the next two remasters (GOREGAZE and BLUE YOLK) are LIVE from THE PLACE (PREVIEWS INSIDE)
RAQUEL YATHALT: after i was released from a Florida prison after a comically botched home invasion attempt that i will elaborate on at a later date, i was soon contacted by Perpetually Consuming Passions, a near-top level producer of fetish pornography, founded by Aevea Within. i knew her name and face (and silver hair) from no less than 13 of the men i have been acquainted with over the years, and although porn held little to no interest to me, i had to admit that i found both her and work not at all lacking in aesthetic stimulation, particularly Rampage Period and anything featuring a coupling of Bellamy Woodland and Miski Kanna.
it was the former who contacted me; the star of Rampage Period himself; the sweet-faced pleasantry of a man who could effortlessly slip into the role of seething libidinal maniac with startling alarm. Woodland was looking to branch out into directing, and he had pitched an idea to Within called DetrituX. the hook of DetrituX was that the film would feature professional porn actors in scenes with recently released violent offenders, including domestic abusers and serial rapists.
my apprehensions came down solely to my physical appearance. i had learned to live with the scabby birthmarks that turned my body into a roadmap of wound encrusted vitiligo, but i wasn't incarcerated long enough to relieve myself of the accumulated pudge that stubbornly remained lodged within my midriff region. Woodland assured me whatever physical maladies i might consider a telegenic handicap would only serve to enhance the authenticity of the production, and that he was more interested in exploring the dichotomy between seasoned performers and neglected civilians.
i admired the minimalism of Woodland's intentions; no costuming, the bare minimum of make-up, no escalating grotesquerie that has come to typify the shallow slush of titles flooding the "gonzo" market; just seeing where matter-of-fact sexual presentation takes the performers and the consumers.
evidently, the final result left many viewers disappointed, and Perpetually Consuming Passions opted out of making DetrituX a regular series ala Cratered Patients and Willowing Flesh Crimes.
something did come out of this experience; knowledge of name on the rise in the underside which i had found myself traversing;
VALISE ROTPULE
as he has done when inclined to enter the mock-snuff realities of the whispered internets, where he often materializes as a hypnagogic wraith of flickering binary code, KIRITSIS astral projects his leering ectoplasmic essence into a large circular room that resembles the bayport of a pulp villain's deep space headquarters. papering the circumference of the wall is an unspooled mural; a micro-detailed acrylic depiction of a swirling galaxy comprised of blood, guts, gore, and bones; stars of teeth, moons shaped like skulls, corpuscles in an asteroid belt, planets of brains ringed with offal, arterial cosmic detritus revolving around an eyeball sun.
there is a throne in the east corner of the room. a woman is slumped in the seat, right leg draped over the arm of the throne. she has been poured inside a violet catsuit, sleeveless so she can display the meticulously carved sinew of her strong arms. the neckline of the rubbered body sheath has been cut to resemble the silhouette of an octopus, cleavage beading against a cephalopod window. her silver hair frames her face in a hood of wild frizz, a face whose eyes are hidden behind a pair of mirrored sunglasses... the kind worn by motorcycle cops... and whose mouth is covered by what looks to be a SARS mask quilted from barcodes.
she has unzipped the crotch of her catsuit, letting her meaty cunt breathe. spreading the bloated labial maw, lips that look to have been caught between a car door and pulled, her vaginal cavity is visibly lined with weeping suction cups, which adhere themselves to the palm-gloved fingers as she brainds the venereal foam across the protrusive knuckles.
in the center of the room there is a triple-wide dissecting table on a rotating scissor trestle. a stocky woman, body covered in long textured birthmarks, is on her knees, spinning her drool around the width of a vascular strap-on that appears to be leathered in pulled white jerky. laying down in front of her is what could only be described as a living meat doll; thirstily squirming and vacuumed tight inside a patchwork skin coat that has been tattooed and scarified with images and texts whose arcane origins have long since been abandoned by the bullet-train-borings of time. only four letters are recognizable among any known alphabets; A, M, R, and U.
an unanticipated surge of percussive mental energy blast-fades KIRITSIS back to his room before his glitching spectral form can bear witness to the climatic epiphany of this multiversal shock load, where he resumes his regretful corporeal stasis with a disappointment that verges on apocalyptic pessimism.
THE PLACE
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