Will Work for Drugs (11 page)

AFTERWORD

SICK WITH DESIRE

I
've always had an overwhelming compulsion to confess, to reveal the most revolting details of my existence to others. I possess a criminal predilection which bears no guilt yet admits to not only my own crimes of passion, but also my complicity in aggravating others to commit crimes both for and against me.

I play judge, jury, convict, and victim. A schizophrenic passion play that feeds on the intoxicating repercussions of the repetitive cycle of abuse. An unending theme in my body of work.

From my earliest lyrics, spoken word performances, and films, I have sung vicious incantations bemoaning the cruel fate of the human condition, where each of us bears some mark of battery.

We have all been victimized at some point because of our gender, race, age, socioeconomic status, religion, or lack of. Our first cry is slapped out of us as we are violently wrenched from the relative safety of the crimson universe deep within our mothers' bodies. Born in blood and battered into breathing, life begins with brutality and baptizes with violence.

And violence is an addictive electrical current which burns at both ends. Cruel lessons taught within the torture chamber of the nuclear family replayed with systematic repetition over and over again in our adult relationships until we are able to recognize the patterning of ritualized abuse and readdress our participation in its ongoing cycle.

I have always felt the need to strike back, not only at the closed fist of my father, our fathers, the fathers of our country and God—the father, that motherfucker—but at times, in a perverse reversal of roles, at parts of myself.

To attack my own body. To use my body as whipping post and sacrifice in submission to my own inherent sadomasochism. To that redneck faggot truck driver who overrides so many of the other sexual schizophrenics who cohabitate in this insane asylum, my body. Which is forever riddled by an agitation, an irritation, an insatiability. A need to be challenged, threatened, throttled, pushed to the brink—because anyone who has been traumatized by life realizes that to fully appreciate every breath, nothing short of fearing YOU WILL NOT BE ALLOWED TO TAKE ANOTHER ONE will renew your vigor for every moment that still remains.

My goal has always been to if not step off the wheel, away from the scaffold, and out from under the guillotine of genetically preprogrammed trauma bonds, to at least recognize that I am not the only one living under a life sentence of victimhood, willing or not. I am not the only one SICK WITH DESIRE.

I create as a form of public psychotherapy speaking to and for a minority of passionate extremists who feel either betrayed or never fully defined by gender.

I have always felt I was cross-dressing in my own flesh—a hotel for so many, many monsters.

And I admit it:

The American Way of Life has turned me into

A death-defying murder junkie

Drunk on disasters, calamities, casualties, bombs bursting in air, bullets ricocheting off the bellies of pregnant women, the bombing of abortion clinics, crippled children poisoned on a school bus, shopping-mall murders, crumbling cities polluted beyond repair, craters of despair in the eyes of men, women, and children, their brains rotted by the cathode glare of the television, the Internet, video games—

Where all the Killers are heroes

All the Killers are heroes …

And I myself am filled with a MURDEROUS RAGE

Gang Warfare waged under my skin

A battle of bitches boxing their way out

I have become the RAPIST whose IMPOTENCE

At annihilating the REAL KILLERS is MANIFESTED

As violence against myself

And anyone else who gets in my fucking way

A PASSION KILLER riddled with CRIMINAL URGES

A SADIST incarcerated in her own TORTURE CHAMBER

One minute you're FLESH AND BLOOD

And the next you're FLESH AND BONES

PILES AND PILES OF FLESH AND BONES

MY WAR IS THE BATTLE OF SEX AS AN ANIMAL ACT

FOUGHT HAND TO GLAND

ONE WOMAN VERSUS EVERY MAN

I've gotten inside the enemy's head

I'm sleeping in his fucking bed

MY WOMB—A TOMB—A SACRIFICIAL CUNT

THE MORE THEY KILL THE MORE I FUCK

Welcome to MY church—

The Church of the Unholy Redeemer

Where the only commandment is

REBELLION from FALSE VIRTUE

REBELLION from FALSE VIRTUE

Pleasure is the only true rebellion

Pleasure at the Mouth of the Abyss

Pleasure at the Brink of the Apocalypse

Ecstasy at the Brink of the Disaster

In Times of War—it's not my War—it's not your War

We, especially as women, need to insist upon our Pleasure

Demand our Pleasure

Because it's the first fucking thing they stole from us

And we might not have much Time left …

Small Pox, Anthrax, Avian Bird Flu, Nuclear Warheads

Biochemical Retribution as Revenge for Spiritual Bankruptcy

WE MIGHT NOT HAVE MUCH TIME LEFT

So with whatever Passion and Cruel Lucidity I can bring to bear

I always wanted Life to be Naked

I always wanted Ecstasy and I finally found it

I must find Ecstasy in this Insanity

Freedom from their Slavery

The Truth in their Lies

Life in their Death

Beauty in their Homicidal Genocide

Peace in the War Whore's evil orgy of Death and Negation

Love amongst the Ruins

Pleasure in my own Pain

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