This evening I read the entire Vol. VII of my Residua, written in 1982, while I was at Northeastern. Many a time during this necrophilic exercise I had been compelled to exclaim a loud “Jesus Christ!!!” in sincere astonishment: I just could not believe that I had managed to pack so much tangled erudition, wisdom, and beauty into so few pages. My writing of late has become so trite and simpleminded by comparison, not to mention the dwindling volume of my production. Of course, I could not suppress a feeling that MIT has made me somewhat dullwitted. Since 1983, when I changed jobs, I have been disintegrating, intellectually speaking.

All the while I was reading, I kept thinking of another matter in parallel: I brought Vol. VII home with the intention of giving it to Claudia, to whom I recently gave Vols. VIII, IX, and X. My writing came up as though by accident in our conversation, and then I handed her these three yearbooks, which apparently just happened to be sitting on the coffee table when she came to see me a couple of days ago. By the way, she mentioned on the phone today that she was fascinated by the stuff. At any rate, this evening I realized that the Residua of older vintage might be completely inaccessible to poor Claudia, and that started worrying me.

I should add that I customarily give my Residua to prospective girlfriends with the intention of weeding out those who are not worth the trouble, intellectually speaking again. This I always attempt to do with the requisite degree of nonchalance, so that the potential victim rarely suspects a ploy of any kind. The problem I am facing at present is a rather awkward one: I am not sure whether Claudia should be subjected to this test, as I am quite sure that I want her to pass it. Therefore, who needs the damned test? Thanks to MIT, I guess, Claudia and I seem to be on a convergent path.

Addendum I (March 24, 1994)

Copies of the last “edition” of my book, printed in Hong Kong this January, have already been distributed to most of my current prospects: Rebecca (who seems to have an insatiable sexual appetite, and who seems to be favorably disposed toward me in spite of her genuine appreciation of her loving husband), Katharine (who is undoubtedly willing, but who is also a bit too decent and unimaginative to get properly fucked), Anna (a dear friend whose left nipple I have already tasted, and whose juices I hope to taste in a day or two), Christine (who attracts me mostly because of her encroaching virginity and vanishing femininity, both of which developments I would be happy to help her reverse), Melissa (who has already rubbed her right breast against me in the presence of her husband-to-be and a few of their friends), Kathleen (who gave me an unprecedented erection as we were talking about the construction market in Thailand in the lobby of her hotel in London, where I went to meet her together with Lauren and Dorian)… I am casting my net far and wide once again. In due time I will start to pull it back in, and I am sure it will contain some perfectly edible fish. The fifty copies of this edition will last me a year or maybe two. Afterwards I will have to craft special editions for special prospects and circumstances, especially now that my book is peppered with “explicit sex” of every description. My Residua, the selective knock of my errant pecker…

Addendum II (January 22, 2000)

It goes without saying that the 1996 edition of Residua does not contain the addendum written in 1994, but most of my prospects nevertheless pick up the notion that my book is but a Trojan horse from my frank account of my courtship with Claudia. Of course, this is both a warning and a lure. It works both ways, as it should. It selects the viable prospects. However reticent, they come for their own share of the experience. Lesley is the last example. Quoting this piece, she complained about my transparent ploy, but she nevertheless let me take off her clothes and drag her to bed. All this is especially interesting in the context of the next publication of my book. This time it will appear on the Internet. Although I will still be able to tell an appealing woman to look up my writings on a particular World Wide Web address, many people, men and women, will stumble upon it on their own. This is sure to lead to interesting opportunities, as well as threats. To my surprise, this is not the first time I am broaching this subject in my book, but the very first time it crosses my mind. And this strikes me as rather naïve, especially for a man of fifty-three.