Jack Off
What you are about to read is a true story. The events and people recorded here are not figments of my imagination. They are prisoners to the sad mausoleum that constitutes my faltering memory.
In the conventional tradition of reportage one might expect to be greeted with the disclaimer that the identities of the people and places have been changed to protect the innocent. That doesn’t happen here. So far as I’m concerned, there are no innocent people ... just as there are no innocent places. Nor guilty ones either. These are conceits humans have contrived to try to make sense of their own pathetic excuse for existence.
No. I don’t change identities to protect those who might find themselves compromised. I do so for the obvious purpose of insulating myself from allegations of libel and slander.
That potentiality is part of what these writings are intended to hold up to the light of day. There’s little chance they will make a difference. But at this stage of my life I have equally little to lose by trying.