Victor spent many long hot days in Brazil and Chile playing naked with the giant ants of the jungle. His nights were spent listening to classical music and reading Dickens. At  the age of ten Victor renounced classicism. He began his search for something more modern. He had never heard of Nietzsche yet. So he began his quest towards enlightenment by chewing betel nuts and screwing the little native girls, as is customary in tribal regions.

When in America he was almost immediately wont to return to his other-worldly paradise. But he would be stuck in hell in Indiana, the cultural vacuum cleaner of The United States. He never played school sports but read and studied the Beats and listened to the Talking Heads and tried to scam with the young girls. His teachers blended their retarded American morality into the lessons. Victor loathed Christianity and its guilt-laden American manifestations. In Brazil it was very easy to get naked with someone because it was something that came very naturally. You could go off with a girl or a boy and have a groping or a sucking session without much ado.

In America they thought getting naked in closet with a girl was a capital offense. He was caught and stigmatized and beat up by her older brother. And for what? There is no violence in sex and it is truly more educational than health class. Victor saw school as a primitive form of mind control, an early attempt at military training. The intelligentsia are always at the mercy of the stupid. Yet the intelligentsia lead the only meaningful lives.

Victor's nonconformity stood out like an Gothic cathedral in the desert. In high school it was assumed by everyone that he was either queer or stupid or both, but never that he was an angel without wings. Victor believed in God but he thought that life was an experiment and nothing more or less.

The purpose of life is to live life like a god. You don't meet your maker when you die because you transgress time and become your maker. But only if you live like a diamond ring and take chances and model your attitude after a supernova. Live like a star and you will be a star, shining with the other stars in the black endless void.

Negative people are the living dead, they rot themselves and others without recess. To reduce life to a series of moral commands from an invisible god in a book is downright criminal, pure decadence. They invoke needless suffering upon the minority of humanity that respect life.

When Victor went through puberty and got hair on his gonads he stuck his dick in peanut butter and made his little sister Franny lick it off. She liked that and it was a habit they carried into adulthood like a sacred ritual. Victor was a boy of much thought and little action, but what action he took was important to him.

Trust and love will overcome doubt and fear. His outward personae was distrustful but he longed to give the world credit and live off the interest. Victor was a philosopher in an age of no philosophy.

He would guide his brethren to a new tomorrow with new stereotypes and myths to replace the old deadbeat and downtrodden ones. He had no respect for authority or law- only the humanity locked intrinsically within each of our souls.

Victor briefly went to school in Paris on a scholarship given by a wealthy New Yorker whom his father had met in Santiago. Rich entomologists are rare, and this man gave Victor the chance to study philosophy in unparalleled beauty and grace.

But Victor bagged his academic career after two years and started programming primitive HTML web sites for the debut of the world wide web in 1993. He understood this new medium instinctively as a tailor understands a three piece suit. The French couldn't be bothered by new technology and seemed forever stuck in yesterdays. He lived a reckless life but due to the worldwide bounty of the 90's had enough money for Ecstasy and bags of grass from Amsterdam that made his soul smile like chocolate banana crpes with whipped cream.

Every Thursday he danced for joy at the Rex Club to the sounds of Laurent Garnier, DJ Dimitri, and later Daft Punk. On weekends he hit the warehouse parties and the 24 hour bars. He knew the value of a good rave and loved to get eckied-up and smile and kiss other angels.

But his real love was Sarah, sweet Sarah, who reminded him of his sister Franny without all the blood ties. They played across Europe as stallions played in ancient Arabia before man came to hunt them down and make them their slaves and food for their dogs.

When he was caught by immigration and escorted by policeman to the airport, he cried and held on to Sarah and the empty promise that he could make his way in America. He would return to his paradise in a few years time, but not without ample resources to make it permanent. Nobody throws a rich man out of their country when he is so bloody "good for the economy".

Henry Miller, America's greatest writer, lived ten long years in Paris before World War II with less resources and more swearing than Victor had. They both loved France as much as they felt sorry for (and felt cheated by) America. But America was their home and it would claim them as parents reclaim their lost children, alone and afraid yet both secretly wishing never to see each other again.

Guilt is much harder to bear than physical pain, and Victor had neither one nor the other holding him down. He felt a profound lack of feeling about his nation, one that had been built like any other, except more cheaply and on more broken promises. In his heart he knew he could attain fame and fortune without going insane first. But as his demons caught up with him he thought of nothing but the cold hard floors of the Paris Metro and the bums drinking their two dollar bottles of wine without remorse or regret of being the human cockroaches of the most beautiful and holy place on Earth.

Victor sings for Paris, lives for Paris, and will ultimately one day die for Paris. He was not a man in love with his fellow travelers; he was a boy in love with the stone gargoyles that falsely represented the evil kept away from the magic of Civilization.