Showing posts with label all fucked up. Show all posts
Showing posts with label all fucked up. Show all posts

Wednesday, June 4, 2014

Let's Go Play at the Adams'

by Mendal Johnson
 
I don't believe in the world of this book, nor in its worldview.
 
HEAVY SPOILERS
 
1777308three children and two teens, ages 10 - 17, trap a 20-year old babysitter; over the course of a week, she is repeatedly tortured and raped. in the end, they torture her to death.
 
I'm not a glass half-full kinda guy. I know that children can often (usually?) have little to no moral compass. more importantly, I know how the world can be a cruel and relentless place; I've seen the horrible things it can inflict on people. thank you, work history. but there is always context for why people do the things they do. not context that excuses those things, but context that allows an understanding of why they occurred.
 
5 kids are not going to quickly turn into psychopaths able to systematically abuse and murder a person within a week unless they were already deranged. only one of them is characterized as having mental issues; none have traumatic backgrounds or guidance from a disturbed adult. there is no believable context to why they do the things they do, unless it is mere coincidence that brings these 5 deeply disturbed individuals together. that's a hell of a coincidence. no, I don't believe in the world of this book.
 
477801on a formal level, the writing is excellent. really, quite top-notch. the perspectives of all six major characters are interestingly depicted. interestingly, not believably. surprisingly enough, the intellectual, clinical, yet oddly dreamlike manner in which Johnson views his subjects reminded me of writers like Duras or Ballard or film directors like von Trier or Fassbinder or Lynch. but you do not often approach those authors or directors as if they were depicting actual reality, real life there on the page or up on the screen, breathing and bleeding and genuine. instead their works have an almost ironic distance from the material that encourages contemplation of - rather than engulfment by - that material. one could try the same approach to this book. good luck! Let's Go Play is not an extended metaphor; it shows the actual thought processes involved during this situation, how escalated forms of projection and objectification and role-playing can lead to atrocity. the author brings a certain sardonic detachment to the material, but this is no stylized dream odyssey. it attempts realism but tries to paint human nature as inherently monstrous, psychopathic. that is not reality.
 
there are reasons given for the kids' actions. "It's all a game" ... "There always has to be winners and losers" ... "The world is all about hate" ... "We voted" ... that old bugaboo, violent media ... etc. the reasons provided are not convincing enough for me to believe that 5 kids (ok, let's not count the lil' psychopath) - 4 'regular' kids without traumatic lives or the guidance of a disturbed adult - are going to be able to slowly and dispassionately torture someone to death, and then methodically cover their tracks like supervillains. I call bullshit on that. I don't believe it. there needs to be context for such actions because all humans are not all monster. well, perhaps I am a glass half-full sorta guy after all.

 

Sunday, February 16, 2014

Bully

by Penelope Douglas

so nice to see the topic of bullying being turned into a romance! that is definitely the way to deal with bullies. they just need hugs and kisses and your virginity. poor misunderstood bullies. Jared the manly wittle bully with daddy issues just needs to be wuved by someone. bullies just pick on you because they are secretly in love with you. why even bring up the idea that bullying often causes kids to kill themselves. that's not romantic, yuck!

in the words of one of the most embarrassing reviewers on Goodreads:

18090508"This may make me seem a little crazy- but I will just say it right now. I LOVE JARED. Okay, a lot of people loved Jared by the end of the book. Not me. I loved him the entire time I read this book. He was a jerk. An asshole. A bully. But there was just something about him that pulled me to him... I was rooting for him the whole book, so yay!"

self-esteem much?

gosh the author sure knows the right topic to choose to make some money. not a cynical choice at all! and I see that this is apparently the first book in a series. I wonder what the second book will be called. how about "Date Raper"? the wuveable misunderstood wapist just wants to wuv you!! as long as he's a hunk, who cares?

 photo judgingyou_zps7792c868.gif

Friday, September 20, 2013

Coming Out Straight: Understanding and Healing Homosexuality

2574850

by Richard "I Really Don't Hate Myself Anymore I Promise You God, Please Don't Send Me to Hell" Cohen

sorry Richard, but

 
 
 
 
 
 

A Throne of Bones

by Herr Vox Day

A Throne of Bones (Arts of Dark and Light, #1)A Throne of Bones (Arts of Dark and Light, #1)A Throne of Bones (Arts of Dark and Light, #1)A Throne of Bones (Arts of Dark and Light, #1)

read the racist screed that this scumbag spewed out in response to a recent Guest of Honor speech made by non-white author N.K. Jemisin at Continuum in Australia:

"Jemisin has it wrong; it is not that I, and others, do not view her as human, (although genetic science presently suggests that we are not equally homo sapiens sapiens), it is that we do not view her as being fully civilized for the obvious reason that she is not.

She is lying about the laws in Texas and Florida too. The laws are not there to let whites “just shoot people like me, without consequence, as long as they feel threatened by my presence”, those self defence laws have been put in place to let whites defend themselves by shooting people, like her, who are savages in attacking white people.

Jemisin’s disregard for the truth is no different than the average Chicago gangbanger’s disregard for the law…

Unlike the white males she excoriates, there is no evidence that a society of NK Jemisins is capable of building an advanced civilization, or even successfully maintaining one without significant external support. Considering that it took my English and German ancestors more than one thousand years to become fully civilised  after their first contact with an advanced civilisation, it is illogical to imagine, let alone insist, that Africans have somehow managed to do so in less than half the time with even less direct contact. These things take time.

Being an educated, but ignorant savage, with no more understanding of what it took to build a new literature by “a bunch of beardy old middle-class middle-American guys” than an illiterate Igbotu tribesman has of how to build a jet engine, Jemisin clearly does not understand that her dishonest call for “reconciliation” and even more diversity with SF/F is tantamount to a call for its decline into irrelevance…

Reconciliation is not possible between the realistic and the delusional."


http://fozmeadows.wordpress.com/2013/06/14/reconciliation-a-response-to-theodore-beale/

scum!

Mitt Romney: The Man, His Values, and His Vision

by Lisa Ray Turner

1556401

once there was a little boy. he had a big dream: to rule the world! and so he enacted his strategy. first, as a youth: become a bully. mission accomplished! second, as a husband and father: become an animal abuser. mission accomplished! and finally, as a public figure: seek out the true powers of the world, this earth's secret rulers: the Business Community... and for them, become a

 

mission accomplished!

will the boy ever achieve his vision of world dominance? Magic 8-ball says Not A Chance... but stay tuned! the really bad ones don't stay down for long.

Demonic

10666923

by Ann Coulter





Sunday, March 31, 2013

Bible Camp Bloodbath

by Joey Comeau

Bible Camp Bloodbath

Q: WHAT IS BIBLE CAMP BLOODBATH?

is it a self-published, minor note novella from a notable Canadian talent?

is it a biting satire of splatter films and/or a culture of violence aimed at children and/or Christian hypocrisy?

is it a surprisingly tender and real depiction of tweens at a summer camp, threaded with poignant angst and quick moments of miniature heartbreak, and featuring an endearing and appealingly quirky little protagonist?

is it an exercise in viciously sadean excess - one where all those moments of angst and heartbreak serve to punish the reader when served alongside horrifyingly pornographic descriptions of disgusting, sadistic acts of cruelty?

is it the kind of novella with an ending that kicks you right in the face, and then closes with a sentence full of a yearning, despairing sort of beauty?

is it the kind of sardonic, nonchalantly intelligent novella you can read - rapt - on your cell phone's kindle app on the bus to a party, then during this so-called "party", and then on the way back home again?

is it the kind of novella that made you feel sick at the end, a dead and hollow kind of sick, a sick where you had to immediately rinse your brain out with an ornate classic fantasy, in an only semi-successful effort to quickly move past that feeling of empty sickening sadness?

is it all of those things?

A: YES

The Swimming-Pool Library

by Alan Hollinghurst

i'll start off with a blanket statement: many novels of the Gay Fiction subgenre will fall within two categories.

1. Coming of Age Tales in which the protagonist struggles to come out, often against his unsympathetic surroundings. often tender; occasionally mawkish.

2. a category that i like to call Gay World Novels in which, oh, everyone is pretty much gay. fine. dream on, gays, dream on. if you can't live it...dream it!

to me, the self-relegation of most gay novels between these two categories can be annoying, but i suppose understandable. gays have to come out of the closet and so this intense experience is perfectly paired with the classic coming-of-age tale's structure. and gays are also often rejected by straight society, so why not rejoice in the telling of tales that in turn reject that straight world, that rolls its eyes at it, that have narratives that seem to posit that straights are the actual minority? Swimming-Pool falls squarely within that second category.

The Swimming-Pool Librarythe novel is about a repulsive and useless parasite, a shallow and superficial upper-class twit obsessed solely with sex, entirely without any qualities whatsoever except, i suppose, his aristocratic lineage and his apparently smashing good looks and large endowment. unfortunately, the protagonist somehow thinks that he's not a complete waste of space. even more unfortunately, the author seems to think that he's not so bad, that his thoughts and interests and obsessions and general behavior are not completely infantile and boring. well, i beg to differ, hollinghurst!

this is a book of so many wasted opportunities that it becomes truly disgusting. the writer knows how to write: his style is elegant and subtle and full of long, brave sentences and carefully drawn mysteries and surprisingly ambiguous characterization. and he throws it all away by writing about a world THAT CARES ABOUT NOTHING EXCEPT FOR SEX. give me a fucking break, hollinghurst! is this how you see gay people? do they think of nothing but checking people out, eyeing the package of every single dude that crosses their path, rating each body, ignoring all women, living for moments that are only about the interwining of bodies, the randomly chosen hook-up, the spilling of various fluids? do they not have other thoughts, have they no other interests, no other inner or outer life? do their interior monologues consist of nothing but the drooling study of the beauty of the male form? are they incapable of even the slightest depth? do all gays live to celebrate the flesh, and for nothing else whatsoever? when our narrator greets his long-lost lover by ripping his pants down and burying his face in his ass, is this supposed to be palpably romantic rather than absurd and farcical?

the novel wastes a golden opportunity in the story of the elderly and very gay Lord Nantwich, whose diaries the protagonist is working his way through as he considers writing a bio of the lord's life. learning about this elderly gent's story could have been fascinating - a tale of england's colonial past, adventures in africa, a recounting of london during some very interesting times, all seen through the lense of an upper class gay outsider. but 'tis not to be. like the narrator of the present, Lord Nantwich is magically surrounded by gay acquaintances and probably-gay-or-maybe-bisexual african natives. almost every single person that either character meets, past or present, is gay or probably-gay-or-bisexual. and even worse, and much like the narrator of the present, Lord Nantwich is also disinterested in recounting anything whatsoever that isn't about getting off and ogling all the gay chaps around him. such a potentially vivid life and all he is primarily interested in is getting some action? both characters are resoundingly pathetic - and yet hollinghurst appears to think there is something brave about Lord Nantwich and something charming about our feckless, pointless narrator. at one point, the protagonist idly thumbs through his best friend's diary. naturally, his best friend is also obsessed with sex. i guess that's how gays are, right? they simply have no other interests.

there was one thing that consistently amused me, in a good way: the effete and fatuous queen of a lead character is also a rough, tough top. i like that! it is always interesting when expectations and stereotypes are subverted. sadly, those instances are the only examples of any kind of subversiveness.

a part of the novel that struck me as particularly foul was the sexualization of kids. yes, kids can be sexual, i know this of course. but almost an entire chapter devoted to salivating over a junior boxing championship? a short sequence where the narrator describes a family man lovingly patting his child while also lovingly caressing his own hard-on - described as some kind of deep connection...seriously, hollinghurst?

the title is laughable. the narrator's constant presence at the local english equivalent of the ymca swimming pool is metaphorically (?) tied to his dreamy past hooking up with guys in the school swimming pool, both of which are thematically (?) linked up with Lord Nantwich's rather more hedonistic private pool. that is some serious over-reaching there, hollinghurst.

the novel has a deeply creepy obsession with race. specifically, blacks. Lord Nantwich is obsessed by them, both africans and african-american soldiers he meets. this is presented with some slight critical distance, but you know what? "slight critical distance" is not enough when the attitude being presented is so barkingly colonial and condescending that it becomes downright repulsive. our charmless hero also starts out with a black boyfriend and much is made of that character's stereotypical, lower-class 'blackness' and, naturally, his dangerous life in the projects. that's how blacks are, right? they are either innocent, wide-eyed africans or sexy, violent thugs. and of course the best friend also has his own love of black men - well, their dicks, that is. reading all about an insufferable, body-worshipping twit of a protagonist and an elderly upper-class jackass who lives to objectify eventually made me want to commit some bodily harm on both of them. when the narrator eventually gets his ass kicked, i couldn't help but think well finally he is getting a dose of some sort of reality that has nothing to do with worship of the male body or getting fucked.

my gosh, i just hated this novel.

a little self-disclosure here. i'm a bi guy. i was out to a select group in high school. i was out to the world in college. i helped start the second iteration of Act-Up San Diego. when i was younger and better looking, i whored myself out a bit (now there's a fun fact). i used to volunteer for gay men dying of hiv. now i work for an agency whose clientele is well over half gay. i've gone to jail protesting for the right of gay marriage and the rights of gay teachers to teach children. i think my queer credibility is pretty much impeccable. and i say all this, not just to provide personal context, but mainly because i do not want this review to give the impression that there is any kind of lurking, bottled-up self-hate or any negative attitude towards gay sexuality involved in my rejection of this appalling novel. although i am not a big part of the gay community, i celebrate it and of course am a proud member.

but there is nothing to celebrate about this novel. it was a revolting, depressing, infuriating experience for me. apparently The Swimming-Pool Library is considered to be some kind of modern gay classic. that does a profound disservice to the genuinely complex and challenging works and the truly sensitive and moving narratives that exist in this often wonderful subgenre.

A Pirate's Love

by Johanna Lindsey

do you like to read about rape? lots and lots and lots of rape? is rape an act of such little consequence that it is more similar to getting pinched or yelled at - rather than being an actual assault on a person's physical and emotional self? are you able to justify the constant use of rape, rape, rape as somehow being historically accurate and therefore not much of an eyebrow-raiser? have you managed to convince yourself that rape was so common back in the Bad, Sexy Old Days that it really just didn't matter much to anyone, it was just a fact of life like coal smoke and poor hygiene? do you like to see a heroine being lied to, stripped of food, clothing, and dignity - so that they don't struggle during any rape-y action sequences and therefore you don't have to deal with such messy things like tears & pain & blood & horror? perhaps if a heroine doesn't struggle, that's not really "rape", right? do you prefer your rape scenes to be written in a style that is completely and complacently without any affect - indeed, so affectless that the constant rape scenes start to have a bizarre kind of normalcy to them - a simple fact of life for women apparently? is rape okay when it is committed by a really hot guy? do you prefer your rape scenes to be written by an author who apparently has no personal experience with the topic and has had no one in her life impacted by it either, and so you can have tidy little rape scenes that are delivered in a voice totally devoid of understanding, of meaning, a voice that is totally unconscious of the truly debilitating and potentially lifelong consequences of such an assault? do you prefer your rapes to be cozy and free of physical violence and non-consensual but sorta sexy? rape is not such a big deal, right?

well, dear reader, consider this to be your personal recommendation and introduction to the rape-athon known as A Pirate's Love.

A Pirate's Lovei have had some bad luck with the Romance genre. this is my second or third try and i suppose i am just not getting it. i have actually had more luck (and pleasure) with reading PNR and straight-up Erotica. i pulled this one off of the donation shelf at my agency's drop-in center - i was quite thrilled to scoop it up actually, Pirates being a predictable favorite topic of mine. i read this one early this morning, it took maybe three hours. reading it made me feel like a bad person. it depressed me. maybe i've just known too many people who have been raped to be able to treat this like the light entertainment that it was clearly intended to be. i doubt that Lindsey wrote this with the goal of making me sick to my stomach. but it is a horrorshow written in the blithe tone of a classic Young Adult novel. and that made it so much worse.

one small but important thing in this novel's favor: the heroine actually recognizes each rape as being, well, an actual rape. even if there was no struggle, even if she is tricked into it, she still considers it to be rape. good for her. but then, of course, she ends up falling in love with our ardent pirate hero. "Rape" in this world is just another way of saying I Love You. is this typical of the Romance world? well, i suppose that must be a pleasantly consequence- and emotion-free world to live in.

Thursday, March 28, 2013

Ghost

by John Ringo

Ghost (Paladin of Shadows, #1)

A REPORT FROM ROBOT PLANET

TO: X-1 Prime, Supreme Overlord of Robot Matrix, Grand Endeavor Cmdr.
FROM: Scientific Analyst SLJLK92349UO, Earth Invasion Exploratory Unit
CC: Prince BOB, Holy Prior of the Negativ Legion
CC: Queen Kardeater of the Insectoid Empire
BCC: Shadowagent markmonday
ATTACHMENT 1: John Ringo, former Test Subject
ATTACHMENT 2: the novel Ghost by John Ringo

SUBJECT: Earth
__________________________________________________

Target: John Ringo acquired by Shadowpuppet A. Coulter using Tactic 7-B3:
Invitation to Wild Sex Party at Dennis Miller’s Mansion.

Target: Ghost acquired via Amazon for $0.01 + $3.99 shipping & handling.

Subject A: John Ringo is former Specialist in 82nd Airborne Division of U.S. Army. Post discharge, subject became author of several series in several genres and occasional guest commentator on Fox News Channel (itself a Shadowagency of Robot Matrix). Subject A is currently non-organic due to extensive exploratory nature of Scientific Analysis.
[Shadowpuppet “John Ringo-1” has replaced organic target on Earth; no adverse reactions from Subject A’s peer or familial groupings have been noted regarding replacement.]

Subject B: Ghost is “Action/Adventure Genre Novel” and features exploits of government operative Mike _____, code name ‘Ghost’. Subject B is perhaps less-than-typical example of genre, due to extremely low technical ability of writing overall, including: flaccid narrative; profusion of racial/ gender/ political stereotypes; two-dimensional characterization; risible dialogue; incessant and misguided references to Sparta, Robert Frost, and "Goth" music; tedious preponderance of both military-grade weapons detail-pornography and graphic sexual pornography. Despite inferior quality of novel, it offers range of absorbing topics on Earth life to consider; in particular, Earth gender dynamics per author. Subject B: Ghost has tri-parte structure and so this report will analyze each section sequentially.

Part One: Winter Born

Narrative in Part One details attempts of Middle Eastern nation Syria to engage in terrorist acts towards United States of America. Plans include kidnapping of 50 young American college women, torture/ rape/ murder of women, and broadcasting of activities to American public. While stalking single young woman on college campus that they both attend (apparently typical pasttime for protagonist), Operative Ghost witnesses kidnapping, follows and then successfully engages kidnappers, secretly boards plane containing previously captured college women, and eventually destroys entire operation (his actions also include elimination of Osama bin Laden and Syrian President Bashar al-Assad).

Although narrative itself is trite and poorly written, there is much to be evaluated regarding mindset of reactionary Red-Blooded American Male aka RBA Male towards the female of the species (and, to a lesser degree, RBA Male’s nationalism and feelings towards educational institutions). In sum, protagonist and author appear to view female of species as worthy of protection and as target for sexual attention, but having little value in most other regards and suitable primarily for mockery. General and inherent stupidity of females who act as politicians, news reporters, and students is reported with extreme frequency. During rescue attempts, protagonist often engages in “cheeky banter” and “casual playfulness” with abused women, in particular by pointedly staring at parts of their naked forms that he finds sexually appealing, and by openly and repeatedly mocking their limited minds and thoughtless absorption into useless liberal edifices such as college. Throughout his rescue, Ghost suggests detainees reward him post-rescue with sexual activities including “blow-jobs” and encourages detainees to not hold terrorist actions against all RBA Males by "turning lesbian"; overcome by gratitude, detainees promise to engage in such rewards and reject all forms of liberalism. It should also be noted that author does include several examples of “useful” women: specifically those women who are members of college ROTC, are able to handle weapons, follow directions, and promise to reward protagonist with “blow-jobs” post-release. Irony of situation of protagonist - who self-defines by stating “I am a Rapist” (in thought but not yet deed) and who spends spare time stalking nubile students whom he despises - now being placed in role of rescuer, where he is sole source of succor to those he stalked and despised, is only slightly noted by protagonist and author. Perhaps irony (and ironic wish fulfillment inherent in situation) is implicit within story itself.

Throughout novel, author engages in striking form of character development for support players: prior to elimination by Ghost, each terrorist is given short history - including country of origin, level of education, level of antipathy towards Americans, personal thoughts and goals, etc. This is unusual tactic and purpose is unknown. Is this to provide a dossier to readers on wide range of potential terrorists and their personal background, perhaps to inspire reader suspicion towards all individuals hailing from countries in Middle East as potential terrorists? Unknown. Author also places epithet “Raghead” into mouths of many characters (including protagonist, U.S. President, others) and describes Middle Eastern countries as automatically dirty and filled with trash. “Liberals” are also given similar treatment; most notable is sequence where liberal American commentators blame predicament on kidnap victims themselves. Perhaps this is seen as typical “Liberal” behavior by author? If so, assertion is incorrect; Robot Matrix has noted Tactic Blame the Victim is also frequently used by “Reactionary” human demographic and associated institutions. Despite ongoing contempt displayed towards Middle East and Liberals, author and protagonist neglect to discuss positive elements of U.S. and instead appear content to solely describe negative attributes. Result is that author and protagonist appear to be apolitical and ignorant of various successes of many American institutions, both liberal and conservative. A curious kind of "patriot" in that genuine patriotism appears to be absent. This tunnel-vision and mindless vitriol bodes well for our Grand Endeavor; such individuals are often easiest for Robot Matrix to manipulate through well-tested “Knee-Jerk” Propaganda Campaigns and diverse Shadowpuppet Politicians and Media Commentators.

Part Two: Thunder Island

It should first be noted that section title is one of this Scientific Analyst’s favorite Earth songs, from classic “Easy Listening” era.

Narrative in second section is highly unusual. First two-thirds are concerned with Ghost’s new life as multi-millionaire living on yacht in Bahamas (due to reward from American President), his encounter with and subsequent seduction of two female college students (ages 18 and 19), large amount of water-vehicle detail-pornography, regular appraisal of Ghost’s apparently pleasingly muscular form by two teenagers, and introduction of students into rigorous and time-consuming world of sadomasochistic role play. There are many sexual encounters explicitly detailed throughout many pages. There is much discussion of “boundaries”, “safe words” and “safe sounds” (the latter due to gags), and “the high of complete submission”. There is discussion between Ghost and students’ mothers; both turn out to be “swingers” and “bottoms”, and both eventually encourage Ghost’s attentions – even consenting to request for daughters’ birth certificates. Dialogue in these sequences is of such amusingly unrealistic, artificial, and juvenile nature that at first this Scientific Analyst thought it may all be highly comic and stylized dream sequence. When this proved incorrect, this Scientific Analyst concluded that author had never actually experienced dialogue with teenagers, perhaps never engaged in “Flirting Ritual”, clearly had no skill in introducing individuals to sadomasochism, and may have generally experienced very poor results from prior sexual encounters resulting in awkwardly described fantasy sexual scenarios. Intensive questioning of Subject A: John Ringo on topic did not prove conclusive.

Remaining narrative in Part Two is concerned with sudden need for Ghost to disarm nuclear device that happens to be in vicinity of his pleasure-yacht, at request of American government. This activity – which interrupts sado-masochistic role play – proceeds at swift pace, with more military-grade weapons detail-pornography and more dossiers on individuals who will be shortly slain by Ghost. This Scientific Analyst must admit to skimming these rather monotonous pages.

Part Three: The Dark Side

Third section of novel’s narrative concerns buying and transporting of nuclear military device in and through Eastern Europe and Russia by Chechen terrorists, and successful mission for Ghost where he thwarts detonation of weapon in Paris (target: the Pope) and captures Middle Eastern terrorist responsible in Holland. There are also passages detailing rape of female minor in Eastern Europe by novel’s hero and various consensual sexual situations in Holland by novel’s hero and his colleague.

“Action/Adventure” portions of section were typical in their low-level writing skills, inability to sustain tension, and use of rote generalizations towards various individuals, institutions, and countries – in particular women, and France in general. If this Scientific Analyst were capable of human feelings e.g. “boredom” and human reactions e.g. “yawning”, such activities would have no doubt occurred. It may even be said that if this Scientific Analyst were human, s/he may have chosen to simply engage in self-pleasure while imagining his/her own personalized sado-masochistic fantasy – possibly involving Subject A: John Ringo – rather than being tricked into reading intense depiction of nonconsensual sex with minor that is shoehorned within puerile, unimaginative “Action/Adventure”.

It is important to focus briefly on lengthy and highly graphic sequence where Ghost rents, abuses, rapes, spoons and naps with, abuses again, rapes again, spoons and naps with again, and then rapes a third time an inexperienced 15-year old Eastern European whore with "very large breasts that were still high and full". Emphasis placed on fear, crying, and internal dryness of victim. At one point, novel’s hero punches purchased teenager in kidneys – her subsequent pain and surprise thus allowing him to make sudden anal entry. An unusual hero indeed!

Protagonist suffers some slight feelings of guilt, post rape and torture. Immediate action is to toss on victim's back amount worth half-year’s wage, upon which she replies "Is okay. Not like, much hurt, much… bad memory.” She got to the end of the quick count and looked at him again, curiously. “But for this, is okay. Would do again.” To which Ghost replies, "Yeah. But then you’d be acting. It wouldn’t be the same.” Later, Ghost feels more twinges of conscience and takes victim away from brothel, promising freedom and happier life. In Paris, victim finds older man as new associate and, after writing thank-you note to Ghost for her extraction, promptly leaves narrative. Important to note Qualifying Nature of various character reactions. Author clearly enjoys describing brutal rape (and protagonist Ghost enjoys repeatedly pointing out to victim that he is raping her, in order to better enjoy victim's emotional discomfort/ psychological trauma)... and also makes clear that victim's rape has lasting positive results through subsequent rescue of victim from squalid life in brothel. She has suffered, but is better off due to rape. And so Ghost’s conscience is allowed to rest, appeased. And so low-level human reader is also allowed to breathe sigh of relief and proceed through remainder of novel, guilt-free.

If such heroes are typical of RBA Male fantasies (and if such authors, and such readers who enjoy such novels, are also typical of human population), Robot Matrix should have no difficulty in drafting RBA Males to our cause of total subjugation of all Earth species/resources. Objectives of Robot Matrix and fellow Axis members' upcoming Grand Endeavor on Earth appear to be in line with RBA Male’s own personal goals/ideals. This Scientific Analyst recommends: (1) quickly acquiring valuable RBA Male assets; (2) activating Shadowagent markmonday; and (3) approving immediate escalation of Grand Endeavor/ Robot Matrix-Insectoid Empire-Negativ Legion activities. If this Scientific Analyst’s evaluation of RBA Male demographic is correct, our Grand Endeavor will soon find many natural allies on this planet Earth.

Gods of the Jungle Planet

by Vernon D. Burns

Gods of the Jungle Planet

Monday

mark monday woke up and realized he had a protuberance growing out of his forehead. It itched a bit but wasn't particularly uncomfortable. mark glanced up to the mirror on his ceiling and saw what appeared to be a scorpion tail sprouting from the middle of his forehead. Well now this is an odd development, thought mark. Curiously, he began to stroke the scorpion tail, idly at first, then with increasing speed. He stopped, suddenly feeling guilty for some unknown reason. Okay, just once more, with feeling. He began stroking anew until, surprisingly, a large load of viscous fluid started spurting out, all over his face. Oh my! Is this some fell combination of scorpion venom and brain matter? He licked his lips. It tastes toxic but rather delicious! He lay back on his satin sheets and sighed. This is certainly the start of an unusual day. Later, he scooped up the remaining dried matter and put it into his empty cigarette case. Perhaps I should have this analyzed!

Tuesday

At his day job at the Sparkle Magic Love Institute, mark slowly removed his bacterial data analyzer from the rectum of the vat-bred miniature sexraptor. He inspected it carefully. Curious and curiouser! thought mark. There appears to be living spermatazoa swimming throughout the rectal mucous! He looked at the vat-bred miniature sexraptor suspiciously. Now what have you been up to today? After glancing around and noticing no one, mark carefully wiped off his analyzer inside his cigarette case.

Wednesday

Sweating happily away during his daily session at Gold's Gym, mark stopped to lovingly admire himself in the mirror. Delicious, mark thought. Just delicious. mark lifted up his shirt to ogle his sweaty sixpack. He rubbed his belly in the typically satisfied way of all muscular alpha males. He smiled dreamily, then noticed his darling girlfriend Caris making her way over to him. Turning around, he ran over to her and lifted her up off of her feet, then suddenly slung her petite body over his wide, muscular shoulders and began whirling around, hooting happily in a typical alpha male manner. Little did he realize... it was Wet Wednesday for Caris, and during his typical alpha male tomfoolery, an extra-large Maxi pad flew out from the bottom of his sweet Caris's vintage gym shorts. He froze. Perhaps no one will notice. He carefully put his darling Caris back down on her feet. He realized his sweet Caris was drunk out of her sweet mind and probably hadn't noticed a thing. Drunk at the gym! Oh, my darling Caris, how typical! He surreptitiously picked up the sopping wet Maxi pad and put it in his pocket. Later, in the locker room, he wrung it out into his cigarette case.

Thursday

mark took his lunch break at the local strip joint, Hell's Kittens. It was usually his favorite place to relax. But today it was just making him sad. And nostalgic. He tried to focus on the heaving mammaries of the delightful stripper before him, but for some reason he could only think of his long-lost twin brother Michael, and the wonderful sexy times they'd had together, doing the things that typical muscular alpha males do to each other when no one is watching, etc, etc, et al. He pictured Michael's effervescent, shit-eating grin. What a man he was! And now forever lost! The thought made him sick. He pictured Michael in his mind, laughing and carrying on. He remembered the little pieces of joy they'd shared together. He remembered how Michael had made mark giggle all the time, even though his jokes weren't very funny. Michael.... He remembered his twin brother's love of mother's milk, taken straight from mom up until college - in the typical alpha male style. Suddenly he noticed that the lovely stripper before him must be a mother as well because her various sexy exertions were causing her to spill her own seepings all over his table. Such serendipity! Such profound coincidence! mark opened his cigarette case and began to push the thick drops of lactate within.

Friday

mark caught a rat in an alley. He collected rats, a typical alpha male pasttime. This was an unusual specimen. All of its purple and green veins could be seen through the skin, the wiring that kept the ugly beast functioning. It looked up at him with a brutal, subhuman look, clearly full of the petty jealousy and vindictive envy that such little creatures have towards typical muscular alpha males like himself. So he snapped its neck. He pulled out his cigarette case, and placing it carefully under the rat's head, began to squeeze that head again and again and again. The mashed head began to drip...

Saturday

Caris beckoned to him from across the basement floor. She was horny and ready to go home, ready to enjoy his typical muscular alpha male attentions. But he wasn't going anywhere right now; mating would have to wait. It was Saturday Night Fight Club time! He pulled out his sword and launched into the battle, cleaving a head with one swift swing. The blood from his victim sprayed over his face, giving him a very cool and intimidating look. He felt virile and unstoppable. He was ready to face the Gods. Much later, in the bathroom, mark wiped the blood from his face and into his cigarette case. He hawked up some thick manly loogies as well, and spat them in for good measure. He shook the case vigorously.

Sunday

mark woke up hungry. Breakfast in Bed? But Caris was nowhere to be found, she must have slipped out early. This made him grouchy. As a typical muscular alpha male, he expected Sunday Breakfast in Bed. So hungry! He noticed his cigarette case on the table next to him. His stomach growled. He looked at the case again. It is very important for the typical muscular alpha male to have his daily protein intake rationalized mark. He was indeed very hungry. Typical muscular alpha males are always hungry. Hungry for everything. Hungry for anything. Protein... Must Have Protein. He picked up the cigarette case. It felt heavy. It felt warm and inviting. It felt delicious. His stomach growled again. Okay, Let's Do This. He opened up his cigarette case. A thick, musky, sexy, primal, intensely raw and manly smell steamed out...

...it was the Sweet Smell of Success. It was the Odor of Victory. It was the Timeless Scent of a Real Man, with a little bit of homo tossed in...

*
*
*
*
*

...and then out popped Gods of the Jungle Planet!
[Monday

mark monday woke up and realized he had a protuberance growing out of his forehead. It itched a bit but wasn't particularly uncomfortable. mark glanced up to the mirror on his ceiling and saw what appeared to be a scorpion tail sprouting from the middle of his forehead. Well now this is an odd development, thought mark. Curiously, he began to stroke the scorpion tail, idly at first, then with increasing speed. He stopped, suddenly feeling guilty for some unknown reason. Okay, just once more, with feeling. He began stroking anew until, surprisingly, a large load of viscous fluid started spurting out, all over his face. Oh my! Is this some fell combination of scorpion venom and brain matter? He licked his lips. It tastes toxic but rather delicious! He lay back on his satin sheets and sighed. This is certainly the start of an unusual day. Later, he scooped up the remaining dried matter and put it into his empty cigarette case. Perhaps I should have this analyzed!


Tuesday

At his day job at the Sparkle Magic Love Institute, mark slowly removed his bacterial data analyzer from the rectum of the vat-bred miniature sexraptor. He inspected it carefully. Curious and curiouser! thought mark. There appears to be living spermatazoa swimming throughout the rectal mucous! He looked at the vat-bred miniature sexraptor suspiciously. Now what have you been up to today? After glancing around and noticing no one, mark carefully wiped off his analyzer inside his cigarette case.


Wednesday

Sweating happily away during his daily session at Gold's Gym, mark stopped to lovingly admire himself in the mirror. Delicious, mark thought. Just delicious. mark lifted up his shirt to ogle his sweaty sixpack. He rubbed his belly in the typically satisfied way of all muscular alpha males. He smiled dreamily, then noticed his darling girlfriend Caris making her way over to him. Turning around, he ran over to her and lifted her up off of her feet, then suddenly slung her petite body over his wide, muscular shoulders and began whirling around, hooting happily in a typical alpha male manner. Little did he realize... it was Wet Wednesday for Caris, and during his typical alpha male tomfoolery, an extra-large Maxi pad flew out from the bottom of his sweet Caris's vintage gym shorts. He froze. Perhaps no one will notice. He carefully put his darling Caris back down on her feet. He realized his sweet Caris was drunk out of her sweet mind and probably hadn't noticed a thing. Drunk at the gym! Oh, my darling Caris, how typical! He surreptitiously picked up the sopping wet Maxi pad and put it in his pocket. Later, in the locker room, he wrung it out into his cigarette case.


Thursday

mark took his lunch break at the local strip joint, Hell's Kittens. It was usually his favorite place to relax. But today it was just making him sad. And nostalgic. He tried to focus on the heaving mammaries of the delightful stripper before him, but for some reason he could only think of his long-lost twin brother Michael, and the wonderful sexy times they'd had together, doing the things that typical muscular alpha males do to each other when no one is watching, etc, etc, et al. He pictured Michael's effervescent, shit-eating grin. What a man he was! And now forever lost! The thought made him sick. He pictured Michael in his mind, laughing and carrying on. He remembered the little pieces of joy they'd shared together. He remembered how Michael had made mark giggle all the time, even though his jokes weren't very funny. Michael.... He remembered his twin brother's love of mother's milk, taken straight from mom up until college - in the typical alpha male style. Suddenly he noticed that the lovely stripper before him must be a mother as well because her various sexy exertions were causing her to spill her own seepings all over his table. Such serendipity! Such profound coincidence! mark opened his cigarette case and began to push the thick drops of lactate within.


Friday

mark caught a rat in an alley. He collected rats, a typical alpha male pasttime. This was an unusual specimen. All of its purple and green veins could be seen through the skin, the wiring that kept the ugly beast functioning. It looked up at him with a brutal, subhuman look, clearly full of the petty jealousy and vindictive envy that such little creatures have towards typical muscular alpha males like himself. So he snapped its neck. He pulled out his cigarette case, and placing it carefully under the rat's head, began to squeeze that head again and again and again. The mashed head began to drip...


Saturday

Caris beckoned to him from across the basement floor. She was horny and ready to go home, ready to enjoy his typical muscular alpha male attentions. But he wasn't going anywhere right now; mating would have to wait. It was Saturday Night Fight Club time! He pulled out his sword and launched into the battle, cleaving a head with one swift swing. The blood from his victim sprayed over his face, giving him a very cool and intimidating look. He felt virile and unstoppable. He was ready to face the Gods. Much later, in the bathroom, mark wiped the blood from his face and into his cigarette case. He hawked up some thick manly loogies as well, and spat them in for good measure. He shook the case vigorously.


Sunday

mark woke up hungry. Breakfast in Bed? But Caris was nowhere to be found, she must have slipped out early. This made him grouchy. As a typical muscular alpha male, he expected Sunday Breakfast in Bed. So hungry! He noticed his cigarette case on the table next to him. His stomach growled. He looked at the case again. It is very important for the typical muscular alpha male to have his daily protein intake rationalized mark. He was indeed very hungry. Typical muscular alpha males are always hungry. Hungry for everything. Hungry for anything. Protein... Must Have Protein. He picked up the cigarette case. It felt heavy. It felt warm and inviting. It felt delicious. His stomach growled again. Okay, Let's Do This. He opened up his cigarette case. A thick, musky, sexy, primal, intensely raw and manly smell steamed out.

It was the Sweet Smell of Success. It was the Odor of Victory. It was the Timeless Scent of a Real Man, with a little bit of homo tossed in.
*
*
*
*
*
And then out popped Gods of the Jungle Planet!

(hide spoiler)]

Story of the Eye

by Georges Bataille

Story of the Eye








ADULTS ONLY! KIDS YOU STAY AWAY!

Photobucket

take the sex act and strip away the burden of reality and what do you have?

take two characters and make them fuck. you are the author and they are your puppets. they will do anything you want. does fucking equal life? can fucking be a form of transgression? so be it, make it so. add another character. a menage! subtract that character, the poor thing. have your characters fuck right next to her cold hanging corpse. they are fucking death! add another character, a sophisticated gent of the old school (the school of Salo, of course). now add a bullfighter and a bullfight. some bull testes. a dead bullfighter. a dangling eye. ok, now add a sexy young catholic priest. fuck blow him. then kill him! play with his eyeball. now run away! a happy ending?

these are not spoilers. dear reader, you are dealing with abstractions. abstractions cannot be spoiled. you can look at them and your eye will see what it wants to see.

Photobucket

when is a novel not a novel? when is a narrative an anti-narrative?

when is an egg not an egg? an eye not an eye? when is urine a golden shower of life-affirming transgression?

your surface is like glass, Story of the Eye. eye see right through it. the glass is fractured; the images are compartmentalized. the images become symbols and metaphors. symbols of and metaphors for... what? eye see a metaphor. i make it my own. i take it in my hands and turn it into whatever i please. i turn it into an egg. the egg is life and i fuck it. i fuck life with my great staring eye. the eye is a looking-glass and i turn it towards myself. your surface becomes a mirror, Story of the Eye. it asks me: what is pornography? a series of living symbols and metaphors, profane and sacred acts, bodies devoid of purpose beyond the violence of movement, the slap and tickle of separating and colliding, sex as a sublime sort of personalized violence? violence is sex with no happy ending? eye see a symbol. it is a testicle, a lonely testicle cast out from its body. what does it mean? does it mean transgression? it is a sphere, like an eye, like an egg, a delicious egg. i eat the testicle.

Photobucket

Synesthesia, from the ancient Greek σύν (syn), "together," and αἴσθησις(aisthēsis), "sensation," is a neurological condition in which stimulation of one sensory or cognitive pathway leads to automatic, involuntary experiences in a second sensory or cognitive pathway.

"I realized there was a perfect coincidence of images tied to analogous upheavals... I was astonished at having unknowingly substituted a perfectly obscene image for a vision apparently devoid of any sexual implication."

ha! apparently. do you think you are talking to a child?

Photobucket

i went to a sex party on halloween. it was interesting watching people having sex in different costumes. who is who and what is what? is that even a real dick? in their minds were people imagining themselves as a vampire ballerina, and so trying to think like one? a hunky zombie? a werewolf biker chick? how do such things think, how do they fuck? were their costumes a projection of their inner selves and so now they were able to fuck like they fucked in their dreams? my costume: Nite Owl.

after that sex party, we went to another one. hey, it was halloween and that is certainly a time for no regrets. this party was different. less classy and far more extreme. a hair-raisingly brutal s&m scene took place. degradation a-go-go. the debased miss was degraded beyond belief and i saw things that eye will never be able to un-see. belts and fists and spit and constant slapping and constant demeaning and sex = violence and it doesn't end there. the crowd was mesmerized. i wondered, what is happening in that girl's mind? is this sex performing some kind of function beyond my understanding? was her degradation something that somehow lifted her to her own private, transgressive heaven? was this public transgression somehow empowering? i looked at my male companion and he looked back at me; our eyes met and we both understood in that moment that we were seeing something that neither of us were equipped to understand. we were both deeply uncomfortable. or so i thought. but is that what he was really thinking? did he look at me and see weakness, perhaps even fear - the fear of the unknown, the fear of true transgression? his costume: Doctor Manhattan. i looked at my female companion. she was rapt; she did not see me; she did not return my gaze. was she seeing herself down on that floor? was the debased miss a living symbol of all that she had put away when she entered her rigid bourgeois existence? when she finally looked back at the two of us, did she see living shells of hollow men - or the means for further transgression? her costume: The Silk Spectre.

Photobucket

a series of gruesome tableau! an accumulation of transgressions! le petit mort! vivre la vie! oh the banality of trangression! oh the profundity of banality! there is no there there! i see a church and eye burn it! i see my mother, my father, and they are symbols of all that i long to destroy! and other cliches! i take refuge in madness! these eyes have seen it all! they have seen nothing!

Photobucket

she places the egg inside of her. it is a good feeling. the feeling of life? she places an eyeball inside of her. it is a good feeling. what does that eye see? does it see life, or living death? her opening is an opening; it is literal and figurative; she takes the transgression inside of her and becomes it.

they thrust their sabers into the bull. they make an opening, more than one. the bull is enraged, engorged. colored pieces of cloth turn a blood sport into a swirling dance of death. and other cliches. the bullfighter's stiff steel finishes the dance; he makes a bloody cleft into living tissue. the crowd roars. what are they seeing? debasement, transgression, an atrocity, a holy thing? eye do not know. but i don't like it.

you read the book but it is not a book, not really. it is a thesis. what is its purpose? to lay bare the world, i suppose. each act, each object, each symbol and metaphor... open to your own interpretation. come one, come all! cum! cum! cum! yawn. i know the world already. eye am a camera.

Photobucket

overall the book was interesting. lots to contemplate. it took a while but eye was finally able to jerk off to it.

Photobucket