virtually on the verge of vomiting

virtually on the verge of vomiting, i push myself yet again, DJ's Sisma and Vekta driving me hard atop the range of the sliding decibel control, spinning their seduction, averting hallucination, inducing hallucination--for how else can i still be on this endlessly-moving carpet of vulcanized rubber passing under my beaten you-know-whats, at an indicated 8 miles-per-hour.


this, after having subjected myself to implements of torture painted an airy, aseptic white, corners coronated by stainless steel to prevent the corrosion-inducing sweat and tears shed during these BDSM sessions, while tied to ligatures of 1/4 inch 7 x 19 MIL-DTL-83420M cables terminated by 10-pound chunks of recycled slag, shaped ingot-like, potential energy tortuously converted to kinetic--energy is neither destroyed nor created (or is it mass?--although i feel as if my mass has been destroyed, mutilated...)


stop i do not. i keep control, avert nausea, meet and greet Limit, my old camarada, who like i has changed, become more inscrutable, prone to abrupt shifts in presence, mind, disposition.


"adios, tia. me voy, dejo tu abu-grhahib, tu house of pain, tu facility of torture, tu medieval dungeon, el discretely-mail-ordered-from-back-page-advert-in-almanac-format-photo-journal-of-alternative-sexually-arousing-practices-implement-of-pleasure-equipped suburban basement you habitate; i am in desperate need of a carbohydrate bolus."


as i make my way up the stairs, i turn, look down, weakly smile. i know, Limit knows, i will return. and i so wish she has her friend Enlightenment over for an as-as-always-too-brief visit.




virtva llyin the verg aknabac firnate ogiti hiyrbak if akterbauve

it's about life, and the push to death...

it's about reverence to the clawing of high priestess energy, as she demands tribute for her life-imbuing presence.

it's about acceptance of the loving chokehold of sorceress pain, search for respite from her merciless abandon.

it's about total devotion to reverend sister exhaustion, complete submission to the lashings of her breathless whip.

it's about humility, begging at the feet of reverend mother hunger, as she teasingly toys with my famished consciousness.

it's about discipline, enduring enchantress delirium's gentle wrath as she withdraws my fix of H, O, Na, K with a series of strokes to the delete key of life.

it's about my search for the elusive light that guides and inflames, frustrates, and dismays…for she toys with me, knows i will never reach her--i am no Buddha, Bodhisattva, or otherwise…i am not worthy despite the hopeless righteousness of my quest.

how far - how fast - how soon

MDOC invited me during our last session to return sooner rather than later: invite me!

i was the one doing the inviting up to this time! or was i? i giggled when she said this. sagaciously, she asked, “and, how does that make you feel?”? i said "i find it amusing, simply.” later, i overheard her instructions to the receptionist: being booked, she actually created an appointment time just for me. how does that make me feel?

it is good, i hear, read. everyone says: physical fitness is good.

what should i learn? to turn my eyes away from my park? my trail? i push. deprivation, self control, stoicism. it is good. is it enough? can i push myself beyond the pain? can i outrun the pain? when will it not be? when will i push to see how far i can push...driving? drinking...? i push at what i enjoy pushing. when will i push at what i do not?

i think of death, not suicide. fine line? i think so.

i close the garage door, and i think how long can i run the car before the CO overwhelms me? i think of the sensory reaction to death, the smell as you die, maybe metallic like dried blood, the sound of your last breath, amplified like a train entering a tunnel.

i listen to music. my reaction? outside the norm.

the solution? what is the solution? never to listen to music? learn to recognize when music drops me over the abyss of lows, flings me into the pit of the mixed, or shoots me into an ionospheric high? is this reasonable? is this life?

the contrary virtues: abstinence and i

abstinence, i do not practice: it happens;
it is not abstinence, as much as it is hunger.
interesting state, bearable, but gnawing, trying, yet unintended.
it is here, it is now. it chews and subdues.
i should eat. i have food. i would disturb, intrude.
i reflect in this cavitating stupor; i relax in this emptiness.

today i subsisted on 700 kilocalories, of which 279, i expended during my midday retreat.
i feel myself full of life, while on the verge of loosing consciousness.
i sense freedom of thought and movement.
i experience the pain of my brain under hypoglycemic stress.
i become aware of thresholds; i learn of artificial limits.

it feels good. why change what feels good?
i am warding off gluttony. i am virtuous.
deadly sin, gluttony, i vanquish thee.
i save myself, i redeem myself.
from what? irrelevant.