A Violet Womb – Book Excerpt

“Because, ‘Getting Laid’ bores the crap out of me I guess.”

“In what way?”

“In general. It’s the only thing I can think of that’s supposed to be ‘fun’. Everything else just revolves around it. It’s something I don’t understand, on that deep, personal level that matters – human connection.”

“It’s not all that matters. It’s not hard.”

“Am I supposed to believe that life is simple, and that obtainable happiness is readily available? I can’t believe it.”

“You’re saying that you don’t deserve it, you mean?”

“Yeah, by any standards, and I cannot even convince myself that it’ll be worthwhile to feel something. Goddamn, why do I always get bored? Is it my self-destructive tendencies?”

“My music teacher always said that only boring people get bored. I’m never bored mate.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not boring”

“I mean… I don’t know. Maybe I’ve been travelling too much…”

“Fucking, look at you, whining in the middle of all of this! Travel broadens the mind and all that beautiful shit. That’s part of why I love what I’m doing for fucksake.”

“The more you travel the more you have to face your own massive insignificance. I think it’s how you then face this which determines the worth of your life, as well as the happiness you wield throughout.”

“Yep, okay, yeah. If you’re not doing something great, then you don’t need to take life less seriously because you are wasting your privilege, you’re jerking off in luxury while people starve and suffer and live in terror?”

“Exactly. That’s, dude, that’s the smartest thing I’ve heard you say.”

“Maybe I am altruistic after all”

“I’m just saying, you don’t deserve to live, unless you can live well. Live greatly, and be more than you ever thought possible. Y’know? Our world could be so much more.”

“Always”

“So, I spend my time thinking of this stuff, thinking and just begging people to please, please, do not rest at ease just because you can. Let’s sacrifice more bodies on the frontlines of evolution, and defeat fascism or capitalism, whatever it is, this fucking plutocracy, greediness… Evil! This is not a war that we can see or measure, but it is the true war that goes on beyond our eyes.”

“Ya know what? It’s like you’re saying that if you can just define the world, then the pain from living, and awareness, is so lessened that it’s nullified.”

“Well… All human life is simply about the conquering of fear, which is the conquering of our own awareness, which is terrifying. We’re like a child in a dark empty house. We’re unable to leave, or to see clearly out the windows, it’s even darker outside. We yell and we then we rationalise. We make excuses for when and where the help will come from. Maybe the door is unlocked and it is safe to leave? Maybe we will be alright if we lie back down in the warm bed because someone will be there when we next wake up?”

“Because we just don’t know. If only we knew. You tell em Ro!”

“I feel like an asshole.”

“Maybe you are one”

“Maybe you’re one”

“I’d say most fucking definitely. But not all of the time.”

“That’s probably a good point.”

“Is it?”

“You can’t be one thing all the time, yeah, it’s a good point.”

“I was talking about me. I don’t know how much you’re an asshole and how much you’re not.”

“I don’t know either. That’s what I’m saying.”

“Is it?”

“Okay, let me just say it”

“Please!”

“If I fuck someone I don’t like, that makes me an asshole?”

“If shit comes out of you, you’re an asshole.”

“Shit comes out of my mouth you mean?”

“If you’re strangely, and almost for no sane reason, an erogenous zone that triggers pleasure when tongued, you’re an asshole”

“Fuck you.”

“If insecure weirdos bleach you, you’re an asshole”

“I get it. But what the hell do I do?”

“No one knows, accept it, move on. So you’re an asshole, balance it out by being a good bloke. It’s simple.”

“I keep getting into bed or wherever, with girls, and I think I want to be with them, to fuck them, I even enjoy touching their bodies and kissing their nipples, getting them hard, playing with their pussy and doing my best to fuck them to an orgasm, but I don’t come. I don’t generally feel anything. Just a few flashes here and there.”

“You’re fucking girls who’re bad in bed. If that’s your claim to asshole fame, you’ve got work to do. Or you’re just having me on, telling me only half the story. That’s pretty egotistical, and you’re a real asshole. Good work. It must be hard to fuck girls who you don’t even like.”

“I think it’s because I’m good looking”

“What a cross!”

“That’s not the burden, but coming to terms with how to react to it is. I wasn’t always good looking, I had a much older brother and he was a dick, I had acne and all that messed up junk –”

“Everyone’s got a brother who’s a dick. Mine used to lock me outside the house naked!”

“I had no confidence. Now, I’m getting women who are happy to fuck because they like the look of me. I’m fucking them just because I can and it’s ruining me.”

“That’s your problem Ro, you are so focused on staying young and pretty to get what you think you need, what you think you want. Some people just don’t have it in them to love others. I think you’d be happier if you looked at it that way. Don’t look for love, because what you’re feeling, that scary absence, that’s where love should be. You don’t have it.”

“You talk one hell of a lot of shit. I’ll have a difficult time loving another person, but I’m not incapable of doing it. That’s why it hurts so much to not have it. That’s what I’m saying.”

“But you can’t let go of your looks?”

“No. Never”

“See, that’s never going to get easier then. I don’t need to stay pretty. My head will get hard, thick and pudgy, and it’ll be all for the better. My skin is already getting salty, sweltering and burning beet red, so what? It’s thick with cholesterol so much that my fingerprints leave an indentation every time I want to have a pensive moment late at night or early in the morning. I don’t care! No matter how bad it gets, I’ll have love and lust in a 69 forever locked in my heart, or wherever feels most warm for them in this lumpy thing I live in. I’ve got words and my voice, and I know how to fuck. I’ll take what I can get, and look on the bright side in the meantime.

The meantime is the lean time.

The mean times and the scheme nights,

With their mean fights; unseen times

We’re freein’ guys from clean ties.

The scheming times and the beaming smiles;

I’ve keen eyes for mean times and gleaming thighs

O me, O my, I’m dreaming I

Am kneading thighs with my pee-hee-nile

Steaming jap-eye

and seein’ why, not anaesthetised,

These are the mean times, in the meantime”

“Lovely…”

Stade laughed,

“See that?”

He tapped his tongue and clicked his fingers, bobbing his head slightly with a mean eye.

“That’s the simple notion of A B back and forth A B. It’s a rhythm. A formula, a code of nature, a law, the LAW, which I know and I am god for figuring out its simplicity which is its motherfucking beauty mind you, from the core, where I bore, in the mind’s eye. It’s the tap-tap-tapping of the tss-tsss-ta-ta-tsss… just a rhythm m’man.

“It’s my dick rubbing a G Spot of sweet vagina, it’s my fingers fwwwwap! Pinching a clit and my tongue, bam bam bamming against it. It’s the rhythm, it’s the flow, it’s the NOTHING, and then it’s everything and the world shatters and becomes something new again, and there you are, older and pudgier and arghhhhh! I have figured it out, and I am separate, away, delighted and deteriorating or decay, but I am God because I have figured it out; I am my own, the owned, and the lonely God who sees and manifests everything, then lets it go for show. But, there is no… it’s all about… that one word you think it should be, and could be, and needs to be, because you think language deserves to have an answer for this up and down, up and down, up and down, back back back, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, forth forth forth, back and forth, but LANGUAGE! Language is the desperate cry of the orgasming soul, and it drips with tears which I wipe away with my cock.”

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