Written by Dennis Cooper
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It’s spooky how Ecstasy floods one with indiscriminate affection. It’s a chemical lie. It kills thought, undermines sensibility. LSD, on the other hand, neatly demystifies sex. It can. I remember. On a great acid trip, you begin to realize the insidious way lust distorts almost every decision we make. Acid encourages us to embrace isolation, to disempower other human beings, especially their bodies. When LSD works, it makes clear how inane and addictive sex is, and how culture’s overvaluation of physical contact keeps us from a true understanding of life-and-death issues. Maybe this lesson has particularly struck home in my case, since my fantasy life is so sexual in nature and murderous in content.
"Later, guys." Chris, hugging himself to keep warm, trotted into a typical, faintly lit mini-mall. When he turned to wave bye, his friends’ truck was a dot.
On the truck’s staticky radio, Pavement’s "Cut Your Hair" cross-faded into… uh, Guided by Voices?
"Let’s fucking end it," said Robert. The idea arrived out of nowhere. Words just… formed, disconnected from everything else. He thought for a second, then steered toward some oncoming traffic.
Tracy’s eyes watered. "Okay," she said. And she covered her face.
© 1997 Dennis Cooper; New York, Grove Press