So I've decided to take my podium mobile, thus I'm writing this in the embracing confines of the pub local to my bunker. I heard police sirens at half-ten this morning along our street, and figuring the agents of control may just be after confiscating my laptop and/or myself, I grabbed both and fled through the back door, leapt the garden wall and hurdling all subsequent walls in the terrace ended up falling into the beer garden of this fine and samizdat hostelry. Here I'm as duskily anonymous as any other scar-flecked and be-cowelled punter, tapping insectoid at greasy keys, wishing his seafood platter were a typewriter, and that the CCTV cameras pointed only to those behind the monitors, the panopticon spectacles of the dead agents of control, skulking above shop facades like empty kebab wrappers lurk under bus shelters as orphans of the wind.
One of my dearest and closest friends recently returned from Thailand under enormously pressurized circumstances. They'd been hanging around Bangkok, as a bourgeoise dreg, extending charity to local whores i.e. paying them handsomely for the mere privilege of spending an hour in their company, talking, drinking; he doesn't need to pay for sex, being possessed of both sets of genitalia, and having the libido of a senatorial desk lamp. So he'd take them off the streets, embroider themselves into the shadows of a bar not patrolled by their pimp, fumble briskly through a lazy Thai/English montage of gestures and basic phonemes, slip them a Titan wage and dissolve into the sulphur night. Essentially, a baron, a pimp, a bounder and a tycoon each gained awareness of this rape of etiquette and had him pursued at rapier-point out of South-east Asia, by a caravan of mafia goons. These marauders, void of ethics, and barely entertained by the notion of skin, cornered him in a black and tapering peninsular, chased him through the yacht club into a cubicle in which a quadraplegic teenage boy was extracting a giant tapeworm from his rancid colon by his teeth, drugged my friend....he next awoke on the plane headed for Gatwick, with no awareness of his lower body, his gaze towards this portion of his form paralysed by the suspicion that it might not even be there upon checking.
In light of his grand-guignol suspicions, the actuality proved, by contrast, vaguely fortuitous. They hadn't seized his legs. He had however been prey to a drugged hijacking of his internal organs. When I greeted him at his Kensignton apartment, I knew instantly, his ribcage had been completely flushed of contents. He expounded on a teasingly phantom memory of having had some kind of suction appliance introduced to his lower abdomen via his arsehole, and indeed having been checked in as hand luggage on the flight, by a yellow yakuza. Even he saw amusement in the idea that his reduced body weight should have validated his body as hand luggage. He still had the tag around his neck when I found him, albeit scribbled with his own address, rather than that of the organ heister. After chamomile and soothing talk, I turned out the lights, stripped him, asked him to kneel with his arse elevated, shoved a lit torch up through his crack and delighted into a wonderful play of beams through his diaphanous skin, upon the walls, as his body wall, now divested of contents, freely admitted light. I left the torch inside, shoved a four pack of batteries into his mouth, which he swallowed with water, gagged him with his own hand, using a brace of very long rusted nails, kissed him on the cheek and assured him I'd be back within a week to assess his progress, and that meanwhile I'd alert the President of the Universe to his ordeal. I then called my grandmother using his phone and updated her as to my musical goings-on. I should have an album out fairly soon. She smiled meekly, still disappointed that I'd professed to her so precociously my atheism. All she wanted were for I to wed the Vicar's daughter. Instead I'd seduced the Vicar's son - five years my junior, gotten him fixated on fisting, and released him into the world of London's grimiest fetish clubs.
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