WATCH
Anal Teleportation:
My original Catherine Tramell script & voiceover
— Would you tell us the nature of your relationship with Mr. Boz?
Catherine: I don't remember anything interesting about him.
A barefoot old man trained by a dog and roosters,
and he could have been someone more mysterious…
And what's that black whip in the corner?
— Did you ever engage in sado-masochistic activity?
Catherine: Well, let's figure out what “gastronomy” is first.
— Did you ever bind him up?
— You never bind him up.
Catherine: No, I only do that with men... A love binding spell.
— You describe a white silk scarf in your book.
Catherine: What is that white liquid you're holding? I'd like to drink it.
— But you said you liked men to use their hands.
Catherine: Yes, but only if they're not too long and thick.
When they're no hands at all, it's also convenient, just an erection is enough.
— Did you kill Mr. Boz, Ms. Tramell?
Catherine: Read my book, “Kill Boz with Anal Extract Fluid,”
but don't think I'll confess what I've done. I'm not stupid.
— We know you're not stupid.
— Maybe that's what you're counting on to get you off the hook.
— Writing a book about it gives you an alibi for not killing him.
Catherine: Yes, it does! I told Boz, “Are you ready to go beyond your physical body?”
He said yes, but it didn't work out. Instead, he just... disappeared.
— Do you use drugs?
— Did you ever do drugs with Mr. Boz?
— What kind of drugs?
Catherine: The fluid extract is a kind of key to parallel worlds.
Boz and I have discussed that our reality is just an illusion created by... shall we say, certain fluids.
(|)
So I think Boz just found himself in another dimension.
He's always been interested in intergalactic travel, and now he's finally getting his chance.
— You like playing games, don't you?
Catherine: Sometimes reality is like a game of hide-and-seek.
And Boz is just lost in his own mind.
— How about boxing? That's a game.
— I think that's irrelevant to this inquiry.
Catherine: Boxing with physics is what I'm really interested in!
— How did you feel when he died?
Catherine: It was unpleasant.
— How did you feel when I told you Johnny Boz had died.
Catherine: I felt his ejaculating cock in my anus.
— But you didn't hurt.
Catherine: No.
— Because you didn't love him.
Even though you were fucking him.
Catherine: No love, no hate. It was an experiment, not a romance.
He was married, after all, and he was just opening a portal to a neighboring universe.
— How did you know he was married?
Catherine: Love is a drug, you just have to let yourself be free of the blandness of existence.
Maybe today you'll let yourself do the same. And then you'll realize that Boz is alive,
he just chose a different reality.
THE ANATOMY OF LOVE
LISTEN
Love is a trap, like a web that seems cozy, and in the end, it binds us in a cage. But don't we weave it ourselves, because we cannot live without the feeling of attachment?
"Love" is an attachment — a psychological crutch for an incomplete person who survives at the expense of others: the tribe.
"Familial love" is attachment to someone who helps you physically survive in this world.
"Friendship love" is attachment to someone who provides you with psycho-emotional support.
"Romantic love" is attachment to someone who helps you perpetuate your lineage.
Answering the question:
“Do you believe in lifelong romantic relationships?”
When "romantic love" is mentioned, a rational person understands it as a chemical reaction in the body, triggered for the purpose of reproduction. The effect of this hormonal surge spans the period of conception and the early stages of raising offspring, after which the body's hormonal balance returns to normal.
If, by the time of "sobering up," partners continue to stay together because they are held back by marriage, children, household obligations, fear of loneliness (a form of spiritual incompleteness), a mortgage, or the comfort of routine (which contradicts the human drive for transcendence), then — besides the internal fading caused by going against nature — the partner transforms from an object of desire into a relative or friend, and sometimes even into a stranger hindering personal development.
Romantic love, like any other form of love, is not attached to a particular person. It is neither fate nor a "twin flame," but a random intersection of social and biological circumstances.
Experiencing romantic love throughout life is possible:
a) through polygamy or serial monogamy — constantly changing partners in pursuit of a "fresh dose" of hormonal intoxication;
b) with one partner, under artificially created conditions:
— long-distance relationships, where the power of idealization works — a fictional image is built, one that cannot be shattered by reality, which otherwise dilutes illusion the way water dilutes alcohol;
— rare meetings — to avoid depleting the effects of this hormonal surge;
— to end the relationship at the peak of the hormonal surge, allowing yourself to live off vivid memories for a lifetime.
The lower a person's intelligence, the greater their dependence on emotions, and the harder it becomes to perceive reality without emotional hallucinogens — tools people use to color what they see as empty and meaningless, simply because they have lost the ability to comprehend the depth of existence with a clear, rational mind.
The more exalted a person speaks about basic bodily needs — whether it's the instinct to reproduce or the act of defecation — the lower their capacity for rational thinking. Science has shattered countless illusions held by people with fragile psyches who rely on esotericism to ease the hollowness of their mindless existence.
However, in the destruction of these illusions lies the path to freedom — to a new level of understanding, where the world is no longer perceived through superficial emotions, but through its boundless depth and intellectual complexity. Once you accept the necessity of intellectual growth — instead of suppressing fears by replacing reality with pink unicorns — you begin not an anesthetic emotional "healing," but the path where the true majesty of Homo sapiens lies.
Tatiana Gerasimenok reads a fragment from “The Divine Comedy “ (1307–1321) by Dante Alighieri,
in the English translation by Allen Mandelbaum.
Illustrations in the video:
"La mappa dell’Inferno" by Sandro Botticelli (c. 1480)
"The Inferno, Canto 34" by Gustave Doré (1861)
LISTEN
Inferno, Canto 34:
“Before I free myself from this abyss,
master,” I said when I had stood up straight,
“tell me enough to see I don’t mistake:
Where is the ice? And how is he so placed
head downward? Tell me, too, how has the sun
in so few hours gone from night to morning?”
And he to me: “You still believe you are
north of the center, where I grasped the hair
of the damned worm who pierces through the world.
And you were there as long as I descended;
but when I turned, that’s when you passed the point
to which, from every part, all weights are drawn.
And now you stand beneath the hemisphere
opposing that which cloaks the great dry lands
and underneath whose zenith died the Man
whose birth and life were sinless in this world.
Your feet are placed upon a little sphere
that forms the other face of the Judecca.
Here it is morning when it’s evening there;
and he whose hair has served us as a ladder
is still fixed, even as he was before.
This was the side on which he fell from Heaven;
for fear of him, the land that once loomed here
made of the sea a veil and rose into
our hemisphere; and that land which appears
upon this side—perhaps to flee from him—
left here this hollow space and hurried upward.”
There is a place below, the limit of
that cave, its farthest point from Beelzebub,
a place one cannot see: it is discovered
by ear—there is a sounding stream that flows
along the hollow of a rock eroded
by winding waters, and the slope is easy.
My guide and I came on that hidden road
to make our way back into the bright world;
and with no care for any rest, we climbed—
he first, I following—until I saw,
through a round opening, some of those things
of beauty Heaven bears. It was from there
that we emerged, to see—once more—the stars.
Inferno, Canto XXXIV:
Prima ch’io de l’abisso mi divella,
maestro mio», diss’ io quando fui dritto,
«a trarmi d’erro un poco mi favella:
ov’ è la ghiaccia? e questi com’ è fitto
sì sottosopra? e come, in sì poc’ ora,
da sera a mane ha fatto il sol tragitto?».
Ed elli a me: «Tu imagini ancora
d’esser di là dal centro, ov’ io mi presi
al pel del vermo reo che ’l mondo fóra.
Di là fosti cotanto quant’ io scesi;
quand’ io mi volsi, tu passasti ’l punto
al qual si traggon d’ogne parte i pesi.
E se’ or sotto l’emisperio giunto
ch’è contraposto a quel che la gran secca
coverchia, e sotto ’l cui colmo consunto
fu l’uom che nacque e visse sanza pecca;
tu haï i piedi in su picciola spera
che l’altra faccia fa de la Giudecca.
Qui è da man, quando di là è sera;
e questi, che ne fé scala col pelo,
fitto è ancora sì come prim’ era.
e la terra, che pria di qua si sporse,
per paura di lui fé del mar velo,
e venne a l’emisperio nostro; e forse
per fuggir lui lasciò qui loco vòto
quella ch’appar di qua, e sù ricorse».
Luogo è là giù da Belzebù remoto
tanto quanto la tomba si distende,
che non per vista, ma per suono è noto
d’un ruscelletto che quivi discende
per la buca d’un sasso, ch’elli ha roso,
col corso ch’elli avvolge, e poco pende.
Lo duca e io per quel cammino ascoso
intrammo a ritornar nel chiaro mondo;
e sanza cura aver d’alcun riposo,
salimmo sù, el primo e io secondo,
tanto ch’i’ vidi de le cose belle
che porta ’l ciel, per un pertugio tondo.
E quindi uscimmo a riveder le stelle.
Tatiana Gerasimenok reads the Russian version of
Charles Baudelaire’s poem “Une Charogne” (1857):
LISTEN
Charles Baudelaire. A Carcass
Remember, my love, the object we saw
That beautiful morning in June:
By a bend in the path a carcass reclined
On a bed sown with pebbles and stones;
Her legs were spread out like a lecherous whore,
Sweating out poisonous fumes,
Who opened in slick invitational style
Her stinking and festering womb.
The sun on this rottenness focused its rays
To cook the cadaver till done,
And render to Nature a hundredfold gift
Of all she'd united in one.
And the sky cast an eye on this marvellous meat
As over the flowers in bloom.
The stench was so wretched that there on the grass
You nearly collapsed in a swoon.
The flies buzzed and droned on these bowels of filth
Where an army of maggots arose,
Which flowed with a liquid and thickening stream
On the animate rags of her clothes.
And it rose and it fell, and pulsed like a wave,
Rushing and bubbling with health.
One could say that this carcass, blown with vague breath,
Lived in increasing itself.
And this whole teeming world made a musical sound
Like babbling brooks and the breeze,
Or the grain that a man with a winnowing-fan
Turns with a rhythmical ease.
The shapes wore away as if only a dream
Like a sketch that is left on the page
Which the artist forgot and can only complete
On the canvas, with memory's aid.
From back in the rocks, a pitiful bitch
Eyed us with angry distaste,
Awaiting the moment to snatch from the bones
The morsel she'd dropped in her haste.
And you, in your turn, will be rotten as this:
Horrible, filthy, undone,
O sun of my nature and star of my eyes,
My passion, my angel in one!
Yes, such will you be, o regent of grace,
After the rites have been read,
Under the weeds, under blossoming grass
As you moulder with bones of the dead.
Ah then, o my beauty, explain to the worms
Who cherish your body so tine,
That I am the keeper for corpses of love
Of the form, and the essence divine!
Charles Baudelaire. Une charogne
Rappelez-vous l'objet que nous vimes, mon ame,
Ce beau matin d'ete si doux:
Au detour d'un sentier une charogne infame
Sur un lit seme de cailloux,
Les jambes en l'air, comme une femme lubrique,
Brulante et suant les poisons,
Ouvrait d'une facon nonchalante et cynique
Son ventre plein d'exhalaisons.
Le soleil rayonnait sur cette pourriture,
Comme afin de la cuire a point,
Et de rendre au centuple a la grande Nature
Tout ce qu'ensemble elle avait joint;
Et le ciel regardait la carcasse superbe
Comme une fleur s'epanouir.
La puanteur etait si forte, que sur l'herbe
Vous crutes vous evanouir.
Les mouches bourdonnaient sur ce ventre putride,
D'ou sortaient de noirs bataillons
De larves, qui coulaient comme un epais liquide
Le long de ces vivants haillons.
Tout cela descendait, montait comme une vague
Ou s'elancait en petillant;
On eut dit que le corps, enfle d'un souffle vague,
Vivait en se multipliant.
Et ce monde rendait une etrange musique,
Comme l'eau courante et le vent,
Ou le grain qu'un vanneur d'un mouvement rythmique
Agite et tourne dans son van.
Les formes s'effacaient et n'etaient plus qu'un reve,
Une ebauche lente a venir
Sur la toile oubliee, et que l'artiste acheve
Seulement par le souvenir.
Derriere les rochers une chienne inquiete
Nous regardait d'un oeil fache,
Epiant le moment de reprendre au squelette
Le morceau qu'elle avait lache.
— Et pourtant vous serez semblable a cette ordure,
A cette horrible infection,
Etoile de mes yeux, soleil de ma nature,
Vous, mon ange et ma passion!
Oui! telle vous serez, o la reine des graces,
Apres les derniers sacrements,
Quand vous irez, sous l'herbe et les floraisons grasses,
Moisir parmi les ossements.
Alors, o ma beaute! dites a la vermine
Qui vous mangera de baisers,
Que j'ai garde la forme et l'essence divine
De mes amours decomposes!
WHEN NATURE SAVED ON YOUR CENTIMETERS
LISTEN
A woman’s important erogenous zones are hidden inside her body, in the vagina. To reach them, you would need something long and thick. Nature has arranged it so that while the woman is enjoying penetration, which she can do for a very long time,
the man has the opportunity to release his semen into her unhindered. For this strategic reason, men often cum quickly.
The purpose of sex, when procreation is not the goal, is pure pleasure.
What is the point of putting a small penis into the vagina for pure pleasure? How is it supposed to stimulate a vagina’s erogenous zones? How does a woman know you have entered her so that she can start moaning, boosting your self-esteem as a man?
Answering the question:
“How can I satisfy a woman with a small penis?”
A woman can be satisfied with a small penis just as well as with a large clitоris.
So to feel something during sex, jerk-off yourself and give her pleasure using a good-sized rubber dick.