So after the happenings of the past week it really hit me that we are headed more and more for disaster. That is when I closed my eyes and I had a vision of a Dystopian Society that would creep as slowly on us, as everything has. It also hit me that the painful sexualization of everything would become a commodity to a society that has no respect for women and no spiritual regard for sexual intercourse. I could not hope but to see the bleak world very similar to Gasper Noe’s Irreversible and that explains the Cover Photo I guess.
This therefore will hopefully unfold as a series of stories detailing this world I saw.
Dark brooding corridors.
There is the occasional light that flickers from the cracks of an ajar door.
There is a loud laugh from behind one of the doors, a girl. It’s fakeness informs him she’s obviously been paid to laugh it. The price too low. High enough for it to stroke the fragile ego that bought it though.
He begins to imagine her. He can feel his hand run over the light bumps on her thighs. She probably gives off a light moan. he’s kissing her too. Running down her neck while she stares at the stars playing her rehearsed routine of orchestrated orgasms. Parts of her body waiting for the prompt of touch to sing it’s own special melody. She probably knows the names of the stars now, probably she’s named her tears after them. The day they caught me. The day they all came on me. The day i practiced enjoying it. The day. The day. Maybe like the stars they disappear into the void. Getting too vast under the spectrum of existence, too far for their magnitude to be any relevant. She’s a commodity now. A massive crux in a stock market judged by the masculine gaze of a coin sized hole nested in between her thighs.
He wakes up from imagining her. She’s not here he reminds himself. He takes a slight glance at the tattoo on the inside the flesh connecting his thumb and index rolling over onto the top of his hand.
“she bled too” it reads.
The monotonous silence is broken by the crack of another door. A girl drops out of it. Her eyes are a plain milky white. She stumbles smashing her face on a welcoming floor. A subsequent dribble of vomit invites itself out of her frail body. He looks at her, a long brooding look. The harder he looks he sees a story of scars carefully hidden under layers of cracking make up. She flinches and looks up in his direction. She can’t see me he thinks, maybe she can sense me. Her body trained to sense any presence around her, abuse makes people animals.
Her senses electrocute her. Her limbic system touching her reflexes. She twists and looks at him. He flinches hoping she doesn’t realize his inferiority. A virus detected by an unwanted body.
But she is an unwanted body.
She’s never existed in so much colour. Marty obviously gave me something new she thinks. But he shines. He shines in the dark. Some say Jesus shines. Standing on a mountain. Wasn’t his wife a whore she thinks. It hits her. Her funny bones break ad she cracks under the weight of the psychedelics in her.
The radio starts playing in the near by room. The news channel blares through the key hole. “I guess even the thugs in town prey there is something to unlock” he thinks. A sappy bullshit hip hop beat begins playing to hide the unwanted sex behind it. A child is obviously behind it. The loud radio informs him of last weeks bomb strike.He tries no to think of it.
She is still alive… He tells himself.
She is somewhere here… He tells himself.