9th September 2008

I hit Gayville last night. In a big way. Got absolutely shitfaced with the baritone jock from The Happy Paillsades and his Lady MacBeth hen stripper of a spouse, then after a couple of arms full of speed, got alured into pursuing the same old queeny hedonist venues, the routinely map of diabolically trashy, tawrdry crumholes; I counted at least seven fingers up my arse at one point, each belonging to a different probing queen, exploratory, meercat, utterly without dignity or body empathy. Their relentless and black fingernails tearing away at the membranes of my colon as I stand at the bar, salubrious and straight-faced. Apparently they all believed I were sixteen and heterosexual, naturally a combination to win over the closeted pederasts in their rohypnol skins and gutter-trawling minds. Jim, a local lecturer, squat, rotund, had me size up the girth of his dick, producing it in the club, slamming it into my hand, using mer as a carriage, a wedding trail for his enormous but wilting member, all pocked with black mottled patches and lumps, veins like tributaries off of the natural order of things. I bit his hand, kissed his brylcreemed nipples and slit him from his collarbone to his perenium with my cocaine fingernail. After rearranging his organs, I wtached him age in reverse, his heart pounding in his scrotum, his lungs wrapped around his head like the ears of a dachshund; hissing, he shrunk to a toddler, I tickled his appendix with my tongue, and as he depleted to a zygote, I scooped him from the floor, deposited him in the drink of some odious wanker standing next to me, who upon downing the genetic code of a known sex criminal, imploded to a cask of brown cancer and had to be swept up by security and left out back to reconfigure into something beautiful.

Apparently, in my club, simultaenously to the above horror, the advent of The Pheremonla Chamber went excellently - I've allocated a room inside the megalithically huge converted warehouse, to be in a state of constant darkness. Customers, clients, punters, whatever, are admitted to the chamber on the basis that they will be drawn, in pitch darkness, pheremonally towards someone, and without even seeing them, feel their way into this person's space, and engage in a long, luscious kiss, remaining with this person all night, exploring, roving, with hands, tongue, dick, in absolute darkness. Upon closing time, they'll leave by different doors, and only ever within the confines of the chamber, will they interact, so blindly, so intuitively, with such intensive intimacy. The first night went spectacularly, with around seventy-percent of clients breaking down into a lovestruck hysterical malaise, returning home, maliciously beating their domestic partners, instigating divorce proceedings, and slaughtering any children the spousal unit might have bore in the throes of their superficial and loveless fucking. Thus, they'd be in attendance every week, nothing as guaranteed and allure as the deepest, most visceral sensuality to twin the marrows of a nervous creature and ensure attendance at every juncture where this marriage may occur.