The Suicide Artist or The Life of Quentin Campbell as an Unsuccessful Snuff Film Part 2

People say I rut too much.  Which is funny, because I tell them right back "You rut too little."  This is why all of the sex scenes- a full two hour's worth- are unsimulated.  I am surprised I have not been excommunicated yet, I'm not allowed in church anymore without being beaten with hymnals.

I think sex should be taught as soon as a child can read and immediately after that the child should be taught that they can kill themselves if they life.

Rutting should begin as soon as children are biologically ready.  I started when I was twenty-one, right before I began my film.  I realized how stunted I was in the field of rutting.

Why our society is so damn afraid of sex is shocking- shouldn't we hunt down the universal that ties us together?  Food, sex, death.  I like to combine all three.  One anecdote was a year ago two years into the film making.  I met this lovely girl, seventeen years old, named Alice who was doing her senior research paper on art films and had heard about me from her porn-obsessed boy friend.  She was also a virgin, so I couldn't resist.

My self-control is very, very, very minimal.  Resistance doesn't exist for me except as a Knife Party song.  One of my favorites from their "Abandon Ship" album too.

So after I had answered all ten- its always ten, blame the Jews- I invited her to my bed.  She was hesitant at first.  Rutting, you see, is shocking to our society despite the Industry's attempts to glamorize it.  

Children, however, should not look at porn.  Porn gives you a twisted idea of sex.  I did  look at porn before I was twenty one and it scarred me forever, much like the scars on my face today.

Real sex is hard to find.  Its either twisted porn or twisted horror.  Just look at the film The Antichrist.  I convinced her, however, I had no STDs and I had an enormous stash of condoms in my closet.  I also promised that if she found it unsatisfactory I would pay her.  A seventeen year old unemployed will stoop very low for the promise of money.

I used some of my movie fund money.  I would explain it to the producer, Martin Mulligan, by saying I was gathering material.

Originally this was only going ot be a three hour movie.  Five hours later I was walking up the stair with Alice's hand in mine.  She had a very nice hand, smooth and white.

Some smart aleck is going to say that what I'm writing is porn.  I would say to them after I said "Go fuck yourself" that porn cannot enlarge the soul.  I hope this episode willl enlarge the reader's soul.

We lay on the bed kissing for the first ten minutes, groping.  She had the firmest breats and thighs.  Towards the end she pleasured me, which was nice.  I'm fine with someone else masturbating me.

Masturbation you would think I would be for since the French call it the little death.  You would be dead wrong.  Masturbation is about climax with no results except spilt seed.  I am no Onan.  I need a climax with a conclusion, be it my lover groaning under me in realization of their loss/victory or the police coming to clean up my body.  When someone else masturbates you, it is a prelude to penetration so that makes it okay.

I took off her shirt and slipped my hands under her bra, massaging the nipples.  She was trying to undress me and doing a halfway-decent job of it.  My button up shirt was half unbuttoned and I don't even want to mention my pants.

The next day when I came to the studio, Martin asked me if I had had any sex.  I told him I had sex if you counted statuatory rape.  Martin tried to call the police but I stabbed his hand with a ballpoint pen over and over until he aquiesced.  That day we included a scene where the lead actor, Vincent Clark, got stabbed with a BIC pen by The Antichrist, played by my father Stephen.

After a while I had to see what I was feeling so I undid her bra, which was white.  Her breats were also white, smooth, firm, round, beautiful and I began kissing them instantly.  She moaned quietly as she disenfranchised me of my undergarments.

One problem with Alice was she went too fast.  I liked to take my time.  That is a mistake of immaturity- people want to kill themselves too fast.  That's why I made it into a movie.  I wanted to protract the glory of death as long as possible.

"You crazy bastard, we're already paying the police thousands," Martin said turning around in his red dress.  Martin is also the local transvestite.  "Do you want ot get us ALL arrested?"

Her trembling thighs made it difficult to take off her pants, and we were tangled up in a mass of half-clothed flesh, but eventually she was just in her panties, also white.

The symbolism was not lost on me, my friends.

Her pubis was shaved, which I found a major turn-on.  I spread her legs a little with my hand and I plunged in.  Oh.  It was glorious.  

A year later, Martin asked me if I had seen Alice again.  I told him that soon after our encounter she had overdosed on Clamazipan and I had given the eulogy at her funeral.  I had had to flee the twon for two weeks after my eulogy.  He looked at his scarred hand and said "Let's get this done, Quentin.  You disgust me."

I disgust myself.  Why do you think as soon as I came I was trying to slash myself with my razor and a sobbing Alice had to placate me with herwarm body.

I do not want ot be a sexual monster.  But I am one, so I live with it.

Then I gave her the Clamazipan my psychiatrist had prescribed back in my college days and helped her dress.  She sobbed the entire time.

"Why, Quentin?  You're such a great guy, why do you have to do this to yourself?"

"Alice, death makes great men of us all."