13th March, 2012
Alcoholism & Depravity
(Thirteen Days without Mushrooms)
Alcoholism & Depravity
(Thirteen Days without Mushrooms)
I wake up at midnight. It’s one of those awakenings like coming back to life; like I’ve been dragged out of a swimming pool and coughed up a lungful of chlorinated water. My short term memories come flooding back. Standing naked on the porch; lingering around Richmond looking for smack: I remember, but I don’t want to. I want to forget. I reset my palette with scotch; use Johnny Walker as mouthwash, then crack open a beer. It’s time to have a serious drink, to drink like alcoholics do. But, I don’t have the supplies. To get the most out of alcohol you need to stock up on consumables; a serious drink requires a healthy body. I have more than half a bottle of scotch to get through; I need to eat, a lot, or I’ll pass out prematurely. So, I go on a mission.
It’s two o’clock in the morning. I am stumbling down the side of a major suburban road holding a bottle of beer in one hand a joint in the other. A police car drives past at two hundred kilometres an hour. I see it before it sees me. I put the bottle on the ground as a reflex. Flick the joint into a bush. The cops have better things to do than pick on me tonight. Once they’re out of sight, I walk back and pick up the beer. I drink it quick and throw the bottle over a fence. Just in case. I remember the empty cop car in Richmond; once again, it occurs to me that I’m no different from the junky that helped me score. I’m paranoid; the invisible police are after me again.
I buy mixers; two cans of Mother, one bottle of Coke. On top of that I buy some snack food and a pornographic magazine. It’s difficult to find one that isn’t full of silicone laden sluts with Botox injections and re-constructed cunts. There aren’t any amateur mags, just fucking hustler and playboy and shit like that; blonde women and brunettes-dyed-blonde who take off their clothes for a living. The sort of pussy that gets wet on queue. Facial expressions like strippers on weekdays. Behind the fake smiles and pursed lips, you can see the boredom. You know, these porn chicks, they don’t respect the average guy who jerks off to them. No. We’re nothing to these ego freaks, less than nothing, we’re fucking pathetic. That’s why I don’t go for that sort of porn. It’s also why guys like virgins. An old girlfriend of mine could never understand what the appeal was in the inexperienced.
The inexperience is the appeal. Amateur girls are infinitely hotter than porn stars. Their nervousness is hot; they haven’t become jaded to being photographed, or bored with sex. Their pussy is wet because they are horny. They’re normal women, with normal lives, taking off their clothes and exposing their pink bits for a magazine spread. I honestly don’t understand how people prefer the bored porn-star alternative. I would rather watch a fifty year old woman strip down nervously in front of a camera than watch a porn start blow her fifty thousandth dick. Virgins appeal to men for the same reason: that innocent attitude towards sex that they have, untainted by a perpetual lack of satisfaction; the ratio of fantasy to reality is high.
I don’t like women who wear make-up. Advocating vanity in a particular gender is sexist. Women who wear make-up are no different than men who wear a lot of make-up. That’s really what equality means. We’re not there yet, as a species. Equality isn’t achieved upon declaration; there is a very long transition period from something to nothing. Same goes for racial equality; it’s still happening, we’re not there yet. Breaking down the gender divide, deconstructing sex, means things like cosmetics and lingerie need to go. They either need to go, or they need to be equal across the board; if it is accepted that women wear make-up, it should also be accepted that men wear make-up. Enlightenment is nothingness because everything is wrong. Adam and Eve should never have eaten the fruit and consequently clothed themselves. Clothes are wrong. Gender is wrong.
These things, they need to exist, so they can be disproved. The truth is not inherent; it is achieved via trial and error. We are created unaware of right and wrong. Upon creation we do not understand right. It is only through experiencing wrong, and opposing it, that we start heading in the correct direction. Conflict is at the core of literature. It is also at the core of spiritual evolution. When people say that God works in mysterious ways, what they mean is: everything happens for a reason. The holocaust is part of our journey. Every time somebody is raped or murdered. Every time somebody commits suicide. Every time a junky overdoses. It all contributes to the big picture. Our species observes history, past and present, and learns from it.
After experiencing the horrors of war, we are less inclined to declare it. The accounts of rape victims make us less inclined to rape people. And so on, and so forth. These people we condemn, they are the ones propelling the human race into the future. To do nothing, is to stagnate; to repress, is to delay. People shouldn’t fear sin or feel guilty for sinning. It’s all part of the process.
If you attempt to deconstruct everything, it never ends until there is nothing left. I’ve hit a couple of snags on my way to nothingness. One of them is sex. Like everything else, if you deconstruct sex, you end up with nothing. All of our taboos, all of our preconceptions about what is normal and what isn’t; they cease to exist. Perversion lies between aberration and enlightenment. To understand right and wrong you need to experience degrees of both; similarly, in order to understand sexuality you need to experience it from every angle imaginable.
Sex is an abstract territory. It needs to be explored, just as physical territories need to be explored. It is in our nature to explore the physical world and neglect the psychological; we repress the introverts and acclaim the extroverts. People feel like they need to do something to have value. They are embarrassed by their empty lives. They label others as perverted because they are afraid to pervert. Sexuality should be explored completely. Everything must be taken to the extreme in order for the boomerang effect of spiritual degradation and consequent enlightenment to occur. But, it’s difficult to go all the way; it’s difficult to detach from the norm.
I’ve sucked dick and I’ve eaten pussy. I find both, excluding hormones, to be equally enjoyable. What I mean by that is: the scent of a wet pussy gets me hard. There is a chemical aspect to heterosexual acts. Not to homosexual. There might be a psychological link between the smell of semen and the act of sex, but it isn’t hormonal. If you deconstruct hormones, and look at sex purely as an act of gratification, it is easy to justify bisexuality. Say you have two guys, or two girls, and they’re trapped on a desert island. It makes more sense for them to fuck then for them to not fuck. Whether they are “gay” is not a relevant question. What’s important is the orgasm. It is no co-incidence that homosexuality tends to occur more frequently in single-gender scenarios. The fact that straight guys who go to jail engage in homosexual acts proves that homosexual acts are not limited to homosexuals. And, therefore, sexuality does not exist. Those who are predisposed, for whatever reason, to same-sex relationships are no different than those who are predisposed to seeking out the opposite gender. We give them different labels, but – really – each one is just repressing the other side. It doesn’t end there. It goes beyond bisexuality.
Say there’s only one person on that desert island, a woman. She’s there all alone. No hope of being rescued. Then, an alien spaceship crashes onto the beach. A male humanoid alien climbs out. They become friends. They are both sexually frustrated. Two sentient beings marooned on a tiny desert island. They, too, should fuck. But, it doesn’t end there either.
Here’s another scenario. A woman, living on a remote ranch, is brushing her horse. The horse gets an erection. Should she neglect that horse cock? Fuck no. She should jerk that horse off. There was a study done on people who grew up on farms. An alarming percentage of them admitted to having sex with animals. On top of that there are those who are too ashamed to admit it. I’d think the latter category would be larger than the former. The point being, that – given the opportunity – humans will fool around. To understand what human means, we need to remove these restrictions that we place upon ourselves and just see what happens. Put two women together on a desert island; put a woman and an alien together on a desert island; put a woman and a horse together on a desert island: the result is always the same. Human means nothing.
So, anyway, I’m in the convenience store and the only magazine that isn’t full of porn stars is a chubby mag. Hustler doesn’t say skinny bitches with fake tits, yet “big and beautiful” is written on the cover: it’s a fetish mag, because the girls aren’t fucking anorexic. It comes in a two-pack with a typical porno – called Platinum Girls. I grab some other supplies: a couple of bottles of sports drinks and twenty dollars of McDonald’s from down the street.
When I get home, I pour myself a Mother and Johnny. I open Platinum first and feel next to nothing downstairs. It should be called Plastic; the women are all lip gloss and Botox; their tits are perfectly spherical; their skin is tanned and oiled; their eyes are dead. There is no humility; every one of them thinks they are fucking Goddesses; their egos are bigger than their tits.