God-Fucking and Other Curiosities

The po-po in Ontario scheduled the sugary substance mixed with medicinal chemicals so that they can be pressed into pills.  They did this as an investigatory response to the fact that an absolutely gigantic portion of North America’s E comes from either Toronto or Montreal.  E traditionally contains a chemical compound designated MDMA which artificially induces a massive flush of seratonin causing an impossibly intense sensation of euphoria and mild hallucinations.  This move on the part of the po-po, God bless their hearts, has led to an enormous quantity of pure MDMA floating around.

Yay for Ontario!

For entirely unrelated and law-abiding reasons Vanessa and I decided to mark this month of mad transits, stations, eclipses and cardinal crosses with a Great Rite.  A ritual structure we haven’t made much use of in quite a few years.  There is a sort of grand orchestration to creating a space for the congress of deity.  Most usually our space is sacrificial or meditative, focused on our emptying ourselves of our individuality.  Sex has pleasure as its orientation instead of climax, an aspect deeply fetishized in western sexuality due to the mythical purity of the act of procreation.  The never-ending exploration of another’s body. 

The veve’s of our gods radiating out about our bed, our bed consecrated as a sacrificial table.  We are witch-doctors in the service of the high courtesans of porn valley and the candles burn most every day.  Scattered about the cascarilla ideograms are bottles of liquor, handfuls of chocolate, piles of fruit and shining talismans.  Like some aura of sensual relevance surrounding our bed, our bed upon which the naked forms of both sexes can be found abandoned by exasperated ego’s hours ago just fucking begging to be ridden.  That’s how a sex magician makes sacrifice.  We fuck alot.

There is, needless to say very little orchestration inherent in this approach.  Herein the quality of the sacrifice is emphasized, its totality.   I don’t get dressed up in retro-masonic style robes and intone badly garbled Egyptian passages out of the book of the dead, I do 30 planks a day, believe in personal hygiene and anoint the body with scent and with ink.  If we are to surrender ourselves to the invisible, if our every pleasure is an invitation to the divine then our bodies should be crafted with the same loving dedication showed to our most beloved talismans.  For us it’s all beautiful tits and cock and pussy all the time.

That being said there has been no denying the catharsis hanging heavy in the air over this last month and there was all the usual sensualities around our bed as well as more rarified substances and then the sudden pressing need to do it, to perform a Great Rite.  Amidst all the chaos we stepped backwards in time to when we first met.  When we did every sex ritual by the formula’s of the old ancients because that seemed more ‘legit’.  We shopped for cheap underwear combos (piles of them in matching colors) and laughed over all the little meanings we hadn’t known enough to recognize in our youthful rush to fuck god.  We drank on the patio at Hair of the Dog in boystown, dropped like it was the year 2000 and let the gods use us like cheap whores for a night and a day.

A bit dazed and a lot chaffed I find myself smiling a lot for no apparent reason with no real desire to write about anything other than sex.  We are servants V and I, our bodies will never fall into disrepair because they are not ours to neglect, our bed is the center of the universe and we can unmake all of creation with just a touch.  You just can’t get all conscious over a thing like that, it will cripple you with its karmic ramifications and impossible being.  Best to not think at all and just fuck all day, literally all day long.  Fuck until your raw and swollen, until all you can think about is fucking again, fucking more.  Fuck until there is no you and your Other, fuck until there is only fucking just fucking.  Telepathy, real telepathy is communicating with your whole body without all the clumsy thinking of language involved.  Vanessa’s pinky finger is an anthology regarding the history of the courtesans, her earlobe knows every position in the kama sutra, the lashes of her eyes can talk dirty in every language known to mankind.  How do you use words to describe sex when you re-invent it every time you have it?