Friends, I do not think of you as friends. I think of you now, as if you were already dead. My friends... you are ghosts of my mind. I was unsure as to whether or not the last letter had become visible somewhere, somehow. I have not moved, I am immobile. Perhaps I’ve twitched a little. I've been suffering spasms, from the anxiety, the tension of my swirling equilibrium. The anesthetics imposed upon me for the successful purpose of my castration have finally begun to wear off. It must've been ketamine... and morphine there-after. I will admit to you, I am displeased. My genitals are fully intact and throbbing with shame. It is my eye, my beloved right that they've taken. In it's place, I have only a hole, a void, which tingles as if it were still flesh. They left me with my left, for reasons I cannot understand, as I see truly nothing. I am dizzy... I've told you this already haven't I? My own desperation sickens me. I will do my best to emulate whatever it is I did last time with my fingers to let these words reach you again. I am, after all, nothing without you now... not that I was anything to begin with. I've concluded that my last letter reached at least one pair of empathetic eyes, as I have been visited by a woman! It was complicated... in fact, it was horrific, borderline traumatic. Do you know what it means to be in love with a woman? Well, I am in love with a woman... A woman who knows no earthly affections... But now, who could blame her?! She wants "happiness", of course, like a unicorn. In fact, she is a unicorn herself, an embodiment of "happiness", completely unobtainable to us both! HA!! Well, the unicorn she is, did not visit me. Instead, I received a knock on my door. A knock. Only police and whores knock on my door... sometimes junkies, too. None of whose company I was willing to accept. Immediately, I reached for my pistol... It was not there. What good would it do if it had been? I am blind. I am extraordinarily blind. I am nauseous. Fuck it, "Come in!!", I yelled. The knob jiggled, it was locked, of course. I have to move. This upsets me, I have not moved. I think... Police are undesirable, so are junkies, so are whores... well, friends, I can always tolerate a whore. I get up... fall immediately. I lay limp on the floor. I've forgotten how to move, how to walk. Now, I'm presented with a challenge. Now, I must greet the whore. I push myself up, begin to shake, collapse. I am weak. How long have I been sitting in the chair? How long have I been consumed by this darkness? Fuck the whore, it's probably a cop. This damn music is loud, it's tormenting, I can't shut it off. I always kept the CD player on "Repeat Disc" mode. Never did I think this drug-induced decision would come to haunt me so. When did I last speak to the unicorn? I don't remember her voice, but I miss it like the moonlight. The unicorn is everything to me. She is nothing like a unicorn, she is more akin to a hummingbird. A hummingbird who does not know to drink nectar from flowers, so instead floats aimlessly about the garden. She is magic. I worship this hummingbird as pure oblivion. Someday, I dream, she will float unknowingly into my palm, and I will lower her gently toward a blossoming tulip, ripe with heavenly nectar...
Another knock. It must be a cop. A muffled, high-pitched voice calls through, nervously. It is definitely a junkie. I have nothing for junkies. Another knock. High-pitched beckoning. Might be a whore. I might have one thing for a whore. I crawl. My home is filth, decorated with indistinguishable piles. I crawl through the piles, they smell of pneumonia. Another knock. High-pitched, pleading, I reach the door, reach for the knob. I pull myself up, struggling, I prop myself between my stiff legs and the wall. I unlock the door, swing it open. A gasp. It is a woman. She smells sweet, not as sweet as my hummingbird, but sweet enough for womanhood. She begins to speak. I reach out my hand. Another gasp... Cable knit sweater... cashmere... firm breast... perky... small nipple, no bra. I sniff my hand. No perfume. This is a decent woman. Her adornments prove her more worthy than a cop, a junkie, or a whore. Truthfully, she could be all three. I simply don’t care. Firm breasts, sweet scent... she may enter. She brushes past me, whispers a question... "....enkidu?" What? I don't care. I shut the door, lock it, turn, collapse. Another gasp. Darkness. Where is she? I hit my head, feel a throbbing lump begin to form. I call out, "Who's there?!". She whispers something... Don't care, I shiver. The floor is cold, I'm cold, but I'm sweating. I want warmth, equilibrium... water. I begin to crawl, feel toes brush up under my belly, they are warm, then tile, cold. I am in the bathroom. I do not turn on the lights. I can't, have no reason to. I draw a bath, the water is hot. I am already naked... I have always been naked. How long has it been? I crawl in, water splashes, feel like a reptile, like a crocodile. I slither. I am in the the tub, the water is hot. Too hot. I do not care. The sensation of burning on my flesh is rejuvenating. I wash my hands, then scrub the grime from my balls, stroke the shaft... a hand touches my shoulder. I jump. I see nothing, but know it's her. She's still here... Why? She giggles. You are not my hummingbird. The hand begins to wash me with nothing but water and skin. It caresses me gently; lovingly even. I do not care... Despite this, I grow a throbbing erection. "...enkidu... enkidu...". What? The hand rubs my belly, splashes water on it. I feel delicate, like a lilli. The hand moves down, grabs my cock. Doesn't stroke it, is no longer gentle, grabs my cock. She spits. Now, she strokes. I stretch myself out, part of me hurts, I don't know where. Everything is black, I feel the water, everywhere, I'm feeling only through my cock. Each stroke it throbs. I want more. I reach, I take. Push my hand through the sweater, I am clean, no longer garnished in filth. I feel the breast, firm, small nipple. Yes. More. Around the rib cage, arch of the back. Her skin is smooth, smoother than my hummingbird's. Still, she is not my hummingbird. I know where it hurts. I feel the ass, it is hot, round and firm, I do not care. Her hips are wide, ass like a hog. Pork. She does not keep hijab. I feel the wound... it is silk... how dare she?! I spank her, the sound echoes, she squeals. I wrap my palm around the back of her neck, it is time for my mouth. I push, not with great force, but with control deemed of my domain, until her slimy warmth enraptures me, lips pressed to the base. I hold... I feel her breath. Lift her head slightly, she gurgles, I thrust. I feel the viscous slime drip down my balls. I am bored of this hole. Want to fuck... Daddy wants to FUCK. I slam. Thrust harder and harder... you are not my hummingbird, why have you flown to me, little thing? She begins to choke, grabs my balls. I am indifferent. I thrust harder into her throat.. you are not magic, not the one I love, neither my dream or melody! I thrust once more... water splashes into my wound, I had removed the bandages earlier, I felt nothing but a faint ghost of flesh until now, the wound is burning, it is on fire. She vomits. I hear it splash in the bath water, she is gagging, gasping for air. I do not care, of her or her vomit. I am indifferent, bored of this hole. I throw her aside. My cock is raging... I want, I want it. I am in pain. She removes her clothes, tries to lift me from the water, but fails. Silly girl, I weigh one hundred thousand metric tons in water. I send her away. I want nothing of her, wish to be alone. I recall my disposition: All I see is blackness, complete absence of light. She did not relieve me... I have not achieved satisfaction. I am missing a large portion of my face and am blind in my one remaining eye. I cannot see myself, but I picture my hole akin to a shotgun wound being consumed by maggots. I am foul and trembling. I splash some water with my limp hand... Foo! This is nothing! Slither out of the tub, onto the tile floor, like a corpse dragged out from the river, but worse, there is no dirt here, no sand, no mud. Sterile. My skin is pruned, drying itself out. I will shed, like a reptile, for I've rid my epidermis of earthly Flora. Furthermore, with the absence of such biota, my immune system is weak; making me ever more frail, I will surely fall ill; deathly ill, more rapidly. I am laying motionless, dripping. Instinctually, I am reminded of the decent woman; her strange, sweet aroma, firm breasts, plump ass, warm mouth - and how dare she!? The silk...
"Enkidu... enkidu... enkidu..."
What? What is that... Why did I send her away? I am miserable, desperate for flora, for fauna, for silk... I crawl across the tile, feel my way toward the piles. I am the daddy crocodile. She must be looming about. Friends, I have considered that this woman has a fetish for my condition, she must... my illness, my torment, the pain arouses an ecstasy within her. I knew, I must treat her like dirt, like an object, as she treats me. If I could accomplish this task, I would be rewarded with a slip of silk, and consequently, precious flora. Well... I could spare some details. There are only a few reasons I'm sharing this visit with you, actually, there is only one. I am alone, it is dark and I am horrifically lonely now. This is desperation, I'm proud to admit, I am nearing death. Now, on with it: The decent woman beckoned me so... "...enkidu... enkidu...", monotone, slow and ghostly. If I'm being honest with you, she is quite frightening for this, if nothing else. I crawl to her, as I can not walk. I smell her, she is close, she is ripe. I begin harvesting her with my proverbial sickle, but I do not kiss her. No, I shall not kiss her. She is not the one. She is not my hummingbird. She is not my hummingbird. Friends, I kissed her. I always kiss the "her" who is not my hummingbird, for my hummingbird shows me no earthly affections. And how could she? I am no flower, but a monster, a brute, disfigured beast! My current form is only a reflection of my horrendous actions! A smokey one, at that... Despite this, I feel tremendous guilt. Shame. My hummingbird is a woman, after all, with the body of a woman, the face of a woman... I picture her face, her body, and impose it over the warm mass I feel under me. The image of her is fleeting, always fleeting. Energy rises within me. I feel sick, nauseous... I forget the cow moans, I become enraged. "Choke me!" , she grunts! Silly girl, you do not understand the words in which you speak. I will choke you, and you will not reach satisfaction before you reach death. I choke her. She gurgles, panics, begins to cry, I stop, she pushes me away. I digress, curl up into a ball of guilt, then cower. I am no swine, I understand consent. No means no, it is easy enough to understand. Supposedly, "choke" does not mean "choke" amongst everyone. Lesson learned. I assume neutrality, leaving the future in her gentle hands, where it belongs. I can't help but wish my love was near, watching, jealous... and, being that my vision is void of light, I desperately try to reconstruct the image of my hummingbird's face. The music has not stopped playing, I am becoming accustomed to it, how one adjusts to a new climate as seasons pass. So far, this is the extent of my flexibility and I pride myself on it. After-all, to achieve anything in my state is nothing short of a monumental miracle! Even if said achievement is nothing but acceptance toward uncontrollable circumstance. Yes, to submit oneself before the leviathan is one's only true power; and I have become zealously submissive..... A tap on my back... startled, I jump and swat, "ah-uh!"... nothing. Then, of course, ".....enkidu?.....". I sigh. The spooky harlot still looms behind me, whimpering that strange profanity at me like a baby's coo. I turn, apathetically... then, strangely, we conversed. The exchange went as follows:
her: (giggle), " ... Enkidu... fucky?"
her: "Teh... Enkidu, fucky gim....now fucky gim mommy .... en... Daddy! Hehe!"
Friends... what can I say? I am floored. I exalt the name of the Prophet, PBUH. Then, unexpectedly, I am throbbing. Sweet flora awaits me. My earthly garnish, salivating from the womb. I find her, back arched like a mut. Good girl, you deserve a treat... Look! I've brought you a savory bone from Baghdad...
Friends, I must confess to you... this is a moment which often haunts me, where I feel all I've done in my life is hurt women. Bear with me, please, for I'm the only one who knows. It is no secret... In fact, I do not believe in secrets, but it must be said, not even the women I've hurt are aware of the damage I've caused in it's totality. No one will ever know but me, the treacherous, devious and demonic acts I've perpetrated. I think now, perhaps it should remain so. I will not confess. My guilt is my confession; and my current disposition is a just one indeed. Perhaps, my greatest sin against women was my own desire to protect them. To protect them, was to protect myself, at a cost I never would have imagined...
I mount her. Gush. The slosh is unbearable. I am upset, understandably, that this strange creature has allowed me to enter her holy domain in my current state, more still, that she invited me to, enticed me even, seduced me. What foul fetish must one have to wish to be fucked by a blind Arab man with rotting flesh on his face? What unimaginable circumstances have occurred in her life to develop such a desire? Absolutely horrific... But, I do not deny her. Who am I to condemn? She found out the hard way; When a woman presents me with masochistic lust, it awakens a dormant beast within me. There is none so self-destructive as I. My lust for destruction has been the grace of my life, where even the unthinkable violences of man seem to me mere child's play. For more than darkness do I know, I have become the shadow of darkness itself. But, I reserve this violence for other men, architecture and myself. It is only during sex that I reveal a delicate slip of my violence upon a woman. This, too, is an effort to protect them, and thus myself, for I am the only one I fear.
Inside her, I feel a pulsing urge. There is too much form present! If I arch her back any further, her spine will break, and let me tell you, I am tempted to break it. Nothing aggravates me more than an immalleable body. If I had my way, I would remove the bones entirely. My own body becomes numb to me during fornication, strange as this may seem, it is a saving grace keeping me pure. I am left only with energy, the blessed matter it is, endlessly malleable. I assume a peculiar position. I stand upon the back of her knee with my left foot, and wedge my right snuggly under her jaw bone. I do not care if she can breath anymore. I doubt she does either. I drill my cock downward into her cervix, and I will have no confusion about this; I am pounding at her cervix door like an infant attempting to return to it’s mother’s womb. I prefer positions which press my cock downward, as the tension fulfills it's length and girth. Her canal is agape and sloshing, singing even, like an instrument under my control. The squelching sounds are a heavenly distraction from the music... the damned music, my private circle of the inferno. I feel her texture, it is of a unique variety: Silk. Still, I cannot wane my mind away from my hummingbird, whose textures I have meditated over longer than I can recall. Every curve and pour of this carnal beast below me reminds me only of my darling's body. This is not to say that the body I am penetrating now is not perfect... it is absolutely perfect in it's own right. It is simply not the body I am in love with. The body I am in love with is decorated with flaws, each of which an anchor for my understanding and love of it. I can imagine no other body. I desire no body more than hers.
I am enraged. I feel another hole in the angelic beast. I wish to sodomize it. With my thumb, I loosen it gently, then enter with two fingers, which I only wiggle around inside. Once she is comfortable, I evacuate myself from her womb, then plunge into the new hole. Her woeful cries fall upon deaf ears. I am drilling relentlessly, like the Americans did in Iraq, thinking of my hummingbird with a burning energy. With my left hand, I fuck her womb. I will have no confusion about this; with my entire left hand, I fuck her womb. Her labia tickles my wrist. She becomes excessively salivated and I become overwhelmed with nausea. I am indifferent to what she is feeling, though I must admit, her orgasms give me pride. Then, with nowhere left to turn, the tingling sensation rises within me. Desperately, in the midst of my sodomizing her, I too, wish to be sodomized. I do not ask, do not need to. I grab her hand and extend her arm to my ass, which, with all the bones and such, was quite difficult and resulted in the dislocation of her shoulder. Slowly, I work the hand into my ass, despite the resistance of her stubborn frame, until it is consumed entirely. Now, we are functioning as one machine; as I sodomize her, she sodomizes me. Fair trade organic! When I am ready to relieve myself, the machine of our bodies contracts with extraordinary tension. Each slow thrust is on the verge as I shake uncontrollably. Then, as I begin to release myself into her, I remove her hand from my ass and explode like the last martyr. Once I am finished, I extract myself from her entirely, in a state of absolute indifference, I slump into a ball and meditate on the fleeting image of my hummingbird. While doing this, I am overcome with horrendous guilt and nausea, in addition to the relentless dizziness I suffer from my newly acquired loss of sight. The music haunts me like everything.
Friends, I will spare you further details of this ghostly encounter. In short, this strange visitor and I performed increasingly barbaric sodomy on one another three more times before she departed. One peculiar thing, which I cannot wrap my head around; as she prepares to leave she whispered, "... thank you, enkidu...", then set a bushel of perfectly ripe bananas before me. I pondered myself in a pile after she disappeared, and needless to say, I ate every single banana. My question is this: Who is this woman, and how did she know I only eat bananas? Furthermore, how did she know to bring me exactly eight perfectly ripe bananas? As this is the proverbial fee for my proverbial services. It is a true mystery... and who is this "Enkidu"?! The angelic swine was not entirely wrong to call me that, I suppose.
If you are reading this, friends, please know, I am in desperate need of more bananas. In exchange, you will receive the aforementioned services. Eight, perfectly ripe bananas. Something is troubling me... the numbness in my left foot has worsened since the woman's visit... I feel no sensation in it, only pressure.
It does not matter. I am alone now, trembling violently, sweating profusely, unable to find the slightest balance in my blindness. My only resolution is to lay on the floor and wait for death in this infinite darkness, but I cannot write to you there, I must sit in the chair, like sitting on the edge of a cliff. Gravity is a most terrible power, my truest oppressor in this void. I will resolve to the floor soon... I have only the fleeting images of my hummingbird to warm my heart, but warm they do not. The memories simply stab at me as I lay helpless to create new ones. I wonder if this letter will reach you, friends, my dear ghosts. For if is does, I wonder too if she will read this? What could I say to you that I haven't already? If you do read this, and you do come, I have only one wish: