Dhaka, Bangladesh
I rested in the hotel again today. After waking up, I went upstairs to the restaurant to have some breakfast (pancakes, bread, butter, stir-fried potato chunks with herb seasoning, and coffee). I then went to the nearest mini mart to buy some toiletry items and snacks. I went straight back to my room after shopping, showered, and then relaxed. I read several of the Prophetic Books in the Bible, watched some television episodes on YouTube (‘South Park’ and ‘King of the Hill’), typed out some journal entries, contemplated the meaning of life, and caught up with the news online. I did compare Oreo cookies with the local rip-off brand: Doreo cookies (exciting stuff going on in my travels right now); as expected, the Doreo cookies were a poor imitation – they were not as sweet, not as delicious, and they had a strong taste of cocoa powder, which was not a favorable taste, as one might expect. For dinner, I ordered food for my room and had another chicken biryani dish, a bowl of fried mixed vegetables, and a large bottle of water (only the water was decent this time around – I think the cook is getting worse by the day and it is pathetic that the kitchen is only capable of cooking up ten percent of the items listed in the menu, really narrowing down my choices). I then watched some television before finally going to sleep.
I can’t help but feel that since I’m living in a hotel in a foreign land (staying here longer than I intended to, ugh) with not much else to do, that I should be typing some disturbing and grotesque novel like ‘Naked Lunch’ (sure, this is Dhaka and William S. Burroughs wrote in Tangier, but both do have mosques and frequent call-to-prayers that resonate through out the city); so here it goes, an excerpt from my novel, ‘Synaptic Rape’:
“The creature wrapped its eight legs around me, tightening its grip like a boa constrictor; I could feel the hard exoskeleton and the heat from its body, it was breathing hard against my neck. It then inserted its two phalluses inside of me and began fucking me, just as it had done for the past twenty-four days; every night. I was really worried that my asshole would prolapse from the intensity this time; its thrusts were more forceful than ever before. When it had finished with me, it then crawled over to the coffee table, inhaled a bag containing 25X-NBOMe vapor, and listened to the Doobie Brothers – it was China Groove.”
Doctor Mulligan had heard this story several times now and made no attempt to conceal his boredom as he listened to Jonas tell his tale of homosexual inter-species intercourse. In fact, the only thing that consumed the doctor’s mind right now was achieving an erection.
He rose out of his chair and walked over to the couch that Jonas was lying on. He squatted down, came face to face, five and a half inches away from his nose, and asked him, “Were you sexually aroused at any time during the rape?”
“My dick was partially hard at the time.”
“He made no attempt to stimulate you?”
“No . . . well . . . inadvertently he pressed against my prostate as he fucked me in the ass. Some semen did drip out of my dick.”
“Would you have liked to have been stimulated?”
“It would’ve made it more personal. I wouldn’t have felt like a piece of meat.”
Doctor Mulligan then reached his hand in to Jonas’ pants and grabbed his crotch. He began to stroke his penis, feeling every single vein and wart.
“Careful Doctor Mulligan, I think the creature gave me an STD.”
The doctor laughed and said, “I think we’re past such formalities now, call me Amos. Here, put your hand on my breast and squeeze my tits; I just had them augmented last week.”
As Jonas grabbed a handful of silicone, he spotted the creature peeking behind the washroom door; there was a yellowish-grey goo dripping from its mouth as it rubbed its mandibles together. Jonas closed his eyes and pretended he had not seen his frequent rapist, but he could not shut out the sound of the Doobie Brothers playing in his head.
Meanwhile, the doctor began to masturbate Jonas with more and more intensity while at the same time developing his plan to lead Jonas to commit suicide. The doctor had tired of him. He was hoping to get two or three months of interesting conversation out of him, something he could use for his book, but Jonas turned out to be a one-note loon, hopelessly lost and not worth curing; naturally the doctor would never physically harm anyone, especially his patients, so he would he have to start tailoring their conversations to ensure Jonas would ultimately choose to end his own life. The doctor imagined this beautiful end scenario: Jonas placing a pistol in his mouth, pulling the trigger, and sending his brains splattering against the wall. With this gory thought lingering in his mind, the good doctor achieved his goal at last.
“ah, auhhh, uhhhh.”
Jonas ejaculated and his euphoric utterance snapped the doctor out of his dreams and back to reality. He pulled his hand from Jonas’ soiled pants, smelled the bodily fluids dripping from his fingers, and then ran his hand through Jonas’ hair, wiping all the semen off.
“Wear it with pride.”
And that concludes my venture in to writing like a strange, drugged out, homosexual beatnik. Although I do enjoy Burroughs’ writings and I like the film ‘Naked Lunch’, I don’t think this subject matter is suited for me. It’s probably best that I don’t finish this novel.