PROP. VII. Existence belongs to the nature of substance.
Proof.—Substance cannot be produced by anything external (Corollary, Prop. vi.), it must, therefore, be its own cause—that is, its essence necessarily involves existence, or existence belongs to its nature.  Q.E.D.
—Spinoza, Ethics

1

For Christmas I was dragged to an island resort with my family. I always tell them not to bother bringing me. I stay in my room the entire time, and they would get nothing from me. We also had to travel to an airport that was around 2 to 3 hours away, and I hate sitting around in the car. So, naturally, they insisted on it. Up until the very hour they were going to leave, I told them that I do not want to go, but my dad and my sister (who paid for it, being the member of the resort) kept coming into my room annoying me about it. And it was my sister who was finally able to force me using that most dreadful and traitorous of emotional weapons: guilt. Appealing to my humanity and my obligations to the people who have cared & love for me.

I was very upset all the way there, but my family tried to accommodate me. They were unusually kind to me and tried to make sure that I was very comfortable. At the resort, we rented three villas. They rented one exclusively for me, so I can mope around there in absolute peace. I appreciate that.

I use a CPAP because I am a pig. I am a terrible, disgusting pig. Me in the ordinary world, in any case. The ordinary world that I hate so much and want to leave as often as possible. To use it, I have to fill it up with purified water, or else the minerals in the water would clog the machine, and at some point it will stop working. The water they offer there was purified, but it had a smell. It had a sour smell that reminded me of milk that had gone off although not yet totally spoiled.

The water enters my system through the humidifier. And I think it poisoned me somehow, in a way that it would not if I had merely drunk it. And while there at the resort I was simultaneously in the real world and the Other Place, the two places flashing in and out unpredictably, whereas I used to be able to shift via my own volition. And there were times where I would shift, and I would be where I was in the real world, and other times when the location differed spontaneously or thru some logic that I was not able to discern.

2

In the Other Place, I was there with Jackson. The most handsome man I know is Jackson. He is from Bulgaria. I know him online, and he makes videos, and we met there.

Jackson must be the most handsome man I have ever seen. I count among them timeless beauties, models, and men who I have loved. Of course, there is no objective way of ranking people according to their beauty. It is not only subjective, but perhaps the most subjective of all: The object of our desire. Lacan might say that this is the very core of our being. “Desire,” sez Spinoza, “is the essence of man” (Ethics, Part 3).

And it’s not only his appearance but his demeanor. His effortless, gentle way that still remains masculine and boyish. I’ve spoken to him, and he is very intelligent. Well-read, witty, and even plays good video games. For a moment I had hoped that he was stupid. I had hoped he was stupid, so that I wouldn’t have to burden myself with feelings for him.

My life is defined by the men I love. I am a slut, but I am afraid of letting anyone touch my body. I am a kind of heart slut. I am a desire tramp. I feel a total unease when I do not feel love. And lust won’t do. Plainly liking someone or wanting to fuck them won’t do. I must be in love.

When we got to our villa, we took note of the bathroom. There was an indoor and an outdoor shower. And luckily there was a handle there, probably for people with additional needs and elderly people. But it also works very, very well for shower sex, which would be important for the following days, if I was going to remain sane. Or remain at the manageable level of insanity that I currently have.

We were tired from the trip, so we laid down on the bed and messed with our phones for a bit. And while doing so, he said, “We should join the pickleball tournament.”

Recently, he had been playing a lot of pickleball because everyone was playing it, and he tried it once, and he enjoyed it. And I tried it once with him, but that was a lot more physical exertion that I was willing to put into winning anything.

“There’s a tournament?” I said.

“Yes. I’m looking at their website right now.”

“Well, stop it. It’s giving you ideas.”

“They have pottery classes! We can do that thing from that movie, with the dead guy and his wife.”

“I think you mean The Sixth Sense.”

“Was there pottery in that?”

“Yes.”

“And there’s snorkeling. Do you want to try that?”

“I don’t know if I want to snorkel.”

“No snorkel?”

“No snorkel. I do not want to snork.”

Jackson sighed. He placed his phone down on the bed and stared at me the way he did when he wanted to have a serious conversation.

I pretended not to see him and kept scrolling.

But I couldn’t help but look up because he was staring for a long time. Ordinarily I loved staring into his green eyes. Although right now I think he was using them to communicate something grim, solemn, and serious. Which I hated.

“What are you doing?” I said.

“We went all the way here. And you don’t want to do anything.”

“Yes.”

He shook his head. “That’s going to have to change.”

The way he said change: It’s like he used his tongue when he should have been using his teeth to make the /zh/ sound at the end. He had a lisp. I’ve always found that charming about him. For some reason, all the Bulgarians I know (although I know 3 in total) have lisps. I was beginning to suspect it wasn’t really a true lisp; rather it was carried over from their native language.

While looking at his mouth, I noticed also that he had a strong chin punctuated with a cleft. He lets stubble grow, if only because he was too lazy to shave. Overall, it granted him a masculine look.

“Okay?” He reached over and took my phone and placed it screen down on the bed. “Hey.”

I sighed and fell down onto the pillow. I looked at the ceiling. There was a ceiling fan right above us. It was attached to a sturdy, wooden beam. I couldn’t help but wonder if any of these had ever fallen onto someone sleeping on the bed. Would it spin as it fell, so that it sliced the person it hit? It certainly seemed like it was fast enough to do that. I knew that it wasn’t only a matter of speed but of harmonic resonance. If it ever moved at the right resonance, it would destroy that beam without much force.

“Hello?” Jackson said, leaning over me.

“Okay,” I said. “Fine.”

Then he kissed me.

3

We were in a restaurant called Phuket. Although I enjoyed Thai food, I wasn’t especially fond of it. I didn’t like food that was too spicy; my tolerance wasn’t high enough. Still, my family wanted to eat there, so we did.

It was very awkward having Jackson there. He only went because my parents thought it would be better if someone accompanied me. They had an inkling about the nature of our relationship, although we all only referred to it as being “best friends.” They were not ready to confront what I really was. They were willing to allow it to seep in, until it totally drowned them, until it was everywhere so that there was no escape. And then, they could ignore it. But they were not ready to point it out. For now, it didn’t exist. And they wanted it that way until it was the only thing that existed, and so it couldn’t even be distinguished.

That being said, they gave us our own villa so we can have our privacy. They made sure we sat together. Whenever my family spoke of the future for me, they always included Jackson. My oldest sister in particular wanted me to move to Australia with her. She said she’d let me bring Jackson, too.

My family came from poverty. My mother was kicked out of her home when she became pregnant at 18. She stayed with my dad in an informal settlement—essentially, in a squatter’s area. Her family later invited her to come back into wealth but only if she left my dad. She said no. She gave birth to my two other sisters. It was only later that my grandfather took her back, regardless of whether she was with my dad or not, and he was able to support her. She gave her several large loans, a house.

Thus, my family was brash. We were loud, mean, and easily offended. We never passed up an opportunity for a well-placed insult, and we appreciated one when we heard it. And if it were directed at us, we relished the opportunity for revenge. A dish best served cold, they say, but we were never so picky. We never had reservations about serving revenge steaming hot. Right out of the oven. Perfectly cooked. Seasoned to perfection.

Jackson came from a loving, gentle family. He was often uncomfortable with our bickering and confused about the most brutal insults were forgotten within an instant, only for another to be delivered somewhere by someone. Jackson has never insulted me. But he laughs a lot when I insult people, while bantering with them. I suspect he liked that.

The family was talking about the old days, when used to eat “barbeque,” which was really just rice with soy sauce and sugar. For dessert, they had a sandwich made with margarine and sugar. Meanwhile, Jackson and I were seated at the end of the table, with me opposite the head where my dad was sitting.

I said, “You hungry?”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks for coming, by the way,” I said. “And on such short notice.”

“Of course. You know I have nothing else to do.”

“You are a bit of a deadbeat, honey.”

He looked at me with half-lidded eyes, and then he rolled them. And it was a terrible thing to say because it was true. He came to Manila after falling in love with a model. This model won Ms. Philippines third runner up and found another man who was not only a model but also the heir to old money, a fortune in the billions of dollars. So, that model left him, and Jackson was penniless and doing odd jobs in Manila. He didn’t have enough money to go home and, even if he did, he had broken the hearts of every one of his family members, so he could never show his face to them again. And if he tried he would immediately perish from the shame.

When I met him, he was doing data entry at a work from home job. He was very bad at it. I suspect the person who hired him was in love with him. I was surprised he didn’t try doing homemade porn. If he ever tried, he would have been very rich. He would never have needed me.

Now, I gave him money as often as I can. Sometimes, he stayed in our house for weeks at a time. I never stayed at his apartment. It was small, filthy, and the building was close to collapse. Some kind of exemption in the law allowed the building to remain in the state it was in, despite the fact that it did not meet modern coding standards. His ex used to own it; he paid only around 10,000 Philippine Pesos or 200 Dollars a month for it. But that was already around a third of his income.

Despite this, he was happy. He didn’t need much to be happy. Perhaps because everyone he met wanted to make him happy. The Halo Effect: People tend to treat the beautiful better than they do the ordinary and the plain. And so do I. Knowing about the effect does not exempt one from the effect. We are all beholden to it, because we are all animals.

The food arrived. We don’t really talk much while eating. I’ve always thought that he looked most barbaric while eating. Not even while we were having the most brutal sex. Only while eating. The Bulgar Turk within him emerging into the light from the dark shadow of history, tired from wandering the plains, hungry from being jostled by the horse. Like he was trying to shove everything in, until there was no space left not only in his mouth but his entire head. I imagine the rice lodging itself up his nasal cavity, filling everything space. He had his cheeks puffed out like he was a squirrel preparing for a long, dark winter.

I poured his water for him and dabbed his mouth with tissue. And only when I did that did he realize that maybe he should show me some affection, as a matter of course, and he reached for the pitcher or the tissues, and I motioned for him to stop. And he gladly did. Because he was eating, and he’d rather be doing that.

4

The people at the table began to talk more as the meal wound down. My dad was telling Jackson: “And how are you enjoying the vacation so far? You’re very lucky. Not many people can come to a place like this.”

Jackson smiled broadly. “Very, very good. Thank you.”

My mom said, “You should thank Leah.” She was referring to my oldest sister, who paid for our trip and was the one who owned the membership to the resort.

“Thank you,” Jackson told her.

“I would have never done it,” my sister said, “if my brother didn’t need you so that he’d come.”

Jackson gave a polite laugh.

“Although if you really want to thank me,” she continued, “then you’re going to accept my offer and become a talent for my agency.”

Jackson couldn’t say no, but he also didn’t want to say yes. Even I wanted him to do it. Not only is it good money, but it seems only natural for someone to take advantage of the way nature has blessed them.

And I imagined that there would be beautiful women with him, if that ever happened. Other models would fall for him, and perhaps he would fall for another. I have no problems with him being with other women, so long as I am the one he loves. I wouldn’t mind watching, either. I think it’s a beautiful thing, watching him in action. We’ve spoken about this once in a while. But no opportunity has presented itself yet.

Once, it almost happened. We were at a house warming party, and a girl was obviously smitten with Jackson. I asked him if he noticed. He said he did. I asked him if he found her attractive. He said he did.

We found ourselves alone in the kitchen. We got bottles of Coke from the fridge. The host was nothing short of in love with him, from what I could see. And I knew the look of a woman in love.

He was leaning against the kitchen island with one hand behind his back and holding the bottle with the other.

I was leaning against the counter beside the stove. I could hear the people in the living room, laughing, talking loudly.

“Well?” I said.

He laughed a nervous laugh, like: This again?

“She’d be happy to,” I said. “If you just ask her. And she’s good looking.”

“I don’t want to,” he said.

“Fine…” I said.

I couldn’t help but feel disappointed, but I also knew that there was no forcing Jackson. He did a lot of things for me, and a lot of things only because he knew it would make me happy. But when he said no, he meant no. And he did not like to be forced or hassled about things that he did not want to do. The few times that he was genuinely mad or upset was when I wanted him to do something and insisted on it when he said he did not want to.

I would have loved to watch him fuck someone else in front of me. And though he did enjoy the kinky stuff, he enjoyed it much less than me, and he was perfectly happy with what I would call vanilla, boring, run-of-the-mill sex. What might be called, unironically, “making love.” That was because, as a beautiful person, he’s had a lot of sex, especially compared to someone like me, and he did not consider it special or even especially interesting.

On the other hand, the idea of sex still made my blood run hot. Sex was a kind of play, a kind of choreographed dance, where we played out the shape of our fantasies—the fantasies that are the least noble, the worst, the kinds inherited from our ancestors when they were mere animals only beginning to learn how to stand among the tall grass and run on two legs.

There, naked, his cock erect, his face ruddy… We saw each other as animals, like organisms that wanted to perpetuate. And I liked that. I saw why the ancient moralists wanted to rid themselves of it. I saw why it persisted, and how people could lie, steal, cheat, kill, die for it. In the scala naturae the human being was enjambed between the divine and the beast. In many other things we relish in the divinity of our nature: art, literature, prayer, charity. But in sex we relish the beast. And only the rough beast, its hour come round at last.

5

Back at my house, the cats ran rampant, as the matters seem to have vanished, as they sometimes do. But even the fat one is gone. The one who stays in his lair all day, save to eat. Had he not looked the way he looked, one might think him a cat. But no cat is so hairless and gigantic.

A white cat, Sugar, was lying on his belly at the upper landing of our staircase, right outside my door. He watched the other cats, which he could only barely make out around the corner. The lights had gone out beyond the window. The humans were usually dormant at this time; it was the time for the cats to wander the house.

But everyone was uneasy. They had not left at the same time like this before. Sugar in particular was bonded to the fat one. He has never, ever been gone this long. Did something happen to him? Had he finally gone out to catch prey on his own and thereby proved his own incompetence? Incompetence so great that he did not merely fail but perish?

Honey Babes emerges from the corner. She was a Himalayan cat – the oldest among the cats, and the mother’s. Thus, she considered herself the Queen of the colony, as a matter of feline law. But these younger cats cared little for tradition. They didn’t understand the nature of things. They way things were supposed to be.

Despite this Honey Babes refused to change simply because the others want to upend the sacred order to which all cats were beholden. She knew that one day, as all things, they would all pass away. And the Great Mother Cat beyond the veil will judge them according to how well they abided by her commands and her commands alone. Her commands that echoed in the chamber of every cat’s heart – what might be called their conscience.

She and Sugar met eyes. Honey Babes had sharp blue eyes. Sugars were yellow, round.

Honey Babes climbed the few steps before the stairs changed directions at an angle. She sat there and looked up at Sugar.

Have you seen the others?

No. Not since last night. But they are probably hiding beneath the human’s sleeping furniture.

They will never return. You know that, correct?

They will return.

No. They won’t.

You say that about your human all the time. And every time you are wrong.

They haven’t been gone this way for as long as we’ve made this place our home. They will never return.

Leave me. I am keeping watch.

This desolate place needs no watch. The humans have been wiped away. They perished in the hunt. Now only the others who sleep elsewhere remain. Soon they will be gone too. And we will die.

Bother someone else, Honey Babes. 

Your Majesty.

Not going to call you that. Go and eat. You’re hungry.

I am. Yes. I am hungry for revolution. A royalist revolution. A fundamentalist revolution.

You are hungry for Kreamy Kat Kibbles. Now with sardine center and fortified with iron.

No, I—is there Kreamy Kat Kibbles?

6

At that resort, people traveled via golf cart. We had our own, only Jackson and me. He drove. I didn’t like to drive, and he did. We were both tired from the travel and the dinner and apart from asking each other how we liked the food and if we were full we didn’t speak.

The island was barely developed. On the way back to our villa, we had to pass by the woods, and there were barely any lights along the road. At some point I realized that I was happy. Not in general but at that moment. At that singular point in time I was happy. Being here, with him.

I scooted over and pecked him on the cheek and placed my head on his shoulder.

I said, “I wish you were real.”

“I know, honey,” he said. “But we should just enjoy the time we have. At least we’re here.”

“Kind of.”

“Yeah. Kind of.”

And then I wasn’t happy anymore.

I stared at the road. Until then we saw barely anything, apart from some private lodges with their porch lights on. I wished, within the depths of my heart, that I were rich enough to afford a lodge. And I could stay there for months at a time rather than coming for vacations. Because then it would be a lot more convenient. I would be rich, so I would bring an entire PC rig. And they have good internet connection, so I would be perfectly happy. The only thing that would be annoying is the cost of the food. Even if I were rich, the food prices there were simply extortionate. Perhaps they would let me bring my own food in bulk.

We were going through another dark, undeveloped section, where they didn’t even have lights but only reflectors, when I saw it: Two dots, small but visible, beside a tree that moved and then vanished with the sound of footsteps against the soil. I was so scared that I jumped.

“Oh my god!”

“What?” Jackson said.

“Wait, wait, wait.” I placed a hand on his arm.

He slowed to a stop. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s something there!”

“What?” He turned around to see what I was talking about.

When I looked back, there was nothing there but the woods, lit dimly by the light of the moon.

“It’s nothing.” He pressed on the pedal again, but I grabbed on to him.

“Wait, wait, wait…!”

He stopped. “So you want us to get murdered.”

“Yes, but that’s unrelated to what’s going on right now.”

“What?”

“There it is again!”

The eyes were there again, but this time it did not move. It was looking at us, sporadically blinking, like some creature curious about us.

“Do you see it?” I said.

“Oh my god.”

“Let’s go.” I placed one foot on the ground outside the cart.

Jackson took my arm and pulled me back. “Are you crazy?”

“Yes, but that’s unrelated to what’s going on right now.”

“That’s some kind of demon, honey!”

“Let’s go.”

I shook his hand loose from my arm and left the cart. Whatever it was, it was looking at us, just staring.

I felt something touch me. I jumped, but it was just Jackson, wrapping his arm around mine.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go back.”

But I kept walking towards it. Jackson matched me step by step, but I could feel his hold on me getting tighter, ready to pull me away at any second.

I was scared. I was very scared, and my hands were cold and shaking, and I could hear my breaths and my heart beating. But I had to keep going. I had to know what that thing was. Why it was here. Why it was looking at us and doing nothing. I felt like it had something to tell us.

End of Part 1