like when your mama did dionysus

dear diary, (and he who shall remain nameless)

so word was there were these orgies in detroit. or at least there had been several near reliable rumors of some orgies going on in Detroit.

     anyway, in any event  I took it on faith. that my source had already been to a few good romps and had met a few good men, and him being a sporting gent he’d  invited me to accompany him to the next slew  based on his wonderful and memorable  recent  experiences….. 

    dark dead end street.

other houses in that cul de sac empty and up for sale. 

this one too likely but somebody had figured before they moved out they’d have a big adventure up in that piece. 

       never met the owners but  there i was —checking the action out on some strange people’s living room,kitchen and dining room floors. 

       was sure enough some action taking place as me and my comrade rolled in, all kinds action. 

    no kinda furniture nowhere.

 guess they’d moved that out already.

half parquet  floor, half old carpet.

 thick but frayed nappyheaded red  gold shag carpet.

 fibers flying everywhere  up my nose. 

me and my guy—not him who shall remain nameless or  the guy i came with but  this other guy i bumped into on the way in. Chosen because of  he big knobby hands and tapered fingers—a working class artist type i surmised.  

we discovered this bowed matress likely removed from an old fold couch out on this closed-in porch patio.

 it was as nasty as it sounds.stained,spotted but fairly new. 

     we had just started to get into it when this  fat dude rolls  off this one bitch and onto his back. fatty then sits up, beside me then comes a rushing whitewaterrafting river of his jism all over my fisted ass while my face was getting rubbed raw against the carpet by the way mydude behind me was digging into me.. not everybody’s idea of sexy but just what i like. to be in a room full of consenting adults sexually expressing themselves as spontaneously and as honestly as they desire. 

    thats whats sexy to me. 

some like the hunt, some like the game, some like the networking the fluid  exchange for their hustle  agenda. just give me a room full of freaks doing the damn thing until they’re spent, spun-out, exhausted, drained to the core.

    i had a feeling the one my main guy  he took me too in dc would be a little better. 

       it did have at least markedly cleaner surroundings though the fisting dude knew what he was doing and thats the kind of luck of the draw i like in these situations over any damn hygiene considerations. 

    quite frankly i think only the truly disturbed would expect cleaniliness next to godliness from a room full of strangers fucking willy-nilly til the cows come home. 

      they exist though— those people who will only orgy in genteel surroundings among polite company. 

     those people just want to feel naughty or even nasty. 

they dont know a damn thing about buckwilding, fucking for fun. you figure, poor dears poor babies— they just want to feel a little less repressed for 15 minutes. 

 in spite of the fact you could tell the maid had been there before we arrived and  lots time had been  taken with creating the right ambience in dc –it was in a southwest hotel suite;the entire floor had been booked so there’d be no tourists wandering aghast into the lobby at 2AM, and there was of course more cocaine, and more dust, like there always is in dc…  despite all that there was also more kinds of sex between all kind of creatures. some  even looked like the thing and some actually were that thing and some were even hosting that thing. there was a man who looked like a giraffe. by which i mean he was very tall and very yellow and very horse faced. not at all spotted sorry if that disturbs your picture but i’m describing not desiring. you can give him spots in your own account or even your fantasy if thats where this leads you.( i look forwrd to reading your remix one day soon). 

     in any event i remember particularly enjoying sex with giraffe man because in that setting the most perverse thing you can imagine is sex with one person for as long as you can go. long as thats what both wanted it was good and when it got boring we didnt push it, not a second more. 

     now some people would just leave rather than watch an all night orgy in which theyre not participating but the giraffe man and myself just sat against a wall in a  side- room with mute television playing a dvd  besides us (a highlight reel of glenn turman’s entire career arc, from getting his first piece of high yellow ass in cooley high to getting his old ‘swole’ dick-sucked by his high yella secretary while mayor of baltimore on the wire) 

    we also  talked about our favorite fassbinder movies. veronika voss and maria braun  for me, a toss-up between querelle and  the alexanderplatz  series for him. 

fassbinder the deviant and  fassbinder the democrat. 

no difference between the two. what makes him so valuable as a an artists i think. what makes any real artists valuable, if being absolutely incorruptibile on behalf of the immoral work, being as wantonly flagrantly decadently human as possible in the life. 

or so i argued with giraffe man. 

he had a different take on things. 

he felt the worst human failing was failure of nerve and fassbinder was a god to him because he never seemed to suffer from a hint of that. 

i said ‘like a  god to you?’ suddenly feeling like i hadn’t  just been fucking  a beastial half man half giraffe but by some embryonic hannibal lecter wannabe in utero. 

and he said yes and reiterated  fassbinder became like a god to me. 

and i said did it make you want to brain blasck men over the heads wirth whiskey botles and blow women up with gas ovens just to make a point about the holocaust? 

then he accused me of confusing fact and fiction and i said i’m not the one who called fassbinder a god because he did those things either.

i told him it was a good thing we stopped fucking when we did and then i told him good night. 

i had to go back out into the full-on orgy to get my handbag which i’d actually been keeping an eye on  throughout  the festivities during the whole time we sat up against a wall on the other side of the room.

   suddenly  i felt drained. 

not by the goings on around me but by the fact that there were people in my world, even temporarily,  who walked around saying insufferablke things like ‘fassbinder was a god’. 

   so whats my problem with that ?

 well, i’ve seen god and ive seen gods  and god aren’t creators but destroyers, annihilators—greedy hungry ravenous insatiable destroyers at that. and all they like to feed on is blood and the eternal sunshine of the sociopathic mind.

real  artists respect the power of beauty. 

gods are for all you poor creatures who just want the power.  cant’ you tell i’m so not impressed. 

 i could never so disrespect an artist by comparing him to anything so lowborn as a god. 

a god gave us  Rwanada, a god gave us Auscwhitrz.

 Phillip K Dick got it wrong-saying god didnt make anything evil but cokroaches. God is a cockroach, Phillip K Dick. you  got it all kinds of wrong. all u Valis freaks will grok what i mean) 

   moving things along, the next orgy we atttended was at sex shop in Paris. everything and everybody in lace, leather and chains. what is it about the french and bondage anyway? something in that paradox of being considered the most revolutionary of french societies when they’re really the most repressed. the same people who invented the word bourgeosie also invented camembert and  the guillotine.

never forget that. 

    they celebrate de sade but they gladly suffered a De Gaulle. de sade may be their saint but the dreyfuss affair is their soul. Ive got the papers to prove it.

     unlike dc I was ready for action in paris, four women, four men, fourteen hours of tigressess and tigers on all fours, clawing, scratching, tonguing licking spitting tho’ no shitting because t i do split hairs between bodily fluids and bodily wastes . somthat any members of my little octopod who had to go, best go  elsewhere far away from me, and only return scrubbed and ready for inspection with the wipes and  fluffy white feather duster i kept handy for just such occasions.


      My father was the official videographer for a kind of ghetto chippendales that took place in a dank wet basement under a church in bed-stuy.

     45,55, even 65  year old men in muscle shirts and  g strings lewdlly dancing to house music while distressed overweghit damsels fainted and expired around them for  long nights that did not quickly turn  into days.

  I never accompanied dad there but i did find the tapes after he died. there was other stuff in there too, even he and mom getting it on to the tune of The Delfonics, Blue Magic, Marvin and the Stylistics. Mom was wild and inventive, Dad was tender and indefatiguable–I’ve got the videotapes to prove it.

          Everybody with beautiful parents should be able to watch movies of their beautiful parents sex lives. It would help explain a lot. For instance I think my parents should have kept fucking but  stopped having kids at just one of us–not even me because i’d have gladly gone unborn to let them keep fucking the way they did–they brought real honor and heat to the act  every time–and not even their eldest, my older brother Ralph who like all Ralphs is just a little too content with himself as an entity to have ever need bother being born… but no its our younger sister ‘Queen’ Margot who they should kept and raised because by the time she came along they were ready to do the parent thing more than the wild thing and so Queen Margot grew up with these wonderful parent people Ralph and I didnt really know. 

     Understand I’m not blaming them for anything or complaining  because I feel  the only things all parents  owe their spawn beyond the gift of life is food clothing and shelter for about 14 years, the occasional  pat on the head, making sure we do enough homework to know basic math and basic reading and not molest their sons or daughter s while they sleep. 

      Only later did I realize that we forced parenthood on our folks by being born when we did while  they were just in the middle ballin’ and  had no intention of disrupting the parties with diapers and feedings and school plays and soccer matches and  the like. 

     They even tried a little swinging but they never could go through with it with other people because other people were so defective and deformed in their eyes by comparison. 

I found all this out years later after theyd both passed from one of our neighbors who knew them when.

    Theres a crazy erotic black and white picture another friend took of them, shot in profile and close-up from about 10 feet way . The two them sitting in a tall  mahogny chair in a large white room. They’re  bound to each other by chokers and chains and oiled up and you can see dads cock just beginning to bury itself in mom’s muff and her legs wrapped around his back.

     my favorite  of the extreme close ups focuses on their glistening lower torsos.  an abstract sculptural shape got formed by the light in the space between their two  dark lithe  six packs.  coiled, contorted. on the verge of spontaneous combustion from all their explosive touching, grinding, undulating away to the breakadawn.


Author: Enter My Cipher

Author/musician/cultural provocateur who thrives in Harlem, Howard U Bison Nation rep-at-large, co-founder of the Black Rock Coalition, leader of the Conducted Improv big band Burnt Sugar The Arkestra Chamber since 1999, Rivers On Mars collaborator, That Dude whose books include Flyboy In The Buttermilk, Flyboy 2 The Greg Tate Reader, Midnight Lightning:Jimi Hendrix and The Black Experience, Everything But The Burden--What White People Are Taking From Black Culture and the forthcoming Beast Mode:Iconic Gods and Monsters of the Black Atlantic (FS&G,2020)

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