Monday, Nov. 22, 2004 | 12:40 AM

There is no such thing as true happiness until you have accepted the absolutism that you and everyone you love is going to die, and that you are precariously close to that occurance at any given moment. When your ego gives up and realizes that nothing it tries in the way of defense mechanisms-- be it denial or building walls to intimacy in order to bypass the future pain of separation-- will shield you from mortality, there is no longer anything to fear. The fact that you will cease to exist becomes a given-- a debt you cannot get out of paying. So you might as well fucking enjoy your borrowed time while you're here and stop taking yourself so motherfucking seriously. You are after all in the end, wormfood.

This all ocurred to me today as I ate my ice cream sandwich and watched my naked lover saunter through the kitchen. I shouted it to him as he made himself a drink. Then he came back into the room and fucked me for the third time in eight hours. I brushed my teeth afterwards and used listerine. Then I drank some diet pepsi and sprayed myself with this bed bath and beyond crap called warm vanilla sugar. I may be dead tomorrow, but at least I'll smell like fresh baked cookies.