Trash past death

there’s no such thing as a happy hope. it’s all a giant wheel of disenchantment, of sadness, of disorder. you wait and you're cursed.

?counting from infinity to zero, backward. you don’t know where to begin.

??we had jimmy in last week. he was already wearing his leather collar around his neck when he arrived, in his orange donkey-ass leather jacket and the giant fuck me collar around his neck. billie attached a leash to the collar and walked him around a $4,000 antique torture chair we bought on ebay germany. a chair from the high middle age with rusty nails and covered with german cobwebs. it’s the only sex toy — in the world – that makes you want to commit suicide. besides jimmy hates the middle age, it really freaks him out, and as a matter of fact billie likes to find what clients dislike the most, and then she does it. so she walked him around the chair to let his sense of powerlessness grow and stir his blood.?

??“sorry”
??“don’t talk!”

she spat curses into his mouth, she put duct tape over his mouth, she tied him to the chair and folded him like a bobby pin, and he sat there until he got tetanus.

at the end of the session she left him alone in the room so he could get dressed. he was taking so long she went back to check on him and caught him talking to himself, facing the wall. he was kind of nervous and hid something in his pants, it looked like an ipod, she didn’t hear what he was saying, she said maybe it was a tape recorder, maybe he was spying, investigating. that was black smoke. i said i don’t like black smoke. i don’t mind mental disorders because they all follow a routine, even the weirdest creep has a pattern, i read them all, but you do nothing with black smoke. we started to worry.

i think jezebel.com banned me.

in the beast in the jungle, henry james (who died a virgin) portrays john marcher, a man with too much time on his hands who’s convinced that something wonderful is going to happen to him, something transcendent enough to give his life a meaning, a sublime meaning.

while waiting for the prodigious moment, he meets mary, befriends her, confesses his intuition to and converts her. so they wait together, but nothing happens. they wait for years. they get more and more ready for the thing to happen, but the only thing that happens is the death of mary. at the cemetery, john, now facing a liz taylor-like nervous breakdown, understands that mary, mary, whom he had in front of him all these years, was the sublime thing.