Excerpt from:
The SCIAMATROX Manuscript By Enki Xenobis Kuriosh

 

"Warder. Warder. Quickly man! Is this a time to wait?"
--A.E. Aveloun

Enter into a plain white room and the smell of disinfectant. Enter.. to plain white tile floor functional, institutional. No grace in these angles, no equation to please the eye. Enter a room with straight back chair, flash to a naked boy arms and legs tied in efficient knots. With chin on chest there is a rise and fall of breath. Visualize, ... silence and exaltation. ... In then out... .In then out..... Enter closed eyes to an arctic waste land of blizzard white. The howling blast of a trillion thoughts in a vast and deafening assault. Distant voices speaking in a hallway hospital echo dialect.

" hmmmmm ..yessss...the sex drive you see gentlemen is not a system in its self but rather, it is the meshing of several different systems.. You see, approximately 10% biological 20%, physiological, 70% psychosexual. You see gentlemen, that the primary sex organ is the mind. Yes gentlemen. Sex is a sensory act ritual.

"Excuse me doctor for the interruption the patient is housed here in room number 93." "Hmmm ..Yes I see. Very good, let us examine the patient. They entered the room and stood behind the young man bound to the chair. His vulnerability plain and calculated as the intended chill of the room.

" Lieutenant, will you please blindfold him."

.... Sudden black cloth blast of eyeball pressure visions; like I used to do when I was a child. His cold thin hands on my testicles, lifting them weighing them. , I could almost see his face, I could almost feel for him, a man of knowledge, a man of breeding, his silk suit brushed my legs, his breath cool on my stomach."

"hmmm yes. Ah.........lieutenant, will you please leave the room and return when I call for you. I believe a physical examination is in order.

Silent reluctance and a subtext of tension."

"Well sir, are you sure? He is... well I mean , I could help you sir"

Yes lieutenant, thank you, but I'm sure I will be fine, just be back in two hours and take care of things till then for me will you?"

"...yes sir, very good sir."

The door slams and locks the dead bolt, receding rhythm of foot steps like distant gun shots.

"Now my boy, we can begin ..."

Sudden, like dessert rain, a sharp pin prick in my thigh. Then a rush of hot metal and bloody torrents of blackness in silky waves...are those birds I see? Yes, birds and grass. I'm flat on my back, corn rises up around us in all directions only the sky brutal in its frankness my knees are pushed up to my chine, a boy with blond hair is fucking me, he grunts squeezing my hips, pumping and squirting. Pumping and squirting, green on blue featureless flat blank sky, fuck slow and sticky globs of white lust and clouds ...I look at my hand, a strange extension. A field of vision, a scope of concern, my own private zone of impression. These fingers flex and reach for the object of attention. The duel coin of circumstance, flipped careless toss of heads or tails the distance seems to be a buzz, like flies come closer still, birth machines approaching mountains of flies bringing madness and roaring fire. I cry out "berashith!" ... The old one, his banner of bleached bone and tanned human skin. the roar of immense war machines powered by the heat of freshly spilled blood. Thunder pounds the land with war. The burning cities light the brooding night. I have seen it all come down. So much burning leaves. The endless seething of golachab. This screen flipped round and round this broken film spool cut in twain, melting to a blank white slit receding into the future, receding into the arctic waste of white noise. Enter blue eye's of cool ice and stone, the lieutenant his eyes, he sits, he watches, eyes move from monitor to monitor, but always, inevitably return to monitor number 7 with Its fuzzy blue and black vision of the freak in room number 11. The lieutenant trembled, closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. He opened his eyes and stared at the clock. Minutes had blossomed into hours. He had been thinking one single thought. One thought in crimson, poly tone," do it ... go to him." Encased in golden slow dream like sticky, he stood. His bulging fly pointing the way not unlike the keel of a ship cutting the murky unfathomable waters that is our mind. Now before him is a door marked 11. And in his left hand is a key and behind the locked door lies initiation, accessible only to him. The door, the lock, the key, all open to destiny; shicksalsrad. he moves inside and shuts the door behind him,

"you have come alone."

"What's your name?"

"We do not need names here."

"Can I undress you? Those cloths are an insult to your flesh."

"Hurry please-, I have come to you now quickly come to me." Face to face they embrace, their touch like fire and ice, desire and fear, reality crumbles in the face of their madness, their brilliant light dissolves walls and doors and god is shamed, their heat, their ebbing slow and cautious hands.

"I touched, I caress milk flesh and heat of lived lust. Fingers trickle down the burning shaft, down towards the hot ring of molten need, burns my finger, burns my mind. The slimy hot ass grips me and begs for my attention. I want to taste this spice, molten honey on the tongue-- my tongue. The taste of his sex, drunk and dizzy like vodka's spell. I must, the blue god decrees, and lays his vast hand on my shoulder. "This is stronger than the both of you. You become more than the sum of your actions." I grab his hips and slide down into his mind and am lost forever more. Through the rings of fire and knives my cock grows vast and fills the empty space. I am squeezed and milked like ripe fruit; my juice is sucked from me. I watch his naked cock come, globs of heavy, thick ropy spurts. Now I am both master and slave to this subtle game of lust. I am possessed and I possess. This sex is ours, but to whom do we belong... I hear the voice, close my eyes and am utterly consumed by the vision..."

The good doctor's eyes inspect the vision displayed in blue luminous monitor, the events now transpiring in the room marked number 11. Two bodies diametrically opposed, folding and unfolding in animal lust, each encasing the other. Twining, twisting tension then liquid glass. He raises his long hands to his mouth and weeps. An indefinable loss, an inexplicable birth, in blue neon digitalization, Uroburos, concentric twisting devouring, begetting. His old body quivers, every dormant nerve. Suddenly alive and crawling, the slow rhythmic spasms of primordial orgasm. The raw grind of desire's rudimentary foundation. A subsonic biological throb played on the skin of every breathing, pulsing, jerking creature. The good doctor drops to his knees. Hot writhing sperm fills his pants, its eruption painful and sudden as flood in a barren desert; a flood in his desiccated mind. The good doctor, in infinite fractal duplication, new characters, new combinations. A priest, an assassin, a politician. A woman in chains and darkness. A man on fire from within. A jungle of fleshy leaves, two boys fuck. One thin, the other dark and wolf like, panting with dirt and blood in their mouths.

They cry out, slamming their bodies together like avalanches of fire. Howler monkeys scream from treetops, birds of blue and green iridescent take flight into the simmering red twilight. The slow, slow spinning path of a glass beaker impacting with white tile, knocked to the floor, smashing to glittering shards. Two boys in lab drag; one boy holds the other in his lap against the wall driving his cock into the other's ass; he groans and bites into the other's shoulder raising dark thick blood. A blinding flash rips the scene apart into fragments of shimmering dust floating across a ray of sunshine cutting an old Victorian room. The wood floor is littered with books and old fading photos of strange sex scenes and religious rites. White silence and the scream of snow and blizzard winds, an Arctic wasteland of frozen things.

 

©2003 Rodney Collins - Contributor's Bio