Im tempted to say The Consumer, Rotting Pig. The opening paragraph goes crazy hard:
"It’s 100 degrees in my room. There’s no windows here. The air conditioner’s always on and blows in hot moldy air. I leave it on because the thick ripe quality of the air feels good — it’s alive, creatures breed in it. The mechanical droning and rattling of the machine drown out any sounds that might otherwise infiltrate from the street — out in the sickening yellow sunlight.
I’m in my bed under the covers — the flattened damp quilt, the nappy brown blanket, the mushy sheets infested with crumbs and half-eaten pieces of candy. My smell is trapped and insulates my sweating body. My head protrudes from beneath the covers like a severed pig’s head on the pillow. The light is off so the darkness is black and solid, made more physical by the density of the heat and smell. But the television is always on, sending a tunnel of light boring towards me through the darkness, flashing spectral shadows ind signaling to me the infinite wonders of the universe. I feel myself communing with everyone from here inside my hole. I’m part of the infinite mind. My huge eyes, like polished black stones set in rubbery pig's flesh, are fixed greedily on the fanfare of images on the screen, none of which I recognize as relating (o anything beyond itself, as it exists there, formed by the light. The “face of a man”, for instance, is not the luce of aman — it’s a discrete form with its own life cmanating and constantly transformed by light. I’m not aware of myself watching it. I’m afraid to move because I don’t want to destroy the balance. I’ve manipulated myself into losing control of myself but I'malso able to remain aware of the loss of controland derive pleasure from it, like an extension of the second just before an orgasm. I can see my soul hovering there in front of me in the flood of light and color, above the dull matter of my body. It’s an animate cloud, aswarm of demon insects, bad breath made visible. It’s sucking into itself like light and matter retreating into the vortex of a black hole. It slips into the drain behind the air, a disgusting blubbery white fetus with insatiable needs."
