The Failure of Pleasure

The last few days have felt like one really long night. I’m really please we click as well as we do, what can possibly be more fun than sex, drugs, violence, death and religion. Richard wants to make art about all those things, and there’s nothing more I would love doing. I’ve no idea what we’d do. But it would be something so completely outrageous (not because it will REALLY be outrageous, but rather because it’s going to be born out of a conservative country) but spot on true that people will have to sit up and notice.

I don’t know what he wants to do. But I’d like to make up something about lesbian schools girls. It sounds kinda boring actually, but it can be rather funny if I didn’t lie and told it like it was (for me) and is (for Tori). We’ll see. I’ve already written a short story about it and sent it in for some contest sometime back, but it’s validated by the National Arts Council, so I seriously doubt they’d think it warrants the several thousand dollars in cash prize. Although I think it’ll definitely be more interesting then any story without the 5 necessary ingredients for an entertaining read. T

You see, that’s the problem with art in Singapore. It’s just too bloody bland. Art is about being human, and the most entertaining movies/news/novels inevitably have all those things in them. In Singapore, everything’s whittled down to a meager few un-provocative, kid-safe bullshit. Come on, kids can handle all of that. I thought about being tortured all the time by religious sentinel when I was a child (most times, they threw me into an oven and baked me alive. That was the most horrendous torture method I could think of then. My imagination has gotten more sophisticated now.)

I’d been wondering why Ethan and I have the most mundane, boring shit ass conversations over the phone, and it hit me while I was talking to him on Skype and stoning in front of my computer. We never talk about sex. I talk to him about religion, but he’s not really into it, so I’ve already heard nearly all of his arguments, and death is only fun to talk about with someone that’s actually beside you. Because it’s more bizarre to say things like, ‘if we were to die together, how would we do it.’ When you can still hear the person breathing, and touch his skin and fuck his dick. A voice on the telephone just isn’t real enough to make the thought as exciting.

If I were to die with anyone together, I’d throw ourselves into a lake from a cliff, with rocks tied to our ankles. You see, it’s different when you’re dying with someone and when you’re dying alone. Dying alone is probably going to be really boring, and possibly kinda painful, with nothing to take your mind of it. Dying together is quite tragically romantic, and it gives a whole new meaning to, ‘till death do us part’. Because you’ll really have maximized your living time with that person. Of course this is all from a very fictionalized point of view from someone that has no inclination towards suicide. But it would make a cool film, nonetheless.

Richard told him I made him think of Shirley Manson (the Garbage Lead) and I thought that was kinda cool. I added it to my list of what other people have thought I made them think about. The other two most memorable were Natalie Portman’s more dysfunctional roles (i.e. when she’s not Padmé) and Europe back in the early 90’s. It was strange, being told that.

It’s so strange, spending all this time with him. It feels so normal it’s great. The past few months have been all about flying cross continent and having Chris pick me up at an airport, or traveling around SEA with Ethan, or meeting Élan at pubs where we wouldn’t really talk about anything but get really wasted and have a lot of weird sex. R and I have a lot of weird sex I suppose. Considering the number of times I’ve had sex with him, proportionally, it’s quite a-lot. And I plan to have more than a-lot.

He actually picks me up, does basically whatever I want to do (mostly drink, eat chocolate and schroomp). And told me a couple of nights ago that when I moved (because now I’m staying in a sort of very convenient location for me to meet him) he’d promised he’d come and get me.

It’s all very funny. I’m very fond of him, and we really click, and I love the sex (it’s strange, but I normally have a serious problem reaching orgasm without a vibrator. And with him, I don’t. In short, I’m really having the best sex I’d ever had). But I don’t feel like I need to express it in any form, like how I did with Martine or Ethan or any of those other people I had thought I’d love at some point in time.

You know. I feel like we just really click. And he treats me very well. He doesn’t do much exactly, because I’m not the sort of person that requires much –I will take it when it’s offered, but I can just as well chill out to a DVD at home as I can go to some fancy pants restaurant and then to watch Swan Lake after. Richard said something really strange this morning. It was about taking a date to a restaurant. How much fun could that possibly be? You barely know the person, and she’s already making you watch her eat. (‘Might as well watch each other taking a shit while your at it’) I never quite saw it that way, but then again, I’m very passionate about good food.

I really enjoy hanging out with him.

I enjoy it so much I’m scared one day I won’t enjoy it anymore. And that will kinda suck. Because pleasures are everywhere to be found, it’s only our fault that we aren’t experiencing as much of it as we possibly can.

And It’s scary. So scary.

xoxox