Sinners at the St. Regis

I am now staring downward at an insurmountable difficulty; the bane of writers henceforth the first etching of the commandments by Moses himself. Challenges arise out of necessity, but the current task we are concerned with, is so cavernously soaked in arduousness, to the end that you could discover even Achilles himself would probably convulse at the knees from its minatory visage. In Fact, in the most fit of cases, Achilles would buckle uncontrollably at the knees like a Parkinson patient, especially if he had his own Cerberus of a life experience tucked away, fondly stewing and boiling and gesticulating in his bosom, like I do. This is no ordinary foe, no, this foe is hidden in plain sight. I cannot touch him, nor control him either! I cannot sway him, convince him, negotiate with him, bargain, plea, or engage in any discourse or conjecture of any kind! If my adversary only required brute force to be dealt with, then he'd be an easy foe indeed. But no, this hostile force was a force to be reckoned with, only on the longitudes and latitudes of the mental plane.

Introducing the writer's most excellent antagonist: Blank Frank, A Blank Page. Here he is, staring at me with the vitriol of a scapegoat; who became wrongly accused, on his last days of his pitiable existence on death row. A real Caryl Chessman type of guy, a real CARD as the ol' timers would put him, this Blank Frank. No beginning, no end, here for as long as somebody is both brave and stupid enough to try to arrange information through the two dimensional platform we call words and phrases. 

Behind him, being utilized like an etheric double to his purlescent body, is his pressure, cataclysmic in nature, tied to his empty form, protruding portents of doomed and failured encouragements. Beginning something you have no fucking idea how it's gonna turn out? Fine! The pressure is insurmountable, OK! I try to hammer out a few sentences here and there, place a couple of periods to and froe, a couple of synonyms hither and yon and, by the end of it, I hope to lord Shiva themselves that the collection of sentences churned available, configure themselves into a thought barely compelling enough for somebody to read the damn thing! Nothing special to it here folxs. nothing crazy to see. Just eat your words and muck about. 

I don't abide by the rules and laws of basic grammar, the shit is too constricting you know? The sparks have to fly! A certain flow, a rhythm played, under borishnikov's feet, a single thread of intelligence that gives it its own unique and particular brand of....feng shui.. And I realize I'd much rather prefer to be fast and loose with it, like a blind disc jockey who operates just off of pure feel. He doesn't know what song he is about to play next, but all he knows is that he'll make the best out of whatever is played. Skills can sharpen any blade...or so they say. 

But to blank frank, all he cares about is being filled, only I myself am wimpy enough to all intents and purposes care FOR the content! As If the content itself needs caring for! Only I Do Care. 

Only I am the one, the only one(!), who has a sole, fleeting, passing , fugitively nincompoopsical shot at pulling out whatever is in the air, transmuting it into something tangible, and somehow discovering the bloodied and turmoiled path for lugging it down onto the flimsy page. 

Approaching a story with the same intensity, and precision, of a neurosurgeon, but not giving a flyin' fuck about the outcome, is a thin line, a minute balance, a difficult strand to follow, but someone has to be balmy enough to try it. SOMEONE JUST HAS TO! MY HEART MUST BE HEARD!

My heart, my spirit, but NOT...……...my mind. My mind will throw me off my game, have me seeing ghosts and demons. It'll whisper in my ear, oh you can't do that. Say that phrase, in that order, and world war III will be bound to follow. What will people think if you are too offensive? My mind will make me turn into a little bitch, that's why I like to toss it out as much as I possibly can. GET THAT LIL FUCKER OUTTA HERE AS QUICKLY AS POSSIBLE! If I get too involved with the "I" part of me, the part of me that wants to be recognized as God himself, the ego, MY minD,  then the energy just gets plain spoilt. Tainted. Distorted. Becomes less of what its supposed to be. It doesn't reach its highest potential in the way that it should. Barrier of the unknown, life's greatest treasures, the quivering strand of living, FEAR, will keep me from opening the doors that lead to my completion. But! Can a man ever truly be selfless? There is a part of me where recognition of myself must be had, in order to be able to fulfill one of my most basic needs: immortality. Few of the initiated are brave enough to admit it, but in the unplumbed chaos of the cosmos that is man, in the bounds of our form-based time-based self-preservation, within the undisclosed havoc of the doors which keeps man separate from the most unspeakable horrors that lies within, there is an inherent need to be remembered long after we are gone. To be recognized, without any discernment as to how ferociously the sands of time erode on our monuments, long after we return our borrowed body, our borrowed life, our borrowed possessions, is humanities most noble and ignoble of needs.

There are two wolves inside of us, but only one of them speaks.

The best art strikes the balance between self and we, order and chaos, light and dark. The best art has that invisible strand, which is only felt, not conceptualized intellectually. I am nowhere near producing the best art. I am nowhere near my final form.. I am nowhere near the pinnacle of my existence. I am nowhere near my only confidant and my greatest lord, Lord Shiva. However, this cluster of words arranged in a somewhat coherent order to be presented upon you, the reader, at a later date and time, is a step forward for me towards hammering home everything that I ever wanted to represent in this world.

This post is a collection of memories concerning 3 grams of mushrooms, an empty stomach, a racing mind, two close friends, a mysterious DJ, water, beer, karma, samsara, sunyatta, and one near death-life experience.

Read further at your own peril.

-doriantheconqueror

1. MR DEADPHONE.

It all started, as most debauchery associated with our times, on a dreadfully dreary Wednesday afternoon. The source of it all....Instagram. A mysterious Mr DJ Deadphone was the curator of the event, and through mindless, directiveless, aimless, objectiveless, and the purely atavistic means of scrolling, I saw the flyer that jumped out at me like goose eggs on a wild goose chase.

Mr. Deadphone was DJ'ing, food was being provided, it was free, there would be girls, oh my god fuck it! I needed to get out of this house anyways. Deadphone could've been promoting as something as ghastly as a public execution, and I would've came. In fact, you could say that the show was a public execution in disguise, or at least that's how I would feel after the night was done. But I was younger then I am now, stupider, dumber, life hadn't beaten the living shit out of me....yet. 

When I first saw the flyer, a myopia of thoughts were floating about, when, purrdareee, bam!, the most seductive, alluring, attractive, and tempestuous spark of hope, out of all the possible high vibrational lights pulsating in my magical lantern known as imagination, came to me like a wet dream I manifested when I was 12; I gotta cover this thing! I gotta be there with my bucket hat, my shrooms, my personae, my bravado, my charm, m-y ex-ter-na-li-ties, and I gotta make sure that this shit is done right! I gotta make sure that everyone has a good time by giving random people the attention that their ego everso desperately craves! I'm playing devils advocate with the holiest of intentions, there's no way in Hell I could lose! 

However, I soon learned that even god itself can't serve two masters.

2. The Poor Saps Who Unknowingly Tagged Along

Me, being a purely spiritual being with no matter or knowhow for earthly principles, had no way of actually getting to the Hotel. Well, to be honest I had a million and one ways of getting there, but you know how Mr. EGO gets whenever we need help. His emotional fixations. His psychotic neurosis. His trauma. His perfect blend of the holistic horrors that make up this blissfully cruel world. MR EGO. MY EGO, would not allow me to get dropped off to cover the biggest story of the century by my dad, I just couldn't get jiggy with it.

So naturally, I called up my friend Ronald. Me and Ronald have a deeper relationship than most of my friends, but because I am a purely spiritual being with its own perception of the world, I still couldn't get close to the bastard. Not his fault, but lifetimes of me being misunderstood have painted dark half-tones of ambiguous distortions over the true nature of this world. Calling to me miseries that are unheard, unseen, unfelt, only to none but me, causing a small box in my head to be smaller and smaller with every failure, mistake, or difficulty But Alas, on Thursday we had a nice talk. We talked of what it means to be in an intimate relationship, and I couldn't really know the importance of those until the near death experience at the Hotel St. Regis, but more on THAT later.

Everybody wants to be a circle. Everybody wants to be like clockwork. Everybody wants it so that their habits reflect who they really are, and what they really want to do. No one likes to be alone, except for me apparently lmao. But, the point is, when you have someone who watches you. Observes you intently. Wanting to see whether or not this hunk of meat in front of me is worth it, well, of course you get better. NOBODY IS MORE SUITABLE AT HAND_DELIVERING THE HARSH TRUTHS OF OUR WEAKNESSES THAN WOMEN. Because if a man makes sense, then you can get mad at them. You can beat them up, and just call it a day. Who needs logic if you just have strength? HOWEVER, if a women makes sense, then she makes sense. Nothing you can do about it. I mean you can also beat them up, but unlike men, women can actually take a hit.

I believe, in my honest, god-fearing, opinion, that the primary reason as to why man are so attracted to women, is due to the simple fact that women actually listen to their goddamn spirit. They are not easily swayed, for the spirit is unswayable. The spirit knows no limits, no bounds, is not contigent upon any material matter, and cannot be silenced, cannot be persuaded, cannot be convinced, for it comes from the absolute truth. The spirit wants nothing but for us to full-heartedly contribute to our most highest good, which includes 2 simple things, keeping this life thing going, and helping others keep this life thing going.

Partners help you out by molding you into the most refined, the most polished, the most beautiful version of yourself. Like my dad before he met my mom and after he met my mom, from what I hear, are two different people. Man needs woman, woman needs man, for nothing else but to keep this life thing going.

That's Ronald. Let's describe the lad. He's a Capricorn, but he screams total air sign ascendant. He's like 6'3", looks like a swiss model, and makes pretty decent electronic music. One thing about Ronald is that he is a fucking fighter. When it comes down to it, he puts his nose in the dirt and starts churning away like a logical madman, the perfect mix of carnality, authenticity, accuracy, and precision. Its remarkable, how he is able to merge his beastliness in times of need, how he is able to ground and tame the dark forces inside of him for not only his won gain, but for the gain of those around him. I'm learning a lot from Ronald, or maybe I have learned my last thing. I haven't talked to the lad since the incident, and it seemed to me he was at his wits end when I exited his car at approximately 11:48PM on Friday, with no objective reality to show for the night.

Then we have Raegen. Raegen is also a Capricorn, but they definitely are a water rising. After Friday night, it was definitely confirmed that Raegen is a water rising. They might be a scorpio, a cancer, or a pisces. Shit doesn't matter. Either way I am, with no room for negotiating, absolutely fucked when it comes to matters concerning our relationship, for an infinitely long period of time. If they are a pisces rising, then I'd probably be able to win them over again by some cheap but sincere notion of forgivness. If they are a cancer rising, then a long and deep talking over will do the trick. Cancers are total wimps for deep communication. But, If I Everso Happened To Have Made The Unfortunate Error Of Manipulating And Trying TO CONTROL A SCORPIO RISING, then I must brace myself for the torrential onslaught of both subtle and non-subtle psychical, physiological, and spiritual vengeances that will be incurred upon my very being. For I have the signs and traits of a scorpio, I know what I am capable of. I know of the deep, and dark, twisted, sadistic, and masochistic proclivities that the rulers and by-partisans of the underworld tend to possess, so in a way, I'm not too scared because my darkness will by nature counter his darkness. I have a walking bullshit detector, so if things get sticky, I always like to know where the nearest window is.

Ronald and Raegen are roomates, they are in the same band, they have been together for forever, shit I'd say that they are cosmic family at this point. I'm just the oddball who lives in la la land and finds the pretty things that serve no material purpose. They are the obscelescence, I am the obsolete. The fact that I pretty much screwed two "close" relationships that I have in one night is probably the most daunting thing ever. If I weren't so high-strung and attached to the possibility, then I'd be fucking proud of myself. Way to go Dorian, you got what you really wanted...….loneliness. Oh give it a rest already. You are not fucking lonely, you are just sad because nobody is sucking your dick. Not only your physical orifice, shit that hasn't been touched since my past life, but also your mental dick, or your ego.

You got an inflated ego kid, and I don't think its going away anytime soon. Like I don't think the largeness is going anywhere. The expansive part of your personality is something to be cherished, and tamed. Because if you don't tame it, it will eat you. Devour you whole. Some things are just not meant for this world kiddo, and you are one of them. I mean, you can't even describe your two closest friends in the physical sense. Like I don't even remember people's features or forms anymore than I have to. I remember their words, their energy, how they make me feel, I have no time to tell you about how Raegen looked like the baddest witch in the west, not bad as in evil, but bad as in sexy. Or how Ronald was wearing a crop top from this one obscure Detroit band that I am a huge fan of. Or how Raegan had on a earring that I still cannot discern from being feather, crystal, or pure ether. Or how Ronald had just got off of a busy day trimming weed plants in his grey joggers, tired as fuck and wanting some good ole clean no self-induced mental psychosis fun, and here comes Mr. MANIPULATION HIMSELF. OH MY FUCKING GOD HE'S UP IN THE RAFTERS! HOW THE FUCK DID HE GET UP THERE! NO. OH NO, DONT DO IT! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WHERE IS MY I CHING WHEN I NEED IT?!  HERE IT COMES, HE'S LEAPING, PILEDRIVER SWANTON BOMB BAMBOOZLEMENT INCOMING!

"hey do you want to do some arbitrary thing for no reason other than my own desire"

"yeah you convinced me"

"also i'll be doing 3 grams of shrooms"

"what?"

"nothing" "can u scoop me"

………..

"sure"

it didn't go exactly like that, but I am not a libravox recording goddammit, just an animal finally learning how to lick his fucking wounds.

3. FTX. CUTTING GRASS. THOTH. WILDING ENERGIES LEADING UP INTO THE NIGHT

Wow, when I left off this thing, it seemed to me that I'd be able to get everything I wanted. Immortalization of the night. A Long Conversation with Deity. A couple of cute chicks to swoon over me, two of my best buds at my side, being both enraptuously enraged encouragement, and the firm voice of reason. I'd even get to interview the mysterious DJ_DEADPHONE, whilst he Dj'd. Maybe even slide him a twenty to play anomaly songs, and see the raw visceral disgust of the crowd turn into carnal lust and vengeance, beating me to a bloody pulp for ever attempting to contact the Old Guard through the medium of something as flimsy and pansy-like as music. A real dream!

Or at least that's how I'd thought it was gonna go down in my head. Things haven't been going right for me recently, but I thought hey, this might be the day to turn this shit around.

I started that fickle Friday as per my usual habits, the lighting and smoking of the weed pen. No, not those regular pens that you get at the smoke store, but the pen that I turned into a bowl out of pure boredom, brokenness, and anxiety. One or two hits is all I need, I don't like to be too committed to that type of stuff, otherwise the time away from it turns into some type of showtime at the Apollo, where all the demons and longings that you usually use marijuana to hide, come from beyond their cheap veil, devolving into vaudeville rocky's horror show tapdancing on your dope-a-mine receptors, causing you to want to snap into the nearest sleep and forget all about life for a hour or two, just like right now as I write this. I literally started jumping into this thing just to take cover from the anxiety attack that was ensuing, in the same manner as a grizzled vet from nam jumps underneath his table at THE WHITNEY, due to the PTSD from dealing with too many grenades in too many deep foxtrots, whenever he hears the opening guitar gnarls and feedback loops from any rock band born after the year 1986.

The PTSD is me not having enough dope in my system to stay awake, let alone form a cogent thought, but my spirit, as in all other tricky situations, is willing, and carrying my corpse to the brink of some lesson that I should've learned a long time ago.

But enough of my bitching, let's get back to the guff. After my daily ritual, I happened to past most of the day dreaming, thinking, and going over symbols in the book of Thoth. You know, typical things coming from a typical boy in the middle of a very alarming spiritual awakening. Nothing crazy, just a deep dive into knowledge that would drive your common man insane to the point of delirium, believing that he was god, and that he was as worthy as Jeff Bezos, and that even with his shitty baritone voice, he too could sway the annals of music lore. Like I said, nothing crazy, to the initiated.

The pinnacle of the day was when I had cut the grass. I really felt good about cutting my grass, because our grass is not the usual frontyard backyard. No, its like 5 houses worth of grass folx, and I wish I was kidding. All together, I wouldn't be surprised to come down to like one and a half football field's worth of grass, because it sure damn felt like it when I was in the action. So, I was like yeah, I cut the grass today, and now I get to tripp my balls off and party like it was the Big Bang all over again, right?

All of a sudden, I got a flash from my phone. The notorious gaming franchise TSM had made a $210 million dollar deal with Hong Kong Crypto-Jiants "FTX", becoming TSM FTX, getting paid in $21 million dollar increments over the next ten years...….. for just changing their goddamn name! If I had still had the mindset of yesteryear, then I would've hated on the simplicity of the deal. ""YOU CANT FUCKING JUST MAKE 200 MILLION DOLLAR DEALS OFF OF A TWITTER DM, YOU HHIPPY BASTARDS, but hating on love is no way to get it. NO, I INTERPRETED THIS AS A SIGN FROM GOD! DORIAN,...  yes god? DORIAN, I DONT SHOW YOU BIG ARBITRARY NEWS THAT DOESN'T HAVE ANY IMPACT ON YOUR LIFE FOR NO REASON.....YOU DO KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS.. RIGHT? After that point, the communication got cut short. God could've totally told me what would happen, but I already knew what was going to happen, I was gonna lose my virginity tonight, forsure, without a doubt in my head. Shit, if TSM can get rewarded for a change of identity, then I could too. can a man ever find true selflessness?

What did I truly want from the night? What do I truly want now? Well, i'm starting to get a glimpse at the picture. The picture of the space that allows me to be my most highest good, and that' the stage.

The stage is the only place where a fool like me will ever belong. The stage is the last man standing, withstanding the brutal onslaught of social engineering and individuality repression that makes up our culture. I'm surprised they haven't came and destroyed all stages with sledgehammers and wrecking balls, because of the sick and sadistic people like me who believe in the freedom that the stage provides.

The stage is the only place that has ever fully accepted me for who I am, an absolute fool. A jester for the same people that shun me on the regular, a habitual people pleaser with a really deep line from hell to his heart. I feel like I can do anything, its the only safe space that I have, other than the pen and paper. Or the keyboard and screen. But even then, it's not as visceral, not as primitive, not as cathartic, as when 10 to 50 people are all staring at me, judging me, interested in me, waiting for what I pull out of my ass next, cheering me on, booing me, anything, JUST GODDAMN ANYTHING GODDAMMITT. I NEED SOME HUMAN CONTACT THAT ACTUALLY FEELS GOOD, NOT FOR SOME ARBITRARY REASON. I DON'T WANT YOUR OBJECTIVE-BASED LOVE DADDY! IT DOESN'T FEEL GOOD. IT HURTS IN WAYS I CAN'T UNDERSTAND. IT'S JUST TOO MUCH PRESSURE. I CAN'T BE ME. THE ONLY TIME ITS OK TO BE ME IS WHEN EVERYBODY IS HAPPILY DANCING ALONG TO WHATEVER I GOT TO SAY. I HAVEN'T FOUND ANYTHING BETTER YET.

And I figured, if I can't be on the stage, then I could at least create the spotlight. 

Another thing, I really was excited to show the new me off. I really was. I thought that I'd be able to handle to three grams w/out anyone knowing. A little secret between me and whoever wanted to fuck me that night. I didn't mean for it to blow up straight into my face like a shit-based Molotov cocktail thrown over Mr. Johnson's Fence, landing into his bathroom window, a little shit-on-shit action will serve the bastard good, he never gave me back my five dollars anyways.

All I wanted was to give the good stuff, see the good stuff, and quite possibly lose my virginity off of shrooms. Nothing more, nothing less.

But it's not about what I want. Being a long lost Child of Light, I had to realize that the direction that I was heading in, wasn't no joke. It wasn't anything to be taken lightly. It wasn't any matter to have a single modicum of hubris about. What happens to a being who starts toying with his very own limits of perception? Well, let me break the rest of the night down into gorey and hi-fidelity detail.

After cutting the grass, I had some downtime to relax before the heist. So naturally, I started cranking up the pen and watching some obscure, hysterically heretic, and occult videos on subjects such as dreams, visualization, and how to make sure you're not getting screwed in the ass by someone practicing dark arts on you. Maybe this was our universe's vitriolic foreshadowing of future events to perspire concerning me and Raegen? Who knows? Hindsight is 20/20

Nothing crazy happened between then, the time to get ready, and me getting picked up. Nothing crazy at all, except for the fact that, in the first time in my life, I felt stupid enough to feel fully confident. Still do, but when you first start dealing with positive energies after being gangbanged and clusterfucked by your mind for the previous 22 years, then you start to look at everything for the first time, with the excitement of a baby chimp slinging poop across the room towards its mother's tired face. So it seemed like everything crazy was happening. I thought the stars was lining up, the energies were balancing out, and the probability of me scoring a touchdown was high, but boy did all of that shit completely not matter.

So, I shit you not, the first thing I did when I went into Raegen's house was eat the shrooms. It was about 9:00, the thing started at 7:00, so I thought, fuck it, this is gonna be a long trip regardless. There was no turning back, no convincing me out of it, and absolutely no hope. When you are as zany and as hairballed of a person as moi, then most of your life is spent in complete mystery from the outside world. It's like I can't take advice. Everytime I genuinely take some advice, I become a miserable husk of myself, allowing others to give me permission to do what I want to do. So some ideas, if I feel like they are really big, I just do not share with others. People are piss-ants, they don't get me, and they really couldn't understand the angle from where the idea came from. Even if it would be common decency to tell your friends that u are tripping on 3 grams of shrooms, I've gotten burned in the pas t so many times to the point where I feel like if I discuss any matter of my life, even this tiny detail, then that would lead to the disintegration of me.

I don't want what everybody wants. I didn't want to get laid because I was horny, I wanted to get laid because I wanted to experience what it is like. To learn and grow from it, not to fulfill some desperate shadowworld desire. But the puppet who is unaware he is on the string, always thinks that it has free will.

I really don't know what made me think that losing my virginity off of 3 grams of shrooms was a good idea, but I figured I gotta make the shit meaningful somehow. I want my first sexual experience to be able to slow down time itself. I want the whole world to stop, and watch, and look at this undulating monument to the collective! I want Balzac to rise from his fiery grave and write prose about it. I want Dore to be on site, illustrating the poetry in motion, and capturing all of the swirling puddles of pounding sweat in one pose. I want to hire a Dionysian priestess to bless the consecration. I want TMZ to cover it. I want the whole world to pass down the story as if it were the long lost archtype that would lead to Humanity's Ascension. I want a choir from the London Philharmonic Orchestra to rise from beneath the fluids covered floorboard (more than just semen at this point. We're talking sweat, blood, vomit, some traces of dmt, and a cartridge of pure consciousness), and start singing Requiem number 2 by Mozart. I want it to be livestreamed, uploaded to the big bang, and simulcasted in all 118 different earth languages, to any being that is capable of thought, not through messy means of wires, cables, and steel beams, but as an image popping up inside of everyone's head, that is tangibly alive.

And you can't imagine all that type of stuff sober folx. Plus, I didn't even want to remember it anyways. I feel like sex is too silly of an act to do sober. It's like you are already violating half of the laws of karma by doing it, so you might as well throw the other half away and live purely for the body. Ahhh, yes, to become nothing but a savage brute again. incapable of thought, doing nothing but propagating life, and the karma attached to my once free spirit. My once daring spirit. My spirit was so brave, dorian said 30 years later, at first it actually wanted to escape from samsara. but then I met my wife at the hotel st regis, we had kids through the process of instant transmutation, and now I can't leave here. I didn't even want to be here in the first place. What made me sign up for life on earth! What the fuck was I thinking! I knew I should've stayed in bed on that day, thousands of years ago.

Ok, what are you yammering about Dorian? These people came for one reason, and one reason only, to be entertained. BUT HOW BOLD OF YOU TO ASSUME THAT PEOPLE READ!

4. OK GOD U WIN

"hey, do you want a beer"?

What the fuck? How the fuck did I get here? I was just at the house, playing footsies with Raegen, and now this evil looking broad is asking me if I want to consume poison? Whoa! What the fuck! Why is everybody looking so evil? Why do they not look like they are here? I mean, they are here, but do they want to be? Do I even want to be here?

Hold on, I feel so anxious....

My anxiety is being chopped off into little rows by twos and threes, and in each successive case, the chopped off anxiety grows into another round of anxiety to be chopped off by even more anxiety to grow into EVEN MORE ANXIETY

GODDAMNNIT WHAT ARE ALL THESE CHATTERING MONKEYS HERE FOR

WHY DO THEY HAVE SO MUCH ENERGY

WHY CAN I SEE IT ALL, FEEL IT ALL, TOUCH IT ALL AT ONCE, FROM EVERY POSSIBLE ANGLE

I know what I need. I JUST NEED SOME TIME TO THINK

LET ME SIT DOWN NEXT TO THIS CHAIR

OH MY GOD

THERE IT IS AGAIN

SAMSARA

THE INFINITE JEST

THE BEAST THAT DEVOURS ITSELF, UNCONSCIOUS OF ITS OWN DOINGS

THE INFINITE JEST

THE INFINITE JEST

ITS ALL A CIRCLe, TH E INFINITE JEST

GOD U WIN! I QUITE. MY MONKEY BRAIN CAN'T HANDLE IT

"hey what's wrong man. u look like fried liver" (said Ronald)

"THE INFINITE JEST", said I, standing up, making no sense but to me, per usual

"IT'S ALL THE INFINITE JEST MAN> DON'T YOU SEE IT?"

"what r u talking about"

"DON'T YOU SEE THE CIRCLE, LAUGHING AT US. TOYING WITH US. CAN"T YOU SEE IT"

at this point, all attempts of putting together a cohesive story would be incongruent to the perspective held from the night. this scene happened right after the touching incident, but right before the water fiasco...……………. let me explain...… in vague......oops I meant in vain

5. THE TOUCHING INCIDENT

The events leading up to the touching incident are worthy to note, only because of their unique peculiarness.

When we first got to the hotel saint regis, things made zero sense for me. In the patio section of the hotel, there was a congregation of about 50 homosapiens. Non of them were wearing any masks, none of them seemed to notice my presence, but one.

The first thing I saw when I walked through the door was an old buddy from highschool, Jane Doe. Now Ms Doe was an attractive lady, so attractive that whatever picture that you have in your head of her will do. I trust your judgement, but she apparently didn't trust mine. We did one of those things where you stare at each other for a long time, and I really didn't want to recognize the dame, realizing at that point how much my math was off, but she naturally started talking to me.

"hey dorian, how are you"

"im good how are you"

"good...…( don't remember here. She said something inane and useless I guess, if I didn't remember)

"This day has been off the chain"

"well what makes you say that"

"the numbers (at this point there was no shot in hell that I'd be able to make decent communication, let alone get laid, but when have you known me to not slip out the first thing that comes between the dome?) the numbers have been talking to me all day!?"

"how? We haven't talked in 2 years and all you want to talk about is the numbers? "FUCK ME""

"I don't know, I can't explaaaaain it, but the numbers have been telling me, the math has been telling me that this day is a crazy day"

"I DON'T GIVE A FUCK, JUST PUNCTURE MY SPLEEN ALREADY"

"I can't explain it. ITS LIKE A DON'T EVEN WANT TO BE HERE RIGHT NOW"

"YOU'RE THERE, IM HERE, WTF R WE DOING?"

"yes, exactly, im here but you're there"

"well.... (she looked at me with candid disgust and derisive amusement) im about to go get a drink"

"alright take it easy"

within the first conversation, I knew tonight was gonna be a tough night. But again, me in my natural state of blind optimism, I thought that my encounter with ms. Jane Doe was another sign from the universe telling me "You're on the right track kid, keep it up!" Such contradictory energies are what makes me the basket case that I am, I am way past acceptance at this point.

After regrouping with Ronald Raegen, we went further down the curtesy aisle where everything was going on. On my left was Curtis Roach, and then and there was when I truly started to freak out. My head started hurting, I started swaying, I got a gimp in my side, and my heart started a drag race with my mind, on the sunset strip of insanity, the shrooms being the dummie hot broad waving the sanguine stained flag.

I didn't talk to him. I couldn't talk to him in these conditions. I wanted to talk to him, but I figured if it could happen one time it could happen again. Luckily, I saw the man who I was actually looking for, MR. DEADPHONE HIMSELF.

He was standing up, surrounded by a couple of beautifully big-boned black women, who, in retrospection, I assumed ran BABEHOUSE, his sponsor. A modern day ganasha with his own well equipped Siddi and Rihddhi, a true superhero. I didn't even give him a chance to breathe, here is the rough sketch of the interaction that my mind decided to hold:

"Hey man"

"What are we doing here"

"What do you mean"

"What the fuck is this freakshow"

"Huh"

"Don't play innocent with me DEADPHONE! You know what I mean"

"What are you saying"

"Like this shouldn't be able to go on this way"

"Huh"

"We just went through a fucking pandemic, and everybody is all laughy and cheery and kumbaya, and no. All of the energies that have been pent up inside (my hands were forming the gay universal reception pose) and being let out right here right now"

"Who let this shit happen"

"Idk man I just DJ'

"GOD BITCH. GOD LET THIS SHIT HAPPEN"

and then

the lord givethes

the lord takethes away

it hit me, not all at once, but the slight undercurrents felt only by the spirit at first.

ye old fiend to any hair-brained scheming, conniving, free-loading, unforgivingly opportunistic, selfish, only for the highs, never the lows, but is as low as they come, delusional bastard like myself..... ye old hunger

Hunger, to any human being, at any moment, for any reason whatsoever, does not feel good. But hunger at 10:00pm on a Friday, pandemic induced, night, while also, forgive me for forgetting this small and minute detail for even a fraction of a second, tripping on 3 GRAMS OF SHROOMS THAT U DIDN'T EVEN KNOW HOW TO USE UNTIL TWO DAYS PRIOR. Well then.... that's when it starts to get scantless.

Hunger is nothing but a death alarm, a ringing bell every-hour-on-the-hour towards our indubitable doomsday, disintegration, nothingness, OH GOD MY BRUISED EGO CAN'T TAKE IT. I CAN'T TAKE THE HUNGER. WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE? WHY IS THE FLOOR TWIRLING AND SWIRLING, COMINGLING MERGING CLUSTERFUCKING INTO EACH OTHER, WHEN ITS SUPPOSED TO BE PURE VIBRANIUM. ITS FUCKING MOVING AND SWIRLING AND REGURGITATING ENERGY INTO EACH OTHER'S FACES LIKE SOME BABY PENGUINS, OR SOME ROCK BOTTOM BROKEN METH HEADS FEEDING EACH OTHER THEIR OWN PISS SO THEY CAN GET A 2 FOR 1 SPECIAL ON ALL THEIR HIGHS, TO SAVE THEIR MONEY SO THAT THEY CAN JUST GET MORE HIGH.

SHIT. GETTING HIGH IS THE NATURE OF THIS THING, ISN'T IT? THIS SHIT IS RAN OFF OF SAFE FUN, CHEAP THRILLS, SHIT U CAN BUY FOR 2.99 WILL KEEP YOU IN YOUR OWN EXISTENCE UNTIL THE END OF TIME. EVERYBODY THAT IS IN THIS BITCH IS HURTLING WITH MADDENING SPEED TOWARDS THE END OF TIME, WITH NO WHIMS OR CONCERNS FOR SPEED, GAS, MILEAGE, OR BODILY HARM, AND HOPING TO GOD THAT NOBODY CASHES IN ON THE CHECK THAT RUNS THIS THING.

HOPING TO GOD THAT HE NEVER QUITS ON US

IF GOD QUIT ON US FOR A FRACTION OF A SECOND, WE'D BE ALL DEAD

JUST LIKE THE ATOMIC BOMB

ALL MUSHROOMS WITH NO PLACE OR FORM TO EXERT THIER ENERGY,

AND THEN

OH THE GUILT

THE BURDEN

THE SHAME

THE SELF INFLICTED RESENTMENT

OF HAVING TO FACE GOD IN HIIS AFTERMATH

AND HE ASKS YOU THIS ONE QUESTION:

"DID YOU DO ALL THAT YOU COULD TO STOP THIS THING?"

"well.... errr.. what do you mean god?'

"BITCH DON'T PLAY WITH ME OR I'LL TREAT YOUR SOUL LIKE HOCUS POCUS"

"EEEEEK"

"NOW, (god's entire countenance and demeanor shifting from mild disgust to HARDCORE PENAL FORCE (penal as in the penal system, as in punishment, not penal as in penis dorian. there's no way you'd use HARDCORE PENAL FORCE twice in one day, with the intentions of harming clitorisises everywhere now do you? Especially in this political climate we're in, where anything that is united gets divided through acknowledging differences to the most extremist of tempos (im talkin to you 240 bpm)). 

TELL ME, DORIAN!!!

DID YOU

OR DID YOU NOT

DO EVERYTHING YOU COULD

TO STOP THIS"

"well, shit uhhhh…. well, uh,....you see.... shit god u made me this way. You made all of us this way. so if there anyone who is to blame here, its you.... oh, oh no, ohh good god almighty, hallabethyname, please don't PLEASE1 PLEASE! PLEASE HAVE MERCY ON MY SOUL!

"HOMEOSTASIS!"

and poof,

just like that i'd be gone

"I got modelo, heinekken, red stipe, Budweiser, coors lite, miller lite, Molson, and root beer"

"you already know what I want babe, stooooop playyyyin," replied Raegen

"ok cunt, what the fuck do you want"

"no need to beeeee so offensive girrrrl. All I wannaaaa do is have some fuuuuuunnnnnnn" Raegen reaching out his course, cold, calculated hands to secure a cheap shot on the bartendress' boobies.

There.

right then and there

I saw it

samsara

karma-loop

self-imposed wedges of distortion

chloroform to the soul's slumber

glistening with glee

laughing in joy with the infinite jester

a little kid, 

genderless priestking

dictated all, with anti-dictational force

gentle natured

laughing at those we]ho]]]fail to be their lessons

laughing at me

the loop

soul cannot escape

the loop

autopilotiiiing into

the loop

soul stuck to one place'

one dimension

multiple forms

the loop

family, friends, loved ones

the loop

video games, writing, music

the loop

sex, drugs, control, abusing

the loop

rape, kill, maim, preach

the loop

slight ambiguities, memories colored by half tones

the loop 

are you saying?

are you saying that really?

are you really saying that I have to start anew, and leave everything behind, and be open, and have faith

in this green new world? That im' supposed to take the deep dive into the cosmos and see what happens?

don't expect anything, don't want or need anything, don't prove anything, just see what happens?

"Fun is earned bitch!" said the spunky bartender as her hands descended with maximum velocity, beer in fist, down upon the bar counter, causing the entire bottle of bud light to obliterate, nearly slicing my jugular in half, and leaving a young professional permanently blind in one eye.

"Like calm the fuck down. Nobody wants to crack that clit outta retirement aaaaaaanyways! Ayo Dorian, what do you want?"

"HOLY GOD SHIT JESUS YOU FUCKING SWINE CAN'T YOU SEE IM FUCKING TALKIN TO GOD HERE!"

"all I wanna know is what you want to drink. you made me come here in my joggers to get yelled at? huh man?"

"no..... you're uhghrg right krrrrrrghr. my bad"

Ronalds voice of reason always shined through like pure ether from the extracts of Dominican cocaina.

"mmmm….ok.... what are the options"

just before the waitress started doing her dumbass job by satisfying my ego by reeling off the options, CAPTAIN SAVE-A-HOE, ie Raegen, had to get their two sense in

"well.. we've got modelo, bud, hein"

"I'm tired of hearing this dumb bitches mouth. Just pick your favorite beer and grow up already you kunt"

"BUT RAERAE, I just had a VERY UNFAVORABLE TALKING TO with god, i'm a saggitarian, I WAS BORN with COmmittmMEnnnt issssssuuuuues, and I NEED MY FUCKIN OPTIONS"

At this point' I was pretty balls deep into the trip, and there was no getting out of it unscathed. So I decided to let the night devolve into some blatant form of childish self(ish)-expression, a temper tantrum if you will. I didn't want anything but to get the hell out of there with at least a sliver of the same sanity that I had when I walked into the place. But, unlike the safe space where I am conjuring up this vaguely unknown memory, I had no time for space, silence, reflection, or mercy.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP AND ORDER A DRINK"
"YOU KNOW WHAT? FINE! FUCK YOU, I'LL TAKE SOME WATER!"

arms crossed, head turned like all of the tv programming that has been subconsciously sitting in my mind, waiting for its right day, its right space, its right hour, to rise from the deaths of obsoleteness and shine brighter than any quasar known to man. Lucifer himself.....emitted his own light....didn't he?

"Calm down you too, we're here to celebrate, not celeHATE!" 

Ahh Ronald, the neutral ground you walk on is so beautiful. I'd hope to one day tread where your feet lay, but after this shroom trip, I don't think that reality could exist in the most wild of my shroom-tampered imagination.

His words were so infalliably weak, that they disarmed me.

"You're right man. I CAME HERE TO GET LAID!!!!"

"Not wearing a shirt like that"

\"IM TIRED OF YOUR SHIT RAEGEN". "WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR SHIRT EVEN MADE OF"

hey siri, can you queue up the remainder of the touching incident into my brain? My mind is trying so hard to repress it, that it is unrepressable, but I do not want to admit the facts: what occurred between me and Raegen that night was the most brutal assault on personal boundaries since god ripped the ribs out of man.

I started feeling Raegen's shirt, wondering what it was made out of. It seemed as if it was a weird mix of petroleum, ether, cobalt, and pure black tar heroine from the backrooms of the best restaurants in Chinatown New York. Or maybe that was my distorted, shroom induced, paranoia kicking in.

but long story short, it was ugly 

"Hey man, I Ching says no touchy!"

"No touchy?" "No touchy?" "NO TOUCHY!" BITCH, I AM GOD. I MADE YOU. HOW DARE THE CREATION TRY TO OVER TAKE THE CREATOR!" "I'LL SHOW YOU WHAT'S GOOD FOR"

now, if up at this point, you as the reader were turning, or are already turned skeptical, towards whether or not a MR. DORIAN GABRIEL TURNER, really took three grams of shrooms, really met with two other people at the hotel st regis, really vascillated between reality and crisises of existentiality, whether or not these talks were real, then need not to look any further than exhibit A, your HONOR

I have never uttered, written, spoke, or read of the phrase "I'LL SHOW YOU WHAT'S GOOD FOR", ever, in my life. I have only heard it once, the exact memories of the detail being shoved into the corner of some taboo psychical corner of my mind, erecting a shadow pillar, sucking on my energy field for both sustenance, and pleasure.

I know it was European, I know it was vaudevillian. Oh wait, no that's not right. If it was vaudevillianian, then I wouldn't have HEARD it, for they are mostly stories told through movements, absurd gestures, and music....

hmm, my next best guess is the german actors who played masters of speakeasies, in their first big breaks into American audiences, through American gangsters. yeah, some rough chthonic sketch comes into my head of some bloatedly tall man, bowler hat plaid suit, just barely cutting edge 1920's fashion, coming off the vicegrip of American culture that was the 19th century, saying "I'll SHOW YOU WHAT'S GOOD FOR!"

Immediately, I got up from my stool, stared at sam while walking backwards, and started rushing at him like a vaudeville villain, arms waving brazenly and whimsically, foaming at the mouth, half-chanting-half-screeming " NO TOUCHY, NO TOUCHY, NO TOUCHY, NO TOUCHY"

I wasn't necessarily punching or striking Raegen, your honor, I was just grappling him aggressively. Making sure that he couldn't leave my grasp. I mean, he looked so sexy, and I was a little horny, and I was off 3 grams of a schedule XXX substance, but you know what, we all make mistakes your honor, I mean look at you! Your still making mistakes pal! You done let me be my own lawyer! Now, as the power abided to me by the state of Alberquerque New Zealand, I GRANT MYSELF IMPERVIOSITY FROM ALL LEGAL STRUCTURES OF THIS UNIVERSE, AND FULL PENAL IMMUNITY THROUGHOUT ALL OF SPACE, TIME, AND DIMENSIONS. MY TWELTH DIMESIONAL PLATINUM SHIELD KNOWS NO LIMITS. MY TWELTH DIMENSIONAL PLATINUM SHIELD KNOWS NO BOUNDS.

I rest my case your honor.

I rest my case, your honor.

Those words were flashing like cheap redlight district neon porn adverts from Tokyo, silly fonts, all across my inner eye, as Raegen started strangling me.

He didn't stop

"HOMEOSTASIS"

he wouldn't stop, if it wasn't for my here, Ronald.

here is how the scene played out:

"NO TOUCHY NO TOUCHY NO TOU>.AAAAEGRG/hrg/k/nbu/"

" I WANNA GOUGE YOUR EYES OUT"

"SECURITY!!!!"
'ayo, not cool man."

luckily, the hotel st regis had 0 security, and we were able to settle matters in a settlement outside of court.

6. WATER...….A FATAL MISCALCULATION.

It took me and Sam thirty minutes to cool off from the touchy incident, and the only common ground we could agree on was that we still needed something to drink.

"You FUCKERS again!"

"ayo babe relax.... give Raegen a bud, and all I want is a water" "You want anything Ronald"

As I turned to Ronald, my chair swivoting at a even-keeled velocity, a light breeze on a sunday morning type deal, I saw not Ronald, but God.

I saw god sipping a bud in his most coolest candor, without any strain or tension, at ease young one, don't use any more force than necessary. I saw THE TRUE STRENGTH OF THIS WORLD, gentleness, and it made me want to calm down, ignore the hyenas nipping at my feet, and just make sense for a little while.

So I did. I ended up getting the bartendress name, Eve. She had on braces, a pug-like face, and was at the most 5'4". The best part was her braces, they made it seem like this whole place was the laughingstock of modern civilization. She had on an iron maiden shirt that acted like a mini-dress, and either shorts with silked out jet-black leggings, or a mini-skirt with silked out jet-black leggings, my memory fails me. Her face reminded me of a doll, a lamp, a doorbell, or the end of the flush mechanism for a toilet seat, very slothlike. She had a visage of nobility, the youngest princess in the family, oh let me JUST PINCH THOSE CHEEKS ONE MORE TIME. I WANNA LICK THE STEAK OUTTA YOUR BRACES BABY! OHHH, JUST LET ME LIKE YOUR ARMPITS IN PEACE. BEFORE WE GO, I GOTTA TAKE A CHUNK OUTTA YA SHOULDA JUST TO WATCH PERFECTION DECAY IN A SEMEN PRESERVED JAR!

of course I couldn't tell her these things. Why do you think I am so silent sometimes? These type of thoughts come crashing through the front door, shoulders tossed maddeningly up and down from its stark-raving breathing, it pauses for a second, and then turns his head left, staring me down from my side-profiled perspective of it, and I just have to submit myself to it and let the thought do what it does, or I say "Enough of the silly talk, YOU CAN ACTUALLY DO THESE THINGS!"

"here's your water, cunt!"

"Thanks eve, you really know how to hold a boy down"

"shut the fuck up please, ayo! cunt number 2, here's your beer!"

"what did that whore say?" said raegen, staring at me with menacing intent

"Raegen, imma need you to....*ahem*…. JUST GROW THE FUCK UP ALREADY AND GET YOUR BEER."

"oh fuck off maaaaan. your so childish and petty"

"Sounds like the perfect couple of cunts. A match made in CUNT HEAVEN"

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAH"

"BLARGHFHGRUHGEIGHFHGEIG"

just then, Eve's comments were so profoundly felt upon Raegen's ego, that total absolute cognitive dissonance occurred, leaving a vibration oscillating inside of his body at such a low frequency, that it caused him to start throwing up, both haphazardly, and uncontrollably, everywhere.

meanwhile, even though my friend was throwing up enough fluids to pass as a bootleg stomach pump for a big black bitch named Laquisha, I, in my usual state of total ego-centricity, was totally ignoring him. I had made a fatal miscalculation....I drank water, and tripped on three grams of shrooms, on an empty stomach

immediately, as soon as I sipped one sip of the loving potential, I knew that all I needed in this world was a solid meal. Nothing else mattered. Not my virginity, not my image, not Ronald shouting at me to help Raegen get off the floor, no, nothing else mattered

In that moment, I felt how fragile I really was, and it did not feel good.

I had did everything I needed to do, expect make sure that I was ok