i contemplated ingesting hallucinogenic drugs for some time, ever since reading up on Don Juan by carlos castaneda... well... i used to read a lot of "useless junk" when i was growing up... the Tibetan book of the dead was also one; but i stuck true to my "self" and returned to Taoism after a period with the European philosopher... that's beside the point... i did buy a sugar cube soaked with LSD once, i was in Amsterdam a few times: i could have simply bought some mushrooms... but this one time i was sharing a hostel room with a very sensible Egyptian architecture student who liked to drink ***** alone and smoke marijuana and we watched in horror, as these two German chefs... ingested mushrooms and sat in a dark room... watching American Dad on t.v.; we both gave ourselves this quizzical look that strangers give when watching other strangers... we were saying to each by simply looking: so you're telling me, these guys have just made the biggest sacrilege of nature? they're not in the woods, in the sunshine or the moonlight, wandering about the forest, they're not ******* women on hallucinatory drugs and... the best they can do with them is... what the Riddler (from Batman) would have done to them? plug them to a t.v.: brain-drain them... make them watch a cartoon?! clearly these guys have already done hallucinogenic drugs before, they clearly have passed a threshold! let me guess... they had so much *** already that they must be dropping those magic blue pills just in order to not strangle a girl to death while she giggles that his Whittle 'Ichard is sleeping limp...

there are only two possibilities for me ingesting
hallucinogenic drugs...
option 1... my grandfather suffered from a mild
dementia... a dementia that made him lazy...
not the sort of dementia that erodes memory...
not the sort of dementia that would make him
forget who i was...
the sort of dementia that would strap him
to the flat and he would sit all the summer days
on the balcony before the graveyard
contemplating mortality and his life...
he was fully locked in his memory bank...
he would repeat stories from his life on repeat...
i too have a favourite stash of memories of mine...
if i'm not thinking about something mundane
like filling out an application form or what not:
i bask in memories... the ones i had no choice in keeping:
memory: that fickle creature will never allow
you to keep certain memories... a flickering flame
of (a) fading...
i fear old age more than i fear death...
death is a minor impasse...
made all the more easier without having ingested
hallucinogenic drugs... i close my eyes:
i open the parallel universe eye of the mind
long gone...
of course i want to become famous...
but i want this fame to reach me when i'm long
gone and cold... a mortician's beauty-corpse...
with the whole affair of my grandfather's passing...
i saw him in the morgue:
stitched up... "smiling": as any ancient does
with missing teeth...
pampered with the sort of chameleon make-up
artistry living women put on:
but men revel in once, dead...
i didn't cry... i was sooner to bleed from my head
when i bumped my head on the radiator before
i shed a tear... those dearest and closest to me
cried their tears: without summoning
bountiful rains for a harvest...
i must have waited months before i could
release the grief that allowed me to explode
my heart: but as grandfather said: keep your heart small...
i bled first before crying... my heart grew large
but suddenly it constricted into a pebble-sized curiosity
of my own worth's of: what's there to be curious about?!

and god himself... hmm!

Genesis 2:22
then the LORD God made a woman from the rib he had taken out of the man, and he brought her to the man.

let's play Harry Potter for a while...
i hate this legacy with a passion that i abhor
Sharon Fruit... it's a ******* itch for me to eat...
serve me a bowl of pomegranates or passion fruits this day,
everyday, everyday, for the rest of my life...
mind you... i hate sweet stuff...
i hate bananas... bananas and Sharon fruit are
my enemies...
with one exception... hangover...
watermelon cutlets kept in the fridge overnight?
i'm like: what water? do i need water?
can't i just gobble down an entire watermelon by myself?!
yes, yes: i can... and i do...
every time it happens: when i GORGE on fruit
i think of women... *******... thighs... ****...

i know for sure that the ****** is a disguise...
the actual entry point is closer to the ****
than the actual floral pattern...
most men aim for the floral pattern... prior...
no... it's like that urban myth about undoing a woman's
bra-strap... the entry point is closer to the **** than
it's actually to the floral pattern itself... enlarge a ******
and you start enlarging the insects...
and hell: behold! mann ist lebensmittel
man is food...
   oh but i like a good bit of food in reverse...
i like warm oyster ****...
i like slurping on something that's going to look
me in the eyes and O O... O...
i want to eat the double of my demands
for renting a body... i buy nothing! i... rent half an hour's worth
of a woman...

that's how i figured it all out...
i'm not thirsty...
i have a cat to own up to me deeds...
one rejection, two rejections: three...
***** please, now i'm going to prime...
i do hope i have enough ***** to perform euthanasia on
myself... i don't fear death: it's enough to see what
old age does that makes me quit mortality quicker
than the need for sprinkling salt on food that's being
cooked!

i figured the brothel out... i'm no longer a colt...
a young, man...
i'm a man in my prime... if 36 is not your prime
i don't know what could possibly be...
i have simple pleasures... women, su doku... music...
reimagining brick-layering...
women...
         women women women: more women...
i can't be a selfish *****-*** while all this hurricane
of hormones dies out...
i'm a fruzbrise! a ****-breeze! something...
solipsistic and also uplifting...
everyone knows that the smell of their own ****
is a membrane of exclusion: dictate...

it doesn't require me an hour to get what i want...
HALF AN HOUR is plenty!
not that i finish quickly...
but i'm not here for therapy...
i'm here for *******... love? long gone...
it died a long time ago... i'm here for ***...
i don't need an hour... an hour is too long...
half an hour is plenty...
most women don't like ******* for too long
to begin with: why? they are usually not amused
by long ***** and no ******...
it's a bit like taking a dog for a walk
expecting a beautiful sunset but... oh ****...
a cloudy day... i love ******* for too long...
recently i discovered that most women don't...
they want to **** like insects, or pigeons...
quick and easy... i never understood that...
i'd love to **** for 5 hours like i ****** Ilona
all night long...
      that's how it has always been...
those images of the death-crawl... maggots eating themselves
to fly-hood through the eyes... it takes time
to tender the floral-oyster of ****...
there's a need for a repeated slapping of pelvis
against pelvis until one of your has a plum tattoo
of a bruise in the ***** region...

*** is thirst, *** is hunger...
the more i'm woken to it the more... adamant i am
about it's position in the hierarchy of needs...
i could possibly be a Muslim if i stated that
i did a year long "Ramadan" of sexless-ness...
**** food: i'll scribble: EAT ME on my big toe and
start nibbling on it...
but give me a woman when i'm released from
my leash of hunger: and i'll either carve you a Rodin
statue or paint you a Picasso!
all those contortions of cubism that a woman
can easily hide while a man exposes
her crude: "put-together": "bits"...

it's good to forget about the youth that was the youth
of the youth that would: fall in love with the idea
of love... now? by the accountability of Shylock:
pound of flesh for a pound of flesh...
oculus per oculus (an eye for an eye)...
i like it that way...
       ruthless: i have to admit... but at least this sort
of ruthlessness leads toward a levelling of what:
once rough: now becomes smoothed...

no ******* DWARF on the most popular t.v. show
is going to somehow steal my banners of lust!
no! nein! nie! niet!
you will know sooner rather than later...
right about, now:

Genesis 2:22¼
then the spiteful envious Son of the Lord God looked with all his alchemical toys and from the woman he plucked her breast and brought the breast as an apple to the tree of forbidden knowledge.

did i word, "biblically" enough? i do wonder... yawn...
my mother suffers from a rare condition,
i'd guess the Chernobyl effect catches to a whole
bunch of us... less affected by the exposure...
my mother explained her condition to me...
her immune system is killing her...
she rarely coughed... she sneezes and she snores
in her sleep: like a locomotive about to be derailed...
i'm also a mutation...

i walk into a brothel with one song in my head...
Garbage's #1 crush...
i too have my "addition"....

it's an addiction for a freshly washed flesh: the scent of
soap...
never mind that...
i will **** this brothel to the ground...
even if it takes me two ***** at a time...
i sat across from three of them...
i wanted at least one to be honest and pick me...
they always say that it's up to me...
her name started with A...
Adriana? Ariana? Andromeda?
she talked too much...
she talked too much...
i has rock hard within the confines of precursors...

tomorrow i'm going to a Garage festival...
Essex... Basildon, of all places...
plenty of easy ******* to oogle at...
but not like the ginger-pretty-****
that was Garbage's lead singer: Ms. Manson...
i don't get it... there's the mythological blonde
but the realistic ginger...

i read books like they might be women
and i read women like they might be books...
i never get it right.. until a ****** type arrives...
but that's not enough... there needs to some strategy
akin to Marquis de Sade's ******...
his novella: his best book...
there needs to be a mother... a single mother...
with a child... a female child...
i couldn't possibly date a single mum with
a boy child... i'd be like a lion by then...
i'd "**** it"... single mothers with daughters
are a much more easier access than single mothers
with sons...
you wanted Darwinism? hey presto!

my god that last flow of events...
*****-*******... miscommunication...
i told her: oil me up... she "forgot"...
she wanted extra money...
after enough of the blow-job-jaw-dropping...
rodeo girl style... me arching over her:
she implored me to finish...
i had a stern mask on m face while i ******
her silly... arching over her...

i'm done with jokes... i'm in my prime and i'm going
to learn all the valuable lessons i can...
i'm done playing the cuddly-teddy-bear
of some thirsty male "companion":
the best company i kept with myself...
both reflexively and reflectively...
the only worthwhile interactions i could remember:
on a conversational basis were with men...
obviously the best interactions where words
were not used: where eyes spoke the language
of eyes and lips spoke the language of lips
were with women...
but? women are not my intellectual equals...
sorry...  it's an unlikely pairing:
a girl with toad eyes i would love to talk to for
an eternity is not... what i want to ****!

this one was lost in transit of about three tongues...
she told me she had recently had a BOTOX job
done on her lips... i couldn't kiss her but she would
gladly perform oral *** on me...
hmm... funny how that "mystery" works!
it was so obvious that the wisdom of the Kama Sutra
came into play...
sure... i wasn't "well endowed": no...
i just wasn't endowed enough to please her...

she implored me to pull out... she couldn't satisfy me...
she posited her legs in the *******
in ways most obstructing me from ******* her...
i felt a sly pinch of a cramp as she obstructed me
thrusting...
fair enough girl... i have a rabbit's ****:
and you have an elephant's ******...
clearly we're mismatched!
so? she finally lubricated me...
and ****** me off... while stressing the pointer
of *******: into her *****...
which i did... as she rubbed my head against her *******...

women... can't really love them:
but can't exactly hate them...
but you can most certainly do both...
and do both: most certainly simultaneously...
you best do the hating and the loving
simultaneously!

but why all the talking? that's what put me off!
she talked top much...
she wanted me to talk:
i think... no... i know that talking during
******* is the highest form of heresy...
it's a limp **** sort of heresy!
i had a *******... during the missionary spectacle
she asked me to stop: i stopped: LIMP BISCUIT...
what?! you told me to stop! no i didn't!
i pointed the index at her: yes you did!
no i didn't!

your **** is wide enough to fit two of us in!
no it isn't! yes it is!
why did you tell me to stop?!
you were taking too long!
well with a **** of that girth it takes much longer
to please you!
you not into running a marathon?!
what?
you only experienced quick ***, you never had
*** in St. Petesrburg for 5 hours...
while the girl you were ******* was also
******* an ex-boyfriend on the side
behind your back?!
no? well then... welcome to the "club"...

i'm going to **** all the girls in this brothel before
i **** them a second time and then try to find
a second brothel...
i'll obliterate the pain of idealising love and romance
with all that's readily available reality
of what's true and truest...
i'll **** every single one of them...
in half an hour gourmet sessions of a session
with some :

more harry Potter nonsense?
   oh... right.... there's only one genu=is "out there":
you ******* flip-cake.... pan-cake... you-VERCRUlitter-grass
the VERCRUX....