Okay, okay, probably not, or at least not any more so than every single member of any other group is likely to be a pervert. But it is an awfully nice thought.
Anyway, this is going to be the shortest post in months (for real this time). I just thought I’d share a link that my friend J passed on to me to a site that showcases letters from James Joyce to his wife. Apparently the famous writer was a fart fetishist who liked buttsex and flagellation. Fascinating.
I know he’s long dead and I know this little posting will hardly hurt his book sales or compromise his reputation – any more than the site itself already does, that is – but I can’t help feeling mildly funny about reading and sharing the intimate sexual secrets, expressed in private interpersonal communications, of a person who’s not around to tell me if that’s okay. There’s this oddly nightmarish sense that if I’m doing it to him, what the heck will the living do with my own pervy writings when I’m dead and have nothing to say about it?
Then again, I’m no James Joyce, my private dirty notes most often take the form of text messages (not exactly known for their longevity), and any other pervy writings of mine worth reading are either published or intended for publication, so I guess I’m safe. Either that or I’m my own worst enemy. But there is something to be said for being shamelessly public about one’s perversions – it certainly removes anyone else’s ability to blackmail ya.