GOLIATH (a storm is coming)

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: August 22, 2016

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Submitted: August 22, 2016



A psychotic hysteria has swept the nation, taking the form of a paranoid fear of infestation, of contamination, of insects, of unwanted pests and vermin. One deranged old lady after another expresses these collective psychoses in a variety of ways. I was in an elevator with one local loon who remarked, “It’s disgusting, this place! Mother and father’s exterminated them.” Another woman at a coffee shop is overzealously swatting flies with a newspaper, complaining about the open window that cannot be closed. She paces nervously.

I’m sitting there with Courtney, the only person in my class who has dared to attempt to strike a friendship with me outside of school. I don’t know if she likes me or my beliefs all that much. She is somewhat disquieted by this woman’s crazy behaviour. “Stavrogin… That lady, she won’t stop giving me the stink eye.”

I don’t know what to say. What can I say? Maybe I am just as disturbed by this woman’s erratic behavior as she is. I’ve been reading Courtney excerpts from The Emotional Life of Nations by Lloyd deMause. Courtney has a university degree and I’m just a high school drop-out who recently obtained his GED. Why should I be surprised that she can’t take much of anything I believe in seriously. What I read, and her self-conscious awareness of the possibility that other people might hear, seems to make her uncomfortable.

 “So it’s like 9/11, which may have also been a vast American conspiracy,” Courtney comments regarding an excerpt about the collusion between Presidents Reagan, George Bush Sr., and Saddam Hussein.

“It’s possible,” I reply.

Courtney decides she has had enough of the crazy lady swatting at invisible flies with a rolled up newspaper. “You’re making everyone uncomfortable!” Courtney exclaims. The crazy lady angrily leaves the premises as if she had never been there to begin with.

Courtney sits back down and says, “Did I ever tell you that I suffer from sleep paralysis?”


“Sometimes I wake up and I cannot move. My eyes are open, and outside the field of my vision I feel a presence—it’s sinister, sexual even.”

“Perhaps it might have something to do with repressed traumas,” I venture an opinion.

“You’re gay, right?” she blurts out suddenly.

“Yeah. . . Did you get a chance to check out that website?” I ask.

“Yes. I think it’s good for people to do what makes them comfortable. But anal is the dominant sex act for gay men. I think the author of that Frot website is a self-absorbed dick. He doesn’t understand that anal makes gay men happy.”

 “I still feel that anal isn’t for me; Frot is. Maybe one day, when I’m finally free from my chronic pelvic pain I’ll actually be able to enjoy it with a man I love. For now, celibacy is my only real option.” I feel that by rejecting anal I am disappointing her. Courtney’s face wears a wry amused expression barely concealing hatred, pity, and contempt. “There are males who have experienced serious and at times even permanent damage and injury due to their experiences with anal, which sometimes occurred in the form of rape.”

“Well that’s just unsafe sex. It happens between men and women too.”

“And what about the diseases and statistics? Half of all gay men will get HIV, usually from anal which is about twenty times more dangerous than vaginal.”

She decides to change the subject. “I take LSD about four times a year, and I’ve never had a bad trip. . . . What do you think of Nate from our class? I think he’s narcissistic and that all he does is talk about himself and how well-connected he is. He needs to mellow himself out somehow. Two requirements: Marijuana and counselling.”

“I think I probably need both.”

“Well if you give me $20 I can go buy you some from my dispensary. And I’ll give you my therapist’s phone number.”




I meet Courtney at Blenz on Commercial Drive to pick up the marijuana oil. The first time I try it at home, I eventually realize that I should try journaling about my experience. The more I take it, the more I gain insights into the different types of abuse and sadism I may have experienced both at the hands of my mother and male predators. All of this must have happened in my early childhood years; and I believe it’s possible for me to have repressed it, especially since my mother once confessed that she remembered hitting me on my arms and witnessing the bruises she left, although I have no memories of that myself.




I’ve finally decided to make an appointment with the counsellor. I take two buses and the Skytrain. I follow the directions I’ve written and end up descending an underground spiral staircase. I end up entering a dimly lit hallway, and I walk on the burgundy-carpeted floor until I reach a door displaying the number 617 and a sign reading ‘Butch Godlewsky—Psychotherapist’. I open the door and am immediately acknowledged by a greeting: “Hello. This is Godlevski’s office. You must be Stavrogin. Just sit down and read some magazines and newspapers until he’s ready to see you.”

I sit down and take a look at the headlines: Vast Pedophile Ring Exposed. Donald Trump Wins Presidency. For some obscure reason none of these headlines inspire any sort of feeling in me. Before I can even read the first sentence of an article I hear the receptionist say it’s my turn and that I can open the door now.

I hear the psychotherapist address me: “Hi, bro. What’s your name?”

“My name is Stavrogin.”

 “My name is Butch. I like to think of myself as an unorthodox psychotherapist. My colleagues say that I tend to be facetious. When I was younger I agonized over the possibility that I would end up being an educated bum on East Hastings, but here I am. So would you say that you’re in psychological extremis? Is that what’s brought you here?”

“I don’t know.”

“Can you tell me what’s troubling you the most?”

“I’m a gay man who’s never done anal, and for the most part, I’m pretty sure that I would never want to do it.”

So you think you’re a heteroclite homosexual?.... Nevermind…. Never say never. You should try everything once. If it feels good, do it. You were born this way. Part of this is doing anal. The sooner you accept it, the better off you’ll be….”

“I’m worried that I’m too neurotic and sick to be happy doing anal.”

“Why do you think you’re such a neurotic messed-up kid?”

 “I don’t know.”

“Because you’re unwilling to embrace who you really are. Let’s put it this way — if you were born a sissy and a gay person, then just be yourself. Be honest….”

“I recently tried marijuana that I got through a friend, and I’m worried that it might have messed me up even more. It made me see my mother in a radically different, new way…. She tends to be loud and overbearing. She once told me that gay men who do anal should be exterminated.”

“You know what one of my patients once told me? She said that everyone would be better off if her mother was dead. Maybe the more you mellow out as you continue taking marijuana, the easier it will be for you to express similar sentiments. You must emancipate yourself from such a viraginous mother.”

I start thinking about how unsympathetic and lukewarm many of the men I encountered in my life were. “In Alberta there were mental health professionals who told me that men are gay because when they were infants they weren’t held enough by their dads. They encouraged me to experiment with women first. They told me that many women wouldn’t even ask me if I’m gay. Those were the responses I got if I told them or tried to tell them that I’m gay.”

“But that was Alberta; this is B.C. That was then; this is now.” Butch takes a moment to clean his glasses.

“In non-heterosexualized societies men can hold hands in public and it’s not considered a gay thing; it’s considered normal masculine behaviour. Heterosexualized societies, on the other hand, have a tendency to associate male intimacy with an artificially-constructed homosexual identity and eroticism.”

“I think you’d be happier if you’d just completely adapt to and assimilate into Western society. Don’t you think the traditional homosocial societies with gender segregation are misogynist?”

 “What’s wrong with finding a balance between the two? A balance or compromise between heterosexualized-modern societies and homosocial-traditional societies. A society in which there is no homophobia and where Frot (penile-penile sex) and male intimacy are just as valued and accepted as intimacy and eroticism between women or women and men.”

That shut him up.




I go home feeling utterly dejected and misunderstood. I decide to ingest another dose of the liquid marijuana; this time I take more than usual. I remember that I once had a dream in which I witnessed young boys being molested by adult males. Freud was one of the first to discover how common the sexual abuse of children really is.

What I realize is that every society has its offenders, deniers, and victims. These roles often interlap, especially since everyone who fills these roles has experienced some sort of trauma in their childhood. Yet when those victimized in their childhoods grow up they will ultimately fall into one of those three basic categories. Those with a dominant Denier orientation tend to deny or ignore most of the destructive and oppressive realities that surround them. Those with a dominant Victim orientation love to play the victim and often eagerly make decisions they will later regret. Those with a dominant Offender orientation often desperately need someone to exploit or look down on in order to avoid agony.

I wonder if I was the victim of a pedophile ring in Florida. I wonder how many of these men, some of whom lead double lives, were not also sexually abused in their childhoods, perhaps even in similar ‘underground’ pedophile rings that have continued over decades and perhaps even centuries. Somehow these men are able to lead perfect double lives. Their pedophilic activities are completely separate from their normal lives, which often include sex with adults, even marriage. The split between their ‘false’ pedophilic self and their often shallow, albeit normal, ‘daytime’ self is so profound that some of them can publically criticize and demonize pedophiles who are unable to lead perfect double lives—and hence get caught—as “evil”, “subversive”, etc. A closeted pedophile condemning pedophilia is like a closeted rapist condemning rape. And of course these abusers can hide behind a mask because their sexual activity is not limited to either pedophilia or rape. There was even a case in which pediatricians used the anal reflex dilation test and discovered that many children were being anally abused. In spite of the fact that cases (of ritual and sexual abuse rings)—replete with medical evidence—continue to result in actual convictions around the world, the issue continues to be an object of skepticism and indifference.




I decide to go see the psychotherapist again. I sit down in the waiting room and fall asleep. I hear a derisive voice repeatedly intoning the words, “You’re in trouble.” In the dream, Butch leads me to a warehouse where human-sized insects, spiders, and centipedes wear emerald green masks.

Butch’s pretentious, phony voice wakes me up at the moment they are about to remove their masks.

“What’s wrong, Stavrogin? As long as your ipseity is based on ressentiment, you will always be miserable.”

I am sleep-deprived and suddenly give rein to my fears. “No, you don’t understand! It’s a vast pedophile conspiracy! Pedophile rings all over the world! Men leading double lives!”

“I think you’re just suffering from a foudroyant drug-induced psychosis. I would ascribe too much importance to it.”

“You meant ‘I would not ascribe too much importance to it,’ right?”

“Of course. . . . Just relax, Stavrogin. Relax, bro. Take my hand. We’ll take the elevator together, and just a few steps, and there’s a van waiting for us.”

I feel as if I am paralyzed and powerless. I let him guide me, and when we’re outside of the building he pushes me into the back of a van. The last words I hear are, “You messed with the wrong psychos, bro. You can’t hold us down.”






















© Copyright 2017 Saul Przybyszewski. All rights reserved.

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