“A Session of Candid and Sincere Introspection”

“Hey there. Make yourselves comfortable and sit around me–yeah, a semi circle will do fine. I’m sure most of you are curious as to why you’re here and you, my beautiful friends, colleagues and acquaintances, deserve an answer: I’ve gathered you here to share a piece of my soul with you. To peel away the layers of my pain, my insecurities, my reservations and plunge into the essence of my very existence.

This space is sacred, and bullshit will neither be tolerated nor served at my table.

So, let’s stop fondling the balls and and start sucking. (This is a new idiomatic expression I’ve invented, so feel free to adopt it and make it your own.) This is no ordinary penis I’m sucking. mind you. No, this penis stands exulted, glistening and godly. In fact, it deserves nothing less than a capital ‘P,’ for it is the Penis of Truth. The Penis of Life. The Penis of Wisdom. I hope that you’ve inferred from all this capitalization of random nouns that what I’m about to share with you is a glorious morsel of this –for lack of a better word–PHALLIC truth. These words mark the alpha of my rebirth.

I’m sure that all of you, my lovely audience, can admit that I’m somewhat of an oddity. Yeah, so I get a little rowdy and horny when I’m drunk, I enjoy violently punching innocent people in the testicles and yes, I practice yoga so that I may someday use my flexibility to suck my own dick. But that’s pretty much elementary.

Of the myriad of Life Experiences I’ve been blessed with during my travels in Korea, Japan and Hong Kong, there is one I believe will stick with me until my deathbed. An ordeal that corroded the prejudiced and bent worldview that I once had, and opened my eyes to a world more exquisite and spectacular than I would ever have imagined.

Where to begin?

It all begins in Japan.

Sit closer, my loved ones.

An eventful night in May, I somehow became acquainted with a raggedy little street urchin in a squalid back alley in downtown Osaka. I was in a state of disorientation from the wild night before–my wallet was absent from its usual place in my ass pocket and the only personal artifact that I’d managed to retain was a pack of cigarettes drenched in what appeared to be urine. I longed for a bowl of piping hot Miso soup and the warm embrace of a Futon. Worst of all, however, my penis was severely chafed from the three obscenely cheap hookers I’d indulged myself with. (DON’T JUDGE ME.) I had a serious case of what the Japanese call, “red eel.”

Perhaps this young rascal noticed this from afar, because he approached me, genuinely concerned, and beckoned vigorously with a sooty hand. To this day, I do not know what compelled me to painfully limp over to this young rascal, but I did, and this decision altered the course of my life.

He led me to a small clearing behind a dumpster out back, and I could not believe my eyes at what I saw there. A stately looking middle aged gentleman was kneeling on the floor with his back to me, making exuberant thrusting motions with his hips. Curious and confused, I shuffled across the clearing to see what exactly it was that he was fucking! My suspicions were soon confirmed: what he was making love to was an animal–a living, breathing canine. It was a dirty little thing, with matted hair and bald patches here and there, but it was clear that the dog’s cruddy state did not deter the man from ravishing one of man’s best friends. I was shocked, baffled and disgusted. My pain from my ‘red eel’ was replaced with a nauseating knot forming in my stomach. I wanted to vomit. I looked up, and the man finished with a flourish.

In his broken English, the boy from the street explained to me what was going on. Apparently what I had just witnessed was an obscure and ancient ritual that had been repressed since its inception during the Ashikaga shogunate. Japanese history books had meticulously omitted all intimations of such a ritual, and historians paid little attention to what they saw as a nasty skidmark on an already tainted history. Most of the Japanese public were wholly ignorant of its existence, and so it lived on through a small, clandestine underground society. It seemed that I’d wandered into the very heart of this society.

I learned more. Patrons of this ritual believed in the mystic healing powers of the anal secretions of certain ‘chosen’ dogs. Victims of incurable STDs and other genital indispositions most often turned to such otherwise unthinkable methods. Pleasure was also a huge attraction, as I would soon discover for myself.

At this point, I’d regained my senses and once again felt the intense pain that had been jolting my entire pelvis. Still under the effects of alcohol and other hallucinatory drugs I’d taken earlier, I soon found myself behind a dog–a different dog. What transpired thereafter is best left un-narrated and rather obvious anyway.

After I returned to Korea several weeks ago, I found myself strangely craving the sensation again. To feel pure once more, to feel my torn skin regenerate, to feel electrified and so much alive.

I engaged in a private “purification session’ alone, at 4 am in the morning in the back streets of Sinchon two weeks ago with a stray I’d lured away from its usual nook. I felt newer and rejuvenated. I felt my heart blossom and my soul shudder with ecstasy. I was a Seraph, cavorting the universe with not two, but three pairs of wings. I uttered thanks to the twist of fate that pushed me into this world, into a lifestyle that might arouse public disgust and strong disapproval.

And with the highest hopes that you will accept me for who I am now, I humbly end my tale.

Please guys, I know it’s hard to accept. Most people I told laughed it off and told me to stop fucking with them. And I don’t blame them. Fucking dogs seems like another one of my disgusting jokes, but it’s not. This is real, guys. And if you love me, please don’t let this change that.

Peace.”

**Courtesy of my biographer’s protegee, “The Alrighty” Makseeksay>> http://enomushiki.wordpress.com/