long it takes to stimulate the growth of new structures. How long it takes to turn off production of other proteins and churn the last of them out through the lysosomes.
How long it takes to cure being homo.
It’s a brilliantly simple project, and it will produce a cheap reliable treatment. It means that all of João’s friends who are fed up being hassled by Evangelicals can decide to go hetero.
That’s my argument. They can decide. Guys who want to stay samesex like me … well, we can. And after us maybe there won’t be any more homosexuals. I really don’t know what the problem with that is. Who’ll miss us? Other samesexers looking for partners? Uh, hello, there won’t be any.
And yes, part of me thinks it will be a shame that nobody else will get to meet their João. But they’ll meet their Joanna instead.
Mom rang up and talked for like seventeen hours. I’m not scared that I don’t love her anymore. I do love her, a lot, but in my own exasperated way. She’s such a character. She volunteered for our stem-cell regime. She came in and nearly took the whole damn program over, everybody loved her. So now she’s doing weights and is telling me about this California toy boy she’s picked up. She does a lot of neat stuff for the Church, I gotta say, she’s really in there helping. She does future therapy; the Church just saw how good she is with people, so they sent her in to help people change and keep up and not be frightened of science.
She tells me, “God is Science. It really is, and I just show people that.” She gets them using their Personalized Identity for the first time, she gets them excited by stuff. Then she makes peanut-butter sandwiches for the homeless.
We talk a bit about my showbiz kid brother. He’s a famous sex symbol. I can’t get over it. I still think he looks like a pineapple.
“Both my kids turned out great,” says Mom. “Love you.”
I got to work and the guys had pasted a little card to the glass. Happy Birthday, Ron, from Flat Man .
And at lunchtime, they did this really great thing. They set up a colluminated lens in front of the display screen. The image isn’t any bigger, but the lens makes your eyes focus as if you are looking at stuff that’s ten kilometers away.
Then they set up a mini-cam and flew it over Flat Man. I swear to God, it was like being a test pilot over a planet made of flesh. You fly over the bones and they look like salt flats. You zoom up and over muscle tissue that looks like rope mountains. The veins look like tubular trampolines.
Then we flew into the brain, right down into the cortex creases and out over the amygdala, seat of sexual orientation. It looked like savannah.
“We call this Flanneryland,” said Greg. I guess you could say I have their buy-in. The project cooks.
I got back home and found João had sent me a couple of sweet little extra emails. One of them was a list of all his family’s addresses … but my best address is in the heart of Ronald Flannery .
And I suppose I ought to tell you that I also got an encryption from Billy.
Billy was my first boyfriend back in high school, and it wasn’t until I saw his signature that I realized who it was and that I’d forgotten his last name. Wow, was this mail out of line.
I’ll read it to you. Ron , it starts out, long time no see. I seem to recall that you were a Libra, so your birthday must be about now, so, happy birthday. You may have heard that I’m running for public office here in Palm Springs —well, actually, Billy, no I haven’t, I don’t exactly scan the press for news about you or Palm Springs.
He goes on to say how he’s running on a Save Samesex ticket. I mean, what are we, whales? And who’s going to vote for that? How about dealing with some other people’s issues as well, Billy? You will get like two hundred votes at most. But hey, Billy doesn’t want to actually win or achieve anything, he just wants to be right. So listen to this—
I
How long it takes to cure being homo.
It’s a brilliantly simple project, and it will produce a cheap reliable treatment. It means that all of João’s friends who are fed up being hassled by Evangelicals can decide to go hetero.
That’s my argument. They can decide. Guys who want to stay samesex like me … well, we can. And after us maybe there won’t be any more homosexuals. I really don’t know what the problem with that is. Who’ll miss us? Other samesexers looking for partners? Uh, hello, there won’t be any.
And yes, part of me thinks it will be a shame that nobody else will get to meet their João. But they’ll meet their Joanna instead.
Mom rang up and talked for like seventeen hours. I’m not scared that I don’t love her anymore. I do love her, a lot, but in my own exasperated way. She’s such a character. She volunteered for our stem-cell regime. She came in and nearly took the whole damn program over, everybody loved her. So now she’s doing weights and is telling me about this California toy boy she’s picked up. She does a lot of neat stuff for the Church, I gotta say, she’s really in there helping. She does future therapy; the Church just saw how good she is with people, so they sent her in to help people change and keep up and not be frightened of science.
She tells me, “God is Science. It really is, and I just show people that.” She gets them using their Personalized Identity for the first time, she gets them excited by stuff. Then she makes peanut-butter sandwiches for the homeless.
We talk a bit about my showbiz kid brother. He’s a famous sex symbol. I can’t get over it. I still think he looks like a pineapple.
“Both my kids turned out great,” says Mom. “Love you.”
I got to work and the guys had pasted a little card to the glass. Happy Birthday, Ron, from Flat Man .
And at lunchtime, they did this really great thing. They set up a colluminated lens in front of the display screen. The image isn’t any bigger, but the lens makes your eyes focus as if you are looking at stuff that’s ten kilometers away.
Then they set up a mini-cam and flew it over Flat Man. I swear to God, it was like being a test pilot over a planet made of flesh. You fly over the bones and they look like salt flats. You zoom up and over muscle tissue that looks like rope mountains. The veins look like tubular trampolines.
Then we flew into the brain, right down into the cortex creases and out over the amygdala, seat of sexual orientation. It looked like savannah.
“We call this Flanneryland,” said Greg. I guess you could say I have their buy-in. The project cooks.
I got back home and found João had sent me a couple of sweet little extra emails. One of them was a list of all his family’s addresses … but my best address is in the heart of Ronald Flannery .
And I suppose I ought to tell you that I also got an encryption from Billy.
Billy was my first boyfriend back in high school, and it wasn’t until I saw his signature that I realized who it was and that I’d forgotten his last name. Wow, was this mail out of line.
I’ll read it to you. Ron , it starts out, long time no see. I seem to recall that you were a Libra, so your birthday must be about now, so, happy birthday. You may have heard that I’m running for public office here in Palm Springs —well, actually, Billy, no I haven’t, I don’t exactly scan the press for news about you or Palm Springs.
He goes on to say how he’s running on a Save Samesex ticket. I mean, what are we, whales? And who’s going to vote for that? How about dealing with some other people’s issues as well, Billy? You will get like two hundred votes at most. But hey, Billy doesn’t want to actually win or achieve anything, he just wants to be right. So listen to this—
I
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