A perverse killing surgeon’s narcissistic death drive manifests through relation to his phobic/fetish objects of woman and cleavage respectively. He is an unwitting pioneer of human devotion to innovative and profitable rapture ideologies based on a totalitarian individualist and libertarian death drive.

‘Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds’

Bhagavad-Gita

A dystopian psychoanalytic and political drama where serial killing surgeons and self destruction are valued and normalized when individuals recognize and embrace their end.

Chapter the first

Fame was not his ambition, since fame is a social thing and he was and is not what we might think of as a social being. Note that I start with a description of what he is not. His psyche demands pure lack, negativity, frustration, privation, and even as we shall see castration. He just needs to know he is better than and knows more than everybody else. Simple as.

Paterson woke up from a disturbing dream. Today is or should be a great day. Today he is to be awarded a gold medal by the UK Royal College of Surgeons for his work in eradicating breast cancer. But he doesn’t feel excited, at all.

The dream leaves him anxious as if a shadow is cast. He notices then touches his penis and almost starts to masturbate but no. He hasn’t the heart and gives up. The show must go on. The Paterson show. His own death arouses him, the thought and dreams of a particular mode of death. Death as his Rapture. His ascent into a metaphorical heaven. But already it is, this is, too abstract to bear.

The dream we should know about.

He is naked on a charger in the battle of waterloo with the chaos of battle all around his mount a glistening muscular and well endowed stallion galloping toward god knows where his naked arse and balls are crushed and sliding on sweat as facing him a woman of great strength is forcing his head and face into her perfect breasts a source of horror and oh my holy god her into her cleavage a source of intense arousal and as she suffocates him to the point of death he nearly but not quite ejaculates and wakes.

Dreams can be so strange. Unconscious wish fulfillment, hallucinatory images of desired, phobic or fetish objects. Any way, putting such theorization aside Paterson, with his flaccid penis flopping sadly aside his thigh walks or we could say shuffles oddly to the shower. Fuck he says.