I called up my favorite writer, William Vollman, and told him I had AIDS. He had just written a book (this was around 1994) about a guy who went to Thailand who got AIDS.
I didn’t have AIDS. I wanted to somehow connect to Vollmann. I didn’t know anyone with AIDS. I didn’t know any writers. I just wanted to have fun. In retrospect, it was stupid.
He called me back a few days later and left me a message on my answering machine. I was standing right next to the machine but didn’t want to pick up.
He said in his foggy, slow voice, “I’m really sorry to hear you have AIDS. There are lots of groups out there that can help you out.” He left me his phone number and told me I could call him anytime I wanted.
I never called him . Sorry I lied to…
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