Mountainhead (2017)

by New Juche

Mountainhead is a filthy ode to the metaphysics of masturbation, a depraved collection of vivid and increasingly incoherent anecdotes depicting the author’s quest to find the locus around which the hedonic world revolves.

It isn’t a long-form articulate rehash your friend’s ribald Thailand holiday stories: they might feature the same disfigured hookers and dirty powders, sure, but your friend eventually had his fill and came home. New Juche emerged on the other end not sated but seeking to go yet deeper.

If orgasm is la petite mort, New Juche’s furious wanking in putrid public toilet stalls is la petite suicide. He’s looking for annihilation in a slum hovel’s bathroom for 5 baht a pop. He’s cruising down potholed third world roads hoping to find a gas station selling pineal gland extract by the liter so he can fill up a water bottle and huff it. He’s no dilettante — he’s searching for the heart of coomerism so he can rip it out and take a bite while it’s still beating.

Does he find it? Not for me to say.