I mean, I don’t want them talking about this really, that could be bad.Man, I really don’t want this to get around, you know?Note that the bonus free trial to the Perfect Passion Insiders club is completely optional - HOWEVER most of our members will opt for this opportunity as you'll be learning more advanced skills for building your intimate connection and without the Perfect Passion Insiders club you'd be missing out.(You don't need to do anything, just hit the add to cart button below to get instant access to Passion Phrases and the bonus free trial of the Perfect Passion Insiders club.) If you decide to stay on after your free trial, it's only per month - and you can cancel ANYTIME!All the "advice" he gives online there, his whole pitch, he fed it to us verbatim while we were all inside together.). I actually think that not being able to fully "explain" the situation was eating him up inside.Like, we weren’t able to see that he was really this super-cool stud, and this getting arrested thing was, well, just an occupational hazard, not an indication of his aptitude with the ladies.
So they take me into this back hallway area, and they arrest me, for sexual assault.”“Sexual assault? The little cunt, like, she called the cops on me after she walked away. And here he is telling us all about it, almost pridefully, as though we were all hanging out in a bar together swapping sexual conquest stories, when in reality -- ha ha ha-- he's in JAIL!That little cunt was probably just pissed cause I took her friends number and not hers, but I wasn’t even getting her number to use, right?I was just demonstrating techniques for my students”“excuse me? ”“yeah man, this was, like the second night of a three night seminar. “yeah, they were, like, maybe 100 feet way, with my intern…”“you have an intern? He’s gotten pretty good, good enough to teach the seminar I hope.These pieces were read out loud at the Bowery Poetry Club, on the last Sunday of each month since July 2006. Read We had been in the holding cell at the 9th precinct for maybe an hour or so when this tall, punk-rock-circa-1983-looking dude (pale skin, gelled spiky jet black hair, metal-studded black leather jacket, metal-studded belt, black denim jeans, leather shitkicker boots) was escorted into the waiting area just outside the bars, a few feet away from us. For...riding my bike, in the bike lane, obeying traffic laws, in other words, for no fucking reason whatsoever, in moral, or even legal, terms.(And much of the next 24 hours of my life will be consumed by similarly conflicting waves of feeling, leading me from self-pitying-Jesus-on-the-cross moments to rapturous moments where I will feel kinship and love for all the men trapped in the tombs with me, all the others forlorn and forgotten, stripped of identity and dignity, shitting in a crowded room, sleeping and snoring on cold concrete floors, sneaking tokes of tobacco, trading stories of stupid, petty, victimless crimes. This is not some sociological fact-finding mission, not some self-induced time out from my hectic life, not some kind of voluntary political self-education.We are putting them up here for the sake of Posterity. The lively conversation that had sprung up between my cellmates and I (I was locked up with two fellow riders, Ben and Chris, who had been popped at the same time that I had. I was cuffed and jailed like everyone else, and by and large it sucks.