Love and Sex. Delicious and intimate.
In Oryx and Crake by Margaret Atwood, the protagonist Snowman gazed intently upon two tabs simultaneously flashing on his computer screen: pornography on the left; decapitations on the right. Sex and violence were the same, body parts being ripped and flying everywhere, accompanied by the gushing of blood. I wonder if our brains react to either in the same way, the same synapses frying up.
Just as much as I love Sex, I probably love Violence as well. The climax of the senses.
Wet tongue wrapping around my penis, a mixture of saliva and semen coating the erect muscle in a glistening new silken dress. Oh blissful ecdysis! The supple nerves tucked under the fleshy foreskin twitched ravenously, hungering, begging for more stimulation. The gape of hell was a dripping ecstasy, unfathomably more tempting than any blinding gates of heaven.
Icy beads of sweat balancing upon tautly stretched skin. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Drip. Exhale. Drip. Arms feeling the weight of the skeleton underneath, a piercing chill shivering through to the fingertips and lingering there. Breathing was all the brain could muster. Breath! My ears were deaf to the thundering cries echoing through me, my brain deaf to the blood flowing down my flesh like the spray from a broken faucet. I am alive!
Sin take me. Sin is Love and sin is Human. Humanity is the only way to be sane in this insane landscape of whispering illusions.
Staying Insane 