Good-night, hon,’ and I say, ‘Good-night, darling.’ And often we go to sleep.” “But sometimes you don’t.” “Right, sometimes we’ve made a prior arrangement to do the triple-X dirty nasty.” “I see.”

• From The City of God

  [113] The same collocation of words is used by Cicero with reference to the well-known mode of renewing the appetite in use among the Romans. Chapter 21. --Cicero's Opinion of the Roman Republic. But if our adversaries do not care how foully and disgracefully the Roman republic be stained by corrupt practices, so long only as it holds together and continues in being, and if they therefore pooh-pooh the testimony of Sallust to its "utterly wicked and profligate" condition, what will they make of Cicero's statement, that even in his time it had become entirely extinct, and that there remained extant no Roman republic at all? He introduces Scipio (the Scipio who had destroyed Carthage) discussing the republic, at a time when already there were presentiments of its speedy ruin by that corruption which Sallust describes. In fact, at the time when the discussion took place, one of the Gracchi, who, according to Sallust, was the first great instigator of seditions, had already been put to death. His death, indeed, is mentioned in the same book. Now Scipio, at the end of the second book, says:"As among the different sounds which proceed from lyres, flutes, and the human voice, there must be maintained a certain harmony which a cultivated ear cannot endure to hear disturbed or jarring, but which may be elicited in full and absolute concord by the modulation even of voices very unlike one another; so, where reason is allowed to modulate the diverse elements of the state, there is obtained a perfect concord from the upper, lower, and middle classes as from various sounds; and what musicians call harmony in singing, is concord in matters of state, which is the strictest bond and best security of any republic, and which by no ingenuity can be retained where justice has become extinct. "Then, when he had expatiated somewhat more fully, and had more copiously illustrated the benefits of its presence and the ruinous effects of its absence upon a state, Pilus, one of the company present at the discussion, struck in and demanded that the question should be more thoroughly sifted, and that the subject of justice should be freely discussed for the sake of ascertaining what truth there was in the maxim which was then becoming daily more current, that "the republic cannot be governed without injustice. "Scipio expressed his willingness to have this maxim discussed and sifted, and gave it as his opinion that it was baseless, and that no progress could be made in discussing the republic unless it was established, not only that this maxim, that "the republic cannot be governed without injustice," was false, but also that the truth is, that it cannot be governed without the most absolute justice. And the discussion of this question, being deferred till the next day, is carried on in the third book with great animation. For Pilus himself undertook to defend the position that the republic cannot be governed without injustice, at the same time being at special pains to clear himself of any real participation in that opinion. He advocated with great keenness the cause of injustice against justice, and endeavored by plausible reasons and examples to demonstrate that the former is beneficial, the latter useless, to the republic. Then, at the request of the company, Laelius attempted to defend justice, and strained every nerve to prove that nothing is so hurtful to a state as injustice; and that without justice a republic can neither be governed, nor even continue to exist.

• From Go Tell It on the Mountain (1953)

  Daddy ain’t never going to have no trouble with her— that one, she was born holy. I bet the first words she ever said was: “Thank you, Jesus.” Ain’t that so, Ma?’ ‘You stop this foolishness,’ she said, laughing, ‘and go on about your work. Can’t nobody play the fool with you all morning.’ ‘Oh, is you got work for me to do this morning? Well, I declare,’ said Roy, ‘what you got for me to do?’ ‘I got the woodwork in the dining-room for you to do. And you going to do it, too, before you set foot out of this house.’ ‘Now, why you want to talk like that, Ma? Is I said I wouldn’t do it? You know I’m a right good worker when I got a mind. After I do it, can I go?’ ‘You go ahead and do it, and we’ll see. You better do it right.’ ‘I always do it right,’ said Roy. ‘You won’t know your old woodwork when I get through.’ ‘John,’ said his mother, ‘you sweep the front room for me like a good boy, and dust the furniture. I’m going to clean up in here.’ ‘Yes’m,’ he said, and rose. She had forgotten about his birthday. He swore he would not mention it. He would not think about it any more. To sweep the front room meant, principally, to sweep the heavy red and green and purple Oriental-style carpet that had once been that room’s glory, but was now so faded that it was all one swimming colour, and so frayed in places that it tangled with the broom. John hated sweeping this carpet, for dust rose, clogging his nose and sticking to his sweaty skin, and he felt that should he sweep it for ever, the clouds of dust would not diminish, the rug would not be clean.

• From The City of God

  It would be unfair to judge "The City of God" by the standard of modern exegetical and historical scholarship. Augustin's interpretations of Scripture, although usually ingenious and often profound, are as often fanciful, and lack the sure foundation of a knowledge of the original languages; for he knew very little Greek and no Hebrew, and had to depend on the Latin version; he was even prejudiced at first against Jerome's revision of the very defective Itala, fearing, in his solicitude for the weak and timid brethren, that more harm than good might be the result of this great and necessary improvement. His learning was confined to biblical and Roman literature and the systems of Greek philosophy. He often wastes arguments on absurd opinions, and some of his own opinions strike us as childish and obsolete. He confines the Kingdom of God to the narrow limits of the Jewish theocracy and the visible Catholic Church. He could, indeed, not deny the truths in Greek philosophy; but he derived them from the Jewish Scriptures, and adopted the impossible hypothesis of Ambrose that Plato became acquainted with the prophet Jeremiah in Egypt (comp. De Doctr. Christ. II. 28), though afterwards he corrected it (Retract. II. 4). He does not sufficiently appreciate the natural virtues, the ways of Divine providence and the working of His Spirit outside of the chosen race; and under the influence of the ascetic spirit which then prevailed in the Church, in justifiable opposition to the surrounding moral corruption of heathenism, he even degrades secular history and secular life, in the state and the family, which are likewise ordained of God. In some respects he forms the opposite extreme to Origen, the greatest genius among the Greek fathers. Both assume a universal fall from original holiness. But Augustin dates it from one act of disobedience,--the historic fall of Adam, in whom the whole race was germinally included; while Origen goes back to a pre-historic fall of each individual soul, making each responsible for the abuse of freedom. Augustin proceeds to a special election of a people of God from the corrupt and condemned mass; he follows their history in two antagonistic lines, and ends in the dualistic contrast of an eternal heaven for the elect and an eternal hell for the reprobate, including among the latter even unbaptized infants (horribile dictu! ), who never committed an actual transgression; while Origen leads all fallen creatures, men and angels, by a slow and gradual process of amendment and correction, under the ever-widening influence of redeeming mercy, during the lapse of countless ages, back to God, some outstripping others and tending by a swifter course towards perfection, until the last enemy is finally reached and death itself is destroyed, that "God may be all in all. "Within the limits of the Jewish theocracy and Catholic Christianity Augustin admits the idea of historical development or a gradual progress from a lower to higher grades of knowledge, yet always in harmony with Catholic truth. He would not allow revolutions and radical changes or different types of Christianity. "The best thinking" (says Dr. Flint, in his Philosophy of History in Europe, I. 40), "at once the most judicious and liberal, among those who are called the Christian fathers, on the subject of the progress of Christianity as an organization and system, is that of St. Augustin, as elaborated and applied by Vincent of Lerins in his Commonitorium,' where we find substantially the same conception of the development of the Church and Christian doctrine, which, within the present century, De Maistre has made celebrated in France, Moehler in Germany, and Newman in England. Its main defect is that it places in the Church an authority other than, and virtually higher than, Scripture and reason, to determine what is true and false in the development of doctrine. "

• From The City of God

  When Tarquin the tyrant was expelled, L. Tarquinius Collatinus, the husband of Lucretia, was created consul along with Brutus. How justly the people acted, in looking more to the character than the name of a citizen! How unjustly Brutus acted, in depriving of honor and country his colleague in that new office, whom he might have deprived of his name, if it were so offensive to him! Such were the ills, such the disasters, which fell out when the government was "ordered with justice and moderation. "Lucretius, too, who succeeded Brutus, was carried off by disease before the end of that same year. So P. Valerius, who succeeded Collatinus, and M. Horatius, who filled the vacancy occasioned by the death of Lucretius, completed that disastrous and funereal year, which had five consuls. Such was the year in which the Roman republic inaugurated the new honor and office of the consulship. [149] AEneid, vi. 820, etc. [150] His nephew.

• From Zami: A New Spelling of My Name (1982)

  I knew better than to say another word to my mother about the presidency, but that week was filled with fantasies of how I would break the news to her on Friday when she came home. “Oh, Mommy, by the way, can I stay later at school on Monday for a presidents’ meeting?” Or “Mother, would you please sign this note saying it is all right for me to accept the presidency?” Or maybe even, “Mother, could I have a little get-together here to celebrate the election?” On Friday, I tied a ribbon around the steel barrette that held my unruly mass of hair tightly at the nape of my neck. Elections were to be held in the afternoon, and when I got home for lunch, for the first time in my life, I was too excited to eat. I buried the can of Campbell’s soup that my mother had left out for me way behind the other cans in the pantry and hoped she had not counted how many were left. We filed out of the schoolyard and up the stairs to the sixth grade room. The walls were still lined with bits of green from the recent St. Patrick’s Day decorations. Sister Blanche passed out little pieces of blank paper for our ballots. The first rude awakening came when she announced that the boy chosen would be president, but the girl would only be vice-president. I thought this was monstrously unfair. Why not the other way around? Since we could not, as she explained, have two presidents, why not a girl president and a boy vice-president? It doesn’t really matter, I said to myself. I can live with being vice-president. I voted for myself. The ballots were collected and passed to the front of the room and duly counted. James O’Connor won for the boys. Ann Archdeacon won for the girls. Ilene Crimmons came in second. I got four votes, one of which was mine. I was in shock. We all clapped for the winners, and Ann Archdeacon turned around in her seat and smiled her shit-eating smile at me. “Too bad you lost.” I smiled back. I wanted to break her face off. I was too much my mother’s daughter to let anyone think it mattered. But I felt I had been destroyed. How could this have happened? I was the smartest girl in the class. I had not been elected vice-president. It was as simple as that. But something was escaping me. Something was terribly wrong. It wasn’t fair. A sweet little girl named Helen Ramsey had decided it was her christian duty to befriend me, and she had once lent me her sled during the winter.

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  “Sounds good,” Jeff said. Polly walked up the hill toward the house, fuming. A man answered the door. He said his name was Mischa, and he was quite handsome, although his ears were odd—the inner parts poked out farther than the rims, which gave him an air of studiousness. He took her to a waiting room, and then she met Lila, a cheerful busty woman who wore bifocals. “What do you want?” Lila asked. “I don’t know—a Cape house on a knoll and a husband?” said Polly. “Can’t help you.” “Then I don’t want anything,” said Polly. “You’re unhappy with your boyfriend because he’s acting like a shit.” “Yes, and he and I have different taste in plays.” “Do you still like men?” “Yes, I love men. I’ve always loved men.” Lila picked up the phone. “Mischa, our friend Polly needs to spend some time in the Hall of the Penises.” Mischa was there in a moment. He took Polly’s hand and led her to a very large room—a kind of dance studio with a refinished floor, hung all the way around with green curtains made of shot silk. One wall had enormous windows that overlooked the hills. There were two other women in the room. Polly nodded at them and they introduced themselves. One was Saucie, and one had a name like Donna. Polly said to Saucie, “What are those odd little bumps there in the curtains?” “They’re what you think they are,” said Saucie. Polly found a drape cord and pulled it to make some of the green fabric slide to one side. She saw many little toadlike things hanging out from holes in the wall at about crotch height. She said, “All those little brown toadlike things are penises?” “Yep,” said Saucie. “And balls.” “They go all around the room,” said Donna. “What are we supposed to do with them?” asked Polly. Saucie handed her a tasseled knee pillow. “I think we’re supposed to talk to them, or maybe even suck them off.” Donna whispered, “I think that one there is my husband.” Polly was surprised. “Is that good or bad?” “Not entirely sure,” said Donna. “And I’m guessing that one there is my ex-husband,” said Saucie. Then it occurred to Polly to wonder whether one of the penises was Jeff ’s. She toured the rows carefully to see if she could spot Jeff ’s organ hanging out among the crowd. But she couldn’t be sure. Which was all in all a relief. He was probably still down in the glade, she thought, chatting up the topless girl in the polka-dot skirt.

• From The City of God

  Chapter 21. --Of the Ingratitude of Rome to Scipio, Its Deliverer, and of Its Manners During the Period Which Sallust Describes as the Best. Omitting many things, that I may not exceed the limits of the work I have proposed to myself, I come to the epoch between the second and last Punic wars, during which, according to Sallust, the Romans lived with the greatest virtue and concord. Now, in this period of virtue and harmony, the great Scipio, the liberator of Rome and Italy, who had with surprising ability brought to a close the second Punic war--that horrible, destructive, dangerous contest--who had defeated Hannibal and subdued Carthage, and whose whole life is said to have been dedicated to the gods, and cherished in their temples,--this Scipio, after such a triumph, was obliged to yield to the accusations of his enemies, and to leave his country, which his valor had saved and liberated, to spend the remainder of his days in the town of Liternum, so indifferent to a recall from exile, that he is said to have given orders that not even his remains should lie in his ungrateful country. It was at that time also that the pro-consul Cn. Manlius, after subduing the Galatians, introduced into Rome the luxury of Asia, more destructive than all hostile armies. It was then that iron bedsteads and expensive carpets were first used; then, too, that female singers were admitted at banquets, and other licentious abominations were introduced. But at present I meant to speak, not of the evils men voluntarily practise, but of those they suffer in spite of themselves. So that the case of Scipio, who succumbed to his enemies, and died in exile from the country he had rescued, was mentioned by me as being pertinent to the present discussion; for this was the reward he received from those Roman gods whose temples he saved from Hannibal, and who are worshipped only for the sake of securing temporal happiness. But since Sallust, as we have seen, declares that the manners of Rome were never better than at that time, I therefore judged it right to mention the Asiatic luxury then introduced, that it might be seen that what he says is true, only when that period is compared with the others during which the morals were certainly worse, and the factions more violent. For at that time--I mean between the second and third Punic war--that notorious Lex Voconia was passed, which prohibited a man from making a woman, even an only daughter, his heir; than which law I am at a loss to conceive what could be more unjust. It is true that in the interval between these two Punic wars the misery of Rome was somewhat less. Abroad, indeed, their forces were consumed by wars, yet also consoled by victories; while at home there were not such disturbances as at other times. But when the last Punic war had terminated in the utter destruction of Rome's rival, which quickly succumbed to the other Scipio, who thus earned for himself the surname of Africanus, then the Roman republic was overwhelmed with such a host of ills, which sprang from the corrupt manners induced by prosperity and security, that the sudden overthrow of Carthage is seen to have injured Rome more seriously than her long-continued hostility. During the whole subsequent period down to the time of Caesar Augustus, who seems to have entirely deprived the Romans of liberty,--a liberty, indeed, which in their own judgment was no longer glorious, but full of broils and dangers, and which now was quite enervated and languishing,--and who submitted all things again to the will of a monarch, and infused as it were a new life into the sickly old age of the republic, and inaugurated a fresh regime;--during this whole period, I say, many military disasters were sustained on a variety of occasions, all of which I here pass by. There was specially the treaty of Numantia, blotted as it was with extreme disgrace; for the sacred chickens, they say, flew out of the coop, and thus augured disaster to Mancinus the consul; just as if, during all these years in which that little city of Numantia had withstood the besieging army of Rome, and had become a terror to the republic, the other generals had all marched against it under unfavorable auspices.

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  She grasped his zipper, stuffed his equipment into place, and zipped him neatly up. Then she slipped a tweed jacket on him. “There we go,” she said. She turned to Ned’s head. “What do you think of your body?” she said. “Cleans up pretty nice, eh?” “Kind of strange,” he said. “But I guess you get used to it.” “Oh, sure,” said Kathy. “I used to work on a dairy farm. You just have to be patient and gentle, and sometimes they get excited. It’s just a whole other way of being. It’s very—bodily.” “What happens to me?” Ned the head asked. “My sister Cora, the headmistress, will take care of you for a while.” Cora came in and put his head in a bowling bag. She carried him away. Reese Visits a Headless Bedroom “I want something where the man’s not always judging me and criticizing me and disapproving of how I dress and all that,” said the ethereal flaxen-haired girl, Reese, to Lila, in Lila’s office. “I guess I want a good-looking man for a fun brainless time in the sack.” “Well,” said Lila, “we do offer the headless bedrooms.” “What are they?” “You choose a good-looking body whose head has been temporarily removed.” “That’s horrible!” said Reese. “Surprisingly it’s not, really. What you get is a nice friendly extremely handsome male body that is very responsive to any stimulation because it can’t hear or see or speak or think except with what it has, which is its spine and crotch.” “I see, I see.” “You and the handsome headless body are together in a furnished room for fifteen minutes, half an hour, or even a full hour.” “Where’s the head during all this?” “You never see the head. The head is safe in the headroom. Cora is the headmistress, she takes care of eight heads. We’ll put them all back on later.” “And the heads have agreed to this?” “Yep.” “And the body can move and all that?” “Yes, although some fine motor skills are not there. On the wall you’ll see some how-to posters that Kathy has made. They’ll help you handle these bodyboys, as we call them.” “Let’s do it.” Daggett led Reese into a room where there were eight headless men sitting on couches. They were wearing long Japanese-style bathrobes. Kathy smiled at Reese and offered her a seat in a comfortable chair. Then she touched each bodyboy, helping it stand and walk in front of Reese and then open its robe, showing off its chest and underpants. “I can have him pull down his underpants, if you’d like,” said Kathy. “He doesn’t mind.” “Well, I’d kind of like to see his butt, if you’d have him turn around.” Kathy guided him around and held his robe to one side. Reese nodded. “Very nice.” She was disappointed, though. He was an extreme body-builder type with a tanning-bed tan and pectoral muscles that looked sort of like breasts except hard.

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  She recognized several of the chairs from the paintings at the gallery. “I haven’t painted anyone in this chair,” he said. He positioned it on a bare stretch of floor with windowlight coming in. “I’ll just have a shower,” she said. “One thing,” he said. “When you come out, please don’t put your bra on. It leaves red marks on your skin.” “Okay,” she said. She went into his shower and washed using his soap and tore open the packet of panties and put one pair on. She didn’t put her bra on but just her shirt, buttoned once. He gestured her to a chair—white, covered in a nubby fabric. “Sit here and take off your shirt,” he said. Here she hesitated. “I warn you, I have tattoos,” she said. He froze. “You do?” “Yes. Is that a problem?” “No, of course not,” he said. But he was clearly lying. She could hear the unhappiness in his voice, and she could see it in his face. “You’re disappointed,” she said. “Admit it.” “It’s just that—I haven’t yet fully come to an understanding with tattoos. They tug at my eye, and I have to resist them. They distract me from the line.” “Well, I have a bunch, in various places,” said Jessica. “Sometimes now I kind of wish I didn’t, but I do.” “Do you really want them gone?” Bosco asked eagerly. “I know a way. You go to this tattoo-remover man, Hax. He has a suite at the House of Holes. He removes them completely, no ghostly traces.” “He must charge a lot of money.” “It won’t cost you a thing.” He handed Jessica a card with a hole punched in it. “Tell Lila that you want to see Hax.” The address was way out along the shore. Jessica drove there, and then she saw an exit she’d never seen before, Exit 23-O, that went into a tunnel. When she came out the landscape had changed slightly. Everything had a brighter look. There was a house with several side buildings and wings and a gravel road in front of it in a horseshoe shape. She rang the doorbell. Zilka led her to an office and introduced her to Lila. “I wish my tattoos were gone,” Jessica said. “Why?” Lila asked. “They’re not right for me now. I’m done with them. I hate them.” “There is a way,” said Lila. “But it involves sex.” “It always involves sex,” said Zilka. “I knew it would, somehow,” said Jessica. “I suppose if that’s what it involves, that’s what it involves.” Lila picked up the phone. “Krock? Where’s Hax? Can you ask him to come to my office?” Hax looked a little like Bobby McFerrin, Jessica thought.

• From Cults Inside Out: How People Get In and Can Get Out (2014)

  An intervention can be stressful, and in that context a troubled cult member may reach out for guidance from the group, which has deliberately encouraged dependency on them for answers. For this reason I strongly suggest that families involved in an intervention closely monitor the situation and specifically any and all communication during the intervention process. In my opinion this intervention might have been successful if the daughter hadn’t been left alone. This opportunity allowed her to contact the group during a critical period. After the failed intervention the cultic group carefully controlled the daughter’s communication with her family for many months, and she seemed to be somewhat scripted. There would be no opportunity for another intervention. Internet Interference Another of my failed interventions involved a husband who was concerned about his wife’s involvement with a local group. The group, which its charismatic leader dominated and defined, was a small faction that had broken away from a much larger organization, which was frequently called a “cult.” The husband became concerned, because the group increasingly dominated his wife’s time and thinking. The couple had a small child, and the teachings of the group, which largely focused on the evils of the world and an imminent apocalyptic end of the world, seemed terrifying. The group leader told his followers that they must prepare for doomsday. The husband’s work required extensive travel. When he was away, his wife often took their child to group meetings. Our intervention included the husband and his parents. He said his mother and stepfather were quite close to his wife and that she respected their judgment. We hoped their presence during the intervention would be helpful. I met with everyone the day before the intervention to explain the boundaries and components of our collective effort. I emphasized how important the role of the family would be in keeping the wife grounded, engaged, and interested. We were in a somewhat isolated rural area, and neither the cultic group nor any of its members were nearby. The group building was located some distance from the house, so it would be rather difficult for the leader or group members to interfere. Nevertheless, I warned the family about phone and Internet access, and they agreed to have everything shut down. The first day of the intervention went fairly well, though I was deeply disappointed by the mother and stepfather’s level of participation. They didn’t seem to have anything to say despite earlier conversation about their concerns during our preparation process. The wife was cooperative and courteous, though she scrupulously avoided any direct indication of her true feelings.

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  We both got very turned on. I was saying things like, ‘Woo, look at them go, look at them just boinking away like the crazy wholesome fuckers they are!’ And eventually we went up to her hotel room and messed around, and it was okay.” “No anal?” “No, should there have been?” “There’s just so much talk about it. Everybody’s supposed to love assfucking, and live for assfucking, and frankly I just don’t.” “No, no anal,” said Pendle. “It was good but I don’t think we’re really soul mates.” “And what after all is a soul mate?” “A soul mate is when you really think someone is great. You really like her a lot. You like when she explains things to you. You love her. That’s a soul mate.” “Oh,” said Trix. “Will you take me to the groanrooms?” They went to a groanroom, and in the darkness of the entry foyer they put on the glowing wrist and ankle bracelets, which were in plastic packets in baskets just outside the door. “Just remember, we can’t talk in here at all, only groan,” said Trix, her hand on the door. “It’s like meditation except it’s more fun.” They went in together and closed the door very quietly. Henriette Chooses the Cheekpump Since she’d surfed the lake, Henriette had received two invitations to the Masturboats and visited the Hall of the Penises, but she still hadn’t met a man who really attracted her. Lila suggested that she take a walk down the Man Line. Henriette thought that was a good idea. The Man Line was a line of about a hundred single men who stood fully clothed in wedding suits, with numbers pinned to their lapels. She walked down the line, nodding at the men. Then she saw the one. He was smiling, trying to stare straight ahead. He was tall, with wide, even teeth and an easy, careless way of standing. His bow tie dangled. His number was 53. She didn’t say anything to him, but back at the office she told Lila that Number 53 was the one. Lila promptly called up a video of Number 53’s entrance interview. “Do you want to see it?” “Of course,” said Henriette. On the screen, Number 53, slouching in a chair, was asked what type of woman he was interested in. “Honestly?” he said. “Honestly,” said the entrance interviewer, Mischa. “Well, right now,” Number 53 said, “I’m wanting a woman with a humongous oversized ass—not a fat ass but a big round wobbly huge ass that’s busting out of her pants.” Lila turned off the video and Henriette sighed. “That’s just not me,” she said. “My ass is not humongous and oversized.” “It could be you if you wanted it to be,” said Lila. “How so?”

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  She recognized several of the chairs from the paintings at the gallery. “I haven’t painted anyone in this chair,” he said. He positioned it on a bare stretch of floor with windowlight coming in. “I’ll just have a shower,” she said . “One thing,” he said. “When you come out, please don’t put your bra on. It leaves red marks on your skin.” “Okay,” she said. She went into his shower and washed using his soap and tore open the packet of panties and put one pair on. She didn’t put her bra on but just her shirt, buttoned once. He gestured her to a chair—white, covered in a nubby fabric. “Sit here and take off your shirt,” he said. Here she hesitated. “I warn you, I have tattoos,” she said. He froze. “You do?” “Yes. Is that a problem?” “No, of course not,” he said. But he was clearly lying. She could hear the unhappiness in his voice, and she could see it in his face. “You’re disappointed,” she said. “Admit it.” “It’s just that—I haven’t yet fully come to an understanding with tattoos. They tug at my eye, and I have to resist them. They distract me from the line.” “Well, I have a bunch, in various places,” said Jessica. “Sometimes now I kind of wish I didn’t, but I do.” “Do you really want them gone?” Bosco asked eagerly. “I know a way. You go to this tattoo-remover man, Hax. He has a suite at the House of Holes. He removes them completely, no ghostly traces.” “He must charge a lot of money.” “It won’t cost you a thing.” He handed Jessica a card with a hole punched in it. “Tell Lila that you want to see Hax.” The address was way out along the shore. Jessica drove there, and then she saw an exit she’d never seen before, Exit 23-O, that went into a tunnel. When she came out the landscape had changed slightly. Everything had a brighter look. There was a house with several side buildings and wings and a gravel road in front of it in a horseshoe shape. She rang the doorbell. Zilka led her to an office and introduced her to Lila. “I wish my tattoos were gone,” Jessica said. “Why?” Lila asked. “They’re not right for me now. I’m done with them. I hate them.” “There is a way,” said Lila. “But it involves sex.” “It always involves sex,” said Zilka. “I knew it would, somehow,” said Jessica. “I suppose if that’s what it involves, that’s what it involves.” Lila picked up the phone. “Krock? Where’s Hax? Can you ask him to come to my office?” Hax looked a little like Bobby McFerrin, Jessica thought.

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  “Take a shower at my studio,” he said. He said he wouldn’t bother her or make any moves. He just wanted to paint her in her cuffed shorts, he said—but topless. “You know I’ve just had an orgasm so I’m obviously not going to wig out and attack you or something,” he said. Jessica said okay, and then she had a thought. There was a store across the street. “I’m just going to run in there and get some panties,” she said. “I hate getting out of the shower and putting on the same pair. Wait here.” She bought a three-pack of panties, and they walked four blocks over to his studio. He said that he’d been painting for fifteen years. He was a little older than she’d thought at first—maybe thirty-eight, fit and kind of craggy with a confused boyish look that she liked. Every so often as they walked he’d lean toward her and say something like, “This is the best day of my life. I’m so eager to get painting. I understand everything about beauty now, now that I’ve seen you.” His studio was on the third floor. There were ten chairs on one side of the room and a bunch of canvases leaning against the wall. She recognized several of the chairs from the paintings at the gallery. “I haven’t painted anyone in this chair,” he said. He positioned it on a bare stretch of floor with windowlight coming in. “I’ll just have a shower,” she said. “One thing,” he said. “When you come out, please don’t put your bra on. It leaves red marks on your skin.” “Okay,” she said. She went into his shower and washed using his soap and tore open the packet of panties and put one pair on. She didn’t put her bra on but just her shirt, buttoned once. He gestured her to a chair—white, covered in a nubby fabric. “Sit here and take off your shirt,” he said. Here she hesitated. “I warn you, I have tattoos,” she said. He froze. “You do?” “Yes. Is that a problem?” “No, of course not,” he said. But he was clearly lying. She could hear the unhappiness in his voice, and she could see it in his face. “You’re disappointed,” she said. “Admit it.” “It’s just that—I haven’t yet fully come to an understanding with tattoos. They tug at my eye, and I have to resist them. They distract me from the line.” “Well, I have a bunch, in various places,” said Jessica. “Sometimes now I kind of wish I didn’t, but I do.” “Do you really want them gone?” Bosco asked eagerly. “I know a way. You go to this tattoo-remover man, Hax. He has a suite at the House of Holes. He removes them completely, no ghostly traces.” “He must charge a lot of money.” “It won’t cost you a thing.” He handed Jessica a card with a hole punched in it. “Tell Lila that you want to see Hax.”