35. Walking with my zipper down
“That was great!” I exclaimed and interrupted the Village Idiot when he was bringing me up to the summit.
Indeed, the experience the night before had unveiled for me new frontiers. I died a broken man, convinced the only pathway to pleasure was sex. And so, this viewpoint had coloured my interpretation of eternity lived, causing me to chase bliss between the legs throughout my afterlife. It was all hype and sensation, walking with my everlasting zipper down; seduced by fleshly and worldly desires of beauty cultivated while on Earth, and gravitating towards genital gratification.
I am in Forever After with infinity at my disposal, and yet all I can conjure up for a good time is a cock and cunt. How sad and pathetic is that?! My encounter with Elizabeth and her slave(s) was a revelation. True delight is higher evolved. We were made in The Image, and on Earth, split to male and female. This paints our disposition, two incomplete species joining and breaking for flakes of satisfaction. The comedy of intercourse, a man and a woman naked, aroused by their differences; dick cannot wait to detonate, and all she wants is to feel warm and fuzzy inside. But we are, in reality, spirits. Our bodies perish, but our souls remain after. And our psyche is sexless.
Transcend the private part and know pure pleasure. I had an essence of it last night; merely as a nose, a tongue, eating food, sniffing soups and sauces. The joy that emancipates is a fellowship endowed. The value of friendship and family - whereof Elizabeth and the Village Idiot had so generously allowed for us to partake at their supper table - cuts in me the vision I want in my own existence, the existence ordained by ‘god’ on all his creatures.
O’ wretched worm that I am, short-sighted fool duped to believe in the divinity of debauched living, when in mere fact I am already condemned by karma to reincarnate, to live again and again from womb to tomb to perpetual doom, this sexual curse caught forever in my untameable groin!
Castrate me. Emasculate me. Polish out her vagina. Allow us to dance in the freedom of the universe, that I may be one with it. One with you, Sha-Rronne; I want to know our glory together, a glory creation pangs for at the revealing of our birthright. Enough; I live always, infinity is my pal, and yet eternal life for me is a carcass in the wilderness where encircling vultures abound. I play the wrong games, games that drill me farther from the heart. Pure love’s heart; which is of this pounding beat that quietly drums in all that breathes.
When I was little, I loved my papa; I loved mama, too; but somewhere along the way (in adolescence I reckon) the love turned to hate. Like a back-masked recording of a rock song with satanic messages surreptitiously encoded, this hatred surfaced from sea and destroyed the coastal towns of my heart. It took many stormy years before I could forgive them for a wrong they did not commit, (compounded by my immaturity, unable to digest discipline and parental care), and when I did, they were already dead, which further wrecked my unanchored galleon against the serrated ridges of great guilt.
For remedy, I found the joys of women; but my penis came to awful play. Stored in the mausoleum of memory, I recall, the happiest and most fulfilling moments came when I could penetrate beyond the sexual desire to the serene gardens of emotions; love embalming like fluid, travelling through the tunnels of time, to a place in fabled past, when humble tranquillity overcame the tyrannical domination of erotic damnations in the dark. Flaccid and placid, when the swelling is decapitated, I know for a union, immense release to divine destinations.
Romantic junctures with girlfriends, the most intoxicating, yet most taxing to attain, are intimate episodes absent of the bloody erection. Often accomplished only after ejaculation, this heavenly allure cascades its celestial presence upon our exhausted beings.
But life’s instalment after Gee Ni was a downhill tumble aided by prostitutes and their massaging limbs. Progress toward twilight years drew me further, making me a stranger to purity, a forgetter of affections, a pervert addicted to a fetish. In old age I died in these abominations, and I woke up still craving for and carrying the burden of sin.