When the guard has gone I tell Saul that I one time made a cannon out of pipe and a gas cylinder and Saul says he doesn’t have much time for improvised weaponry generally. Saul says that of course all weaponry is improvised in one way or another but he makes yogurt at home and is familiar with the variations of flavor and intensity and texture that come with fluctuations in climate and he does not look for that kind of variation in his professional tool kit. I say that Saul is hooked on the gun crack of the military industrial combine and toxic masculinity and Saul says that we are not in a competition about our genitals so it is okay for me to have a homemade cannon and for him to have a room full of specialized mercenary stuff.

For the record anyone who is male and alive is in a competition about genitals with Saul. The only reason I am not actually destroyed by the mere existence of Saul and Saul’s genitals is that he bivouacs with a landscape designer and I am the recognized sex partner of the world’s premier psychopathic bioscience researcher. My boy parts may or may not be physically equal to Saul’s but they are fucking intrepid. Doc’s present erotic jam is an experimental memory drug called Fisahypnozerasol. FHZ is the next thing I will illegally sell if I ever get back into the illegally-selling-things business because it is fucking brilliant. It acts on the brain to blur memory around the point of orgasm so you can remember the fact of having amazing sex but not exactly what was amazing about it or what led up to it, which means you can ask your partner to do something motherfucking weird without fear because both you and they will forget details of the whole thing the following day. On the downside if you do not orgasm you remember everything and therefore it is crucially important to have a backup plan because you do not want to collect a mental library of frustratingly incomplete sexual experiences. But that is fine because you also can do the same amazingly obscene thing over and over and not get bored of it. So Doc and I are having exceptional sex right now and every time it is nervous and new and intimate and totally disgraceful and then we get to do it all again. A month ago I woke up with scratches from my ankles to my ass and words from a Swedish road map written on my junk and I can safely say I will never see the Frösö bridge in the same way again.

I sit and think about the astonishingly obscene things I have done that I cannot remember until we reach the next station.