rage


Outside rain falls incessantly. From the door leading to our balcony, I could see the sky turn from gray to almost ash white as the weather shifts from a mild hypnotic drizzle to full-on rain. I sit inside raging. I've been angry for several days now. Angry and kind of sad. No reason whatsoever. I just do. Tiny inconveniences trigger a set of ugly violent thoughts. I try to keep positive but in my experience that has never helped me. I light a cigarette and think of things to do. Kahit ano wag lang trabaho. I'm in no mood to work right now. So I turn on my notebook and search for something to read. Then I remember a novel I downloaded a few months ago. You know how sometimes you have to be in a certain frame of mind to appreciate things like watching porn or a truly dark Ingmar Bergman film (not that I understand him because I certainly don't). Like how you have to be a little hot and bothered to truly appreciate a good blow job scene or a gang bang sequence or how you have to be sincerely suicidal to be able to sit through a black and white Swedish arthouse film about existential dread. Since I am angry, sad, and well, yes, as usual, what with the rain and all the idle time that I have, a bit horny, I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to read Choke. Not exactly a fan of Chuck Palahniuk but he'll do for now. In fact I have read a few chapters and yes I'm already enjoying it. How can I not enjoy it? Here's a sample:

"You put twenty sexaholics around a table, night after night, and don't be surprised.

Plus the sexaholic recovery books they sell here, it's every way you always wanted to get laid but didn't know how. Of course, all this is to help you realize you're a sex junkie. It's delivered in a kind of "if you do any of the following things, you may be an al-coholic" checklist. Their helpful hints include:

Do you cut the lining out of your bathing suit so your genitals show through?
Do you leave your fly or blouse open and pretend to hold conversations in glass telephone booths, standing so your clothes gap open with no underwear inside?
Do you jog without a bra or athletic supporter in order to attract sexual partners?
My answer to all the above is, Well, I do now!

Plus, being a pervert here is not your fault. Compulsive sexual behavior is not about always getting your dick sucked. It's a disease. It's a physical addiction just waiting for the Diagnostic Statistical Manual to give it a code of its own so treatment can be billed to medical insurance.
The story is even Bill Wilson, a founder of Alcoholics Anonymous, couldn't overcome the sex monkey on his back, and spent his sober life cheating on his wife and filled with guilt.

The story is that sex addicts become dependent on a body chemistry created by constant sex. Orgasms flood the body with endorphins that kill pain and tranquilize you. Sex addicts are really addicted to the endorphins, not the sex. Sex addicts have lower natural levels of monoamine oxidase. Sex addicts really crave the peptide phenylethylamine that might be triggered by danger, by infatuation, by risk and fear.

For a sex addict, your tits, your dick, your clit or tongue or asshole is a shot of heroin, always there, always ready to use. Nico and I love each other as much as any junkie loves his fix."

Lovely, isn't it? Now, back to my reading.

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