The pillships that run the electrical storms in my brain have shrunk.
Instead of exploding in my stomach, polinating my head with horrible
dreams, they slowly disolve and dull my senses. My head's now in
London and I see the world through slow motion fog.
When you dream, what do you dream about? I dream about Hong Kong in
the 1980s. Tong B Boys harrass a young Amercian reporter slaving away
on a book about Chinese crime. She sends me the letters. She writes
of how the men treat their women, with degrading cruelty. Because
it's a dream, she can write her letters at any time, no matter how
inconvinient it is for her. For example, how many people can write a
desriptive letter while they're being raped? i'm guess that the
numbers are few. But I'm no expert.
Listen. They begin by kidnapping her on the way back to her house,
stuffing her mouth with a drug filled rag. Senses are dulled and
passes out. Whe wakes up in a warehouse, location: undisclosed
She's surrounded by hundreds of men, each wanting to have their turn
with her. Her bed is an old matress, covered in a newspaper that
soaks up semen and blood. Somehow, in between men, she documents the
events in typical journalistic objectivity. When the men are
finished, they peel off her skin. It comes off, layer by layer, in
paper thin sheets, nerve endings dangling like shoe laces. The more
adventerous men tear holes in her musclture and fuck it. Other men,
cook her flesh and eat it. The room starts to smeel like burned ham.
They cut out her clitoris and auction it to the highest bidder. It
too, is eaten. An eye is removed and her socket is fucked. A man
pills out his cock after completion, his penis covered in semen, blood
and eye juice. They kill her after that. She signs her letter in
blood, expressing regret about not knowing what they'll do with her
corspe. It doesn't take that much imagination to guess what they'd
do.
I've dreamt about this for months. Details change, but the crux is
the same. It's this reaspm that I've opted tochange my head pills
