When it comes to going on Hedonic Holiday, nothing can stop them, they descend south like a bunch of locusts and consume everything in sight...I always prefer the end of August beginning September period - when the sun is already hitting lower, and where there is a gentle melancholia of excesses long past swirling in the air: atmospheres of broken loves, jaded sex and wasted looks dense up the sandy streets and brightly beaches...Not that I would know anything about beaches or lowering or otherwise assembled sunshine, both of which I hate in equal measure. For me, the only sun is the moon and the only light is the night. It’s after all only by moonshine that one has hopes of encountering something more enticing than array of sun fried lobsters...Although I wasn’t quite expecting this one...
Stumbling back through a Van Gothian vortex night, high and low on illegal non-equilibrium dynamics, I encountered something that did not fit. No surprise there, one might say, “my” mind-object relation had been blasted away long time ago. I was swirling with empathic ecstasies and joyful space-temporal distortions that even Henri Bergson could not speculate up...in short, my space-time was definitely out-of-joint, as Gilles Deleuze would say, off its hinges and into the pure empty form of time...
So how come this apparition out of the paradoxia of temporal distortions was not fitting? : give me hallucinations of alien beasts copulating with unconceivable forms, spatial-temporal speeds of infinite precision, vertigo abysses within abysses, eternity in an instant, falling infinity, Van Goth’s spirals of vivid colors, abstractions and patterns of impossible geometries, OK, but a Female Goth in the South of France, NO.... that is really and really impossible with or without drugs. In London Camden or Paris Montmartre one would expect, from time to time, to encounter dark angels stumbling out from their clubbing coffins...For some unknown reason I started to completely lose it, ego loss went even further; bad trip on the horizon, anxiety/panic attack coming its way…all figures, real or hallucinated, started to horrifically morph into reptile human assemblage: shake eyes, reptile hair of flowing medusa shakes, nails of knives... knowing from experience, that when the chemistry starts its devouring dance from within, one needs to let go even further, to let go of the infinitesimal shards of control one still has left…
Paradoxically as it may sound, one needs to lose control even further in order not obliterate into a chaos-insanity of no return...sure enough, nightmare morphed into pure heaven...
Everything was swirling around me, except for the eye of the storm: a pure white lusciousness of marble light rightly pierced in all the right orifices, and hellishly cute...no sunshine has ever graced this otherworldly creature...definitely one of Lucifer’s Angels stranded on the highway to Hell. It seems the road to hell passes by sunny France. I must admit Lucifer has taste; his daughters have that impossible quality of: virginal vixens: Maria Magdalena (medieval style) and Britney Spears (Disney-porn style) all in one...She could not have been more than sixteen - even in my altered states the female number is unmistakable - …black hair with streaks of violet-red gushes of colour, a waterfall of hair in slow motion framed a face made of marble with flaming black lips and feline slits for eyes: black pools reflecting stardust universes...She was sitting cross legged on the edge of some broken down wall, one of her black lacquered sandals dangerously dangling off one of her toes...
I said something but it came out garbled, she garbled something back sounded like a cross between Spanish and German...well, all cognition lost, I tried intuition instead, that didn’t work either... so fuck, lets just jump into it...it did not take long to understand the gestures of erotic invitation....couldn’t help thinking even in my hyper-hallucinogenic state that she was asking/fucking for money...the reality principle is hard to destroy...I thought Hell was free. Who knows what really happened then...one thing for sure is that in my altered states, all social inhibitions, neurosis, and other closed systems had been dissolved for good...pierced kisses in all the right places, devouring tongues that could not help but to feed of each other…a ravenous lust beyond human concern kaleidoscoped the night into a formless shattering. Got sucked dry by a luscious vortex…sweet sixteen turns sixty nine…
Since no plastic was inserted between me and this otherworldly creature, maybe, just maybe…an angel of death? Woke up to a non-surprise; the money in my wallet was missing…how kind of her to put my divested wallet backkk… nicely inserted in my jacket. Who knows maybe she had some kind of rolling stones sympathy for me...a sympathy from the Devil...the rolling chorus...you could almost hear it in the stillness of the rising orange tinged dawn... another day...another aborted quest...
