Sexual Anorexia and the Sphinx of Desire

One.

When i awoke, and much to my relief, i somberly fixated my sore pupils upon a quite eloquent looking elderly gentleman in red. I had been tangled in a seemingly interminable mess of orange juice and opiates, and so my level of comprehension was greatly depleted and replaced predominantly with a sickly perversion of lust and desire for the old man. I could sense the tension in my loins and off came the red Corduroys and dress socks as i slipped into my cosmic whet eurphoric stretch of imagination. Emitting from a location still unknown to me, was the aroma of what reminded me of burbon and a luke warm tuna casserole. But still yet i had deftly overcome my impotence and had maintained an arduous stability throughout the entire sequence of grunts and thrusts.

Shortly thereafter, in a comatose sedation, i introduced myself to Father Edmund as Chlostef Monet with a wet, limp hand. There was yet another accosting aura of promiscuity in the room, but was quickly surpassed as Father Edmund prematurely soiled his red Corduroys. Another time, maybe.

"Ado, young one, and much distracting from the posession of interest," Father vapidly slurred, "incite my curiosity, child, and rid your conciousness of the atrocities adhered inside."

"Atrocities, sir?"

"Regrets, young one."

And from the vortex of my imagination spurted forth nostalgia laced recollections which had been tucked away in tin boxes so as to avoid an inevitably unwanted confrontation in the future. The sensation overwhelmed my being and rendered me without any substances to utilize as any feasible archways for escape. As the convulsions commenced and what was left of my conciousness grew restless with unrelenting anticipation, and the anticipation seeped from the pores in my skin in thick excrutiating blobs that left me with the same general feeling of finishing a peculiarly difficult excramentation process.

The machinery directly adjacent to my resting location had been making blatant beeping and ticking noises since the phantasmagoria began, and subsequently, in marched the blue scrubbed soldiers with face masks and stethoscopes to explore my orifices and evaluate me as though i were a leper in their terrestrial zoo.

"Ah, what an eccentric specimen we have here gentlemen," they'd say, "let us take a look at the inside."

Or so i'd imagine.

Covering the lower quartile of my face is a mask spewing out a scent that smells analagous to propane and burning toast. And before i know it, i am swimming in a passionate alcove and amalgamated aquatic synthesis. A dream. Still meteorological hypothesis has been unable to portray or disclose the essence of the idealistic indulgence in the fabrication of a haven or splendor. Though splendor is yet relative. Maybe more so a sensation than a location. But the characteristic was shunned by my contemporaries, and so i gathered my containment in red and walked out of my mind. Waddling and painfully pregnant with reluctant compassion, its beyond me now. But since, i've watched the valuable slip through my clammy unkempt hands as i yearned for the comfort in a melancholy sitting. And still yet, i was undetered by an unequivocal couplet. The being had the capabilities that amused my supressed senses. Vocally, it excited my intellectual and emotional admiration.

And so for friends, and family, and for the kingdom, i wrote in exuberant red ;

The ample time left to consider the possibilites of meeting my inevitable demise similar to the other organisms in the biosphere has posed an opportunity for non conformation. Psychologically, or maybe even physiacally, i get the senstaion of a missing element or segment from my being. Inadequacy is similar to a festered zit that in the end leaves a scar directly on the surface of your skin as a constant reminder that you were insufficient in maintaining at least a decent hygene. My pimple has festered under my passion for existence. A hasty decision you say, pointles, selfish-likewise. Selfish on your part for incarcerating one in a location that makes them feel unutterably insignificant. Pointless of course because of its long term inevitability. And a hasty decision is vetoed out after constant and hypothetical scrutiny

And from there lost my train of thought as i flipped through a national geographic. A pedofiliac whet dream. Young, pubescent girls and boys in exotic and remote habitats virtually flounce around wearing only a mere beaded necklace, if anything. And of course, the unconventiality of the situation arose a tent in my slacks. It was taboo, preposterous, subterranean and sick. But i loved every minute of it. Something about desecrating their fictional innocence with an object foreign to them. My object. Of course there would be sobbing, and chronic remorse for both parties, but it would be ultimately worth it when you recieve the evil spontaneous grin that shoots a ticklish wave of mutilation up and down your spine as you come to terms with yourself and realize that you've defiled and took advantage a completely innocent life form. It makes me so sick that i have to relieve the sexual frustration with more and more of the shit. It's a continual process, and like the watercycle, or like the mystery of the chicken and the egg, i'm unsure which step came first.


Two.

Yet again, waking up in a wet charismatically stingy and dimly lit hospital room a portrusion in my bedsheets arose from my pubic region. This time, able to feed my aching addiction with a child nearby. She had been attempting to discover the secret behind why the sheet was stiffly pointing at the starchy green hospital ceiling.

Again the fiend within would not simply rest at a moment of utmost opportunity. The situation and the preceeding actions reminded me of a felt pin button. But only because of a freshly formulated infatuation with not the little girl, but another woman. My adulation proved unsuccessful, and amongst the heavier oaks and pines i let sympathy and deprivation ooze down the folds and creases of my dirt-caked face. I had tasted my own anxiety, but not the more prominent aspect of my complexity.

When a heavy conspicuous wooden door creaking open caught my attention, i had still been in dispose and still laying flaccid with my head hanging loosly off the bed and remnants from my sexual deviance prior to the guests arrival. A young sobbing girl lay in the corner of the hospital room floor with a sore mouth and a bloody pair of pants.