There are a lot of things I’ve never read: opinion columns, that story about bees living in that woman’s eyes, anything written by Ayn Rand. But the words I most wish I could erase from my memory came from a place I’d never expect: the second memoir from the musician Moby.
In Then It Fell Apart, which was excerpted in the Times, Moby recounts his life after his most successful album — mostly the kind of stories you could understand from someone dealing with the dizzying effects of fortune and fame. Except for one story, which is so odd and unpleasant to picture that it is best for Moby himself to tell it:
While I’m truly grateful the penis in this story did not belong to Donald Trump — it’s still unnerving and logistically confusing. First, the word flaccid was overutilized. Second, how long was Moby’s penis exposed? A few moments? A minute? Third, why didn’t Trump notice the penis? What would have even happened if he did? Could Moby’s dick have changed history?
I’ll likely never know the answers to any of these questions. It’s unclear if this literary moment is one that Herman Melville would approve of. But Melville’s menacing white whale and Moby’s “drunken, flaccid penis” are both things I’d like to avoid.