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2003-09-13 - 5:42 p.m. Last night the words assaulted my ears, crept into my brain and wreaked havoc with my central nervous system and brought me to my knees. To put it plainly, I fainted, or nearly did, once I was kneeling down with my head down I was able to maintain consciousness until the attack was through. Just last night I went to Barnes & Noble to hear Chuck Palahniuk read from his latest work. He read instead a short story to be published in an upcoming issue of Playboy entitled, �Guts� Chuck Palahniuk was charming, witty, handome even, and he reads with a self-assuredness and possesion that is even more impressive considering his often spectacular subject matter. The content of �Guts� was no exception. It was a funny and sickening story of self-exploration and inescapable shame in those moments where you know you cannot hide, the moment before getting caught. His words were strong, explicit, relentless; never before have I been felled by the sheer power of prose. When my vision narrowed, the periphery fading to black I knew that I would either vomit or faint (which seemed the more socially acceptable of the two). There may be those who think I�m kidding and to those I say without shame, �I am fainter number 23.� While I cannot say I enjoyed the sensations I can appreciate and be impressed by the skill behind such a feat. To overload someone�s senses so completely with words proves that the pen can indeed be mightier than the sword, and that one voice can move mountains. Chuck was equally amazed by his own power. He laughed and recounted how he had heard such stories told of Charles Dickens and thought, �No way could you make some one faint from words� particularly not Dickens, �Put them to sleep maybe, get them to commit suicide, sure.� He was almost giddy when he tallied the total at 23, but as his latest casualty I can say only that I won�t be the last. � 
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