It was around the time that I met the blond that the seizures started. Small, temporal lobe seizures. Nothing dramatic. A strange pressure in the temples, copper on the tongue, a sudden tightening of the jaw. I didn't see a doctor for all the reasons and excuses one could give. I had already jumped to the worst, that it was a tumour or some neurological disease, and still wouldn't go. I had resigned myself to fate. Maybe I deserved it for looking at him like that, like both a god and a piece of meat.

I thought of his eyes. I thought of his thighs. I masturbated, I flagellated.

It's not merely sexual, but if it were it's all very accepted in Melbourne anyway. Everyone's very "modern". Everyone's fagged out to the nines with piercings and hair dye. They'd romanticize it. They'd find it *aggressively* normal. They'd talk about how fine it is constantly. Some might raise grievances with the age, some might find it even more liberating. They'd bicker amongst themselves.

I am sickened that they would even have to, I'm sickened that I bicker with myself. I thought about attending Church. Combine my love of architecture and beauty with a good dose of salvation. I had tried. Not really, of course not - I didn't actually *go* to Church. I read theology, metaphysics. I can't tell you what Matthew 3:11 says but I can tell you about the Trinity, transubstantiation, the hypostatic union, the teleological absurdity of homosexuality, etcetera.

I was unsatisfied with it. The metaphysics, the claims made. I don't actually doubt Jesus' existence, I don't doubt his miracles, his crucifixion, nor even his resurrection. Most arguments against these are laughable. But I don't see how that makes him God. I don't. It's a series of insane feats. I don't see how it makes him god, not uniquely.

Perhaps I didn't want to. Perhaps I was too afraid to reckon with it. Perhaps I didn't want to. Perhaps, I wanted the blond to be my God.

I wanted to tear at his flesh just to do it. I wanted to fuck him to conquer him. To destroy him, fuck him to death. But then I wanted to love him, nurture him. I wanted to fellate him and make him feel bliss. I wanted him to destroy me, I wanted him to love me. I wanted him to see me. I wanted to hide. I wanted the danger of rape, the ecstacy of love, the serenity of friendship