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Confessions of an Internet Don Juan -- opening paragraphs

Confessions of an Internet Don Juan

by

Cameron H. Chambers

Also by Cameron H. Chambers

For the Love of a Madman

The Stone Cabin

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

For my wife

TO THE VIRGINS, TO MAKE MUCH OF TIME.

by Robert Herrick

GATHER ye rosebuds while ye may,

Old time is still a-flying :

And this same flower that smiles to-day

To-morrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,

The higher he’s a-getting,

The sooner will his race be run,

And nearer he’s to setting.

That age is best which is the first,

When youth and blood are warmer ;

But being spent, the worse, and worst

Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,

And while ye may go marry :

For having lost but once your prime

You may for ever tarry.

An End and a Beginning: How Zen

I did not realize for quite some time that my ex-wife was poisoning me. Nor did I understand that the poison contributed to my psychosis of a lengthy period. However, I only comment on such passing matters. These realities are very thin and elusive, almost transparent. Everything goes right through them. They filter nothing.

Everywhere I looked were angry, menacing faces. Certain individuals were pushing and shoving me, and I was sure I had done nothing wrong. I seemed to be hated, a leper, an outcast, a reject, a pariah. My ex-wife openly laughed in my face. The more she hurt me, the more she laughed. I could see the scorn and mockery on her brow. What had I done that was so terrible? What had become of me? I was lost in that moment of my life. I am honestly one of the strongest people I have ever known. It is not braggadocio. It is a harsh truth that I have had to endure. It unsettles me. I long to be weak. I long to play. I long to laugh hysterically in the car at something silly on the radio. Life is a prison cell, awaiting eventual and sure execution. And there is no escape. So, I say, if there is fun afoot, then have at it. Throw up a whoop. Cry a mirthful tear. Wring every bit of juice out of that peach. I dare to live. I am still alive.

What follows is my story.

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