How could (your body) be so delicious if not by virtue of the speech which it conceals?
Pierre Klossowski, Le Souffleur
I love you: body shared, undivided. Neither you nor I severed. There is no need for blood shed between us. No need for a wound to remind us that blood exists. It flows within us, from us. Blood is familiar, close.
Luce Irigaray, When Our Lips Speak Together
Quote with 23 notes
Greyness is no ordinary greyness, but a vast lead roof which covers the world like the lid of a soup pan. The breath of human beings is like the steam of a laundry house. The smoke of cigarettes is like a rain of ashes from Vesuvius. The lights taste of sulphur, and each face stares at you with the immensity of its defects. The smallness of a room is like that of an iron cage in which one can neither sit nor lie down. The largeness of other rooms is like a mortal danger always suspended above you, awaiting the moment of your joy to fall. Laughter and tears are not separate experiences, with intervals of rest: they rush out together and it is like walking with a sword between your legs. Rain does not wet your hair but drips in the cells of the brain with the obstinacy of a leak. Snow does not freeze the hands, but like ether distends the lungs until they burst. All the ships are sinking with fire in their bowels, and there are fires hissing in the cellars of every house. The loved one’s whitest flesh is what the broken glass will cut and the wheel crush. The long howls in the night are howls of death. Night is the collaborator of torturers. Day is the light on harrowing discoveries. If a dog barks it is the man who loves wide gashes leaping in through the window. Laughter precedes hysteria. I am waiting for the heavy fall and the foam at the mouth.
A horror so deep only ritual can contain it.
Sarah Kane, Crave.
How could I know you fit my body like a glove? You’re destroying me. You’re good for me. You’re destroying me. You’re good for me.
I have time. Please, devour me.
Marguerite Duras, Hiroshima mon amour
Photoset with 86 notes
From Neco by Yuichi Hibi
How Much You Hate Me?, 1992
Hide and Seek, Found You! #1, 1992
“It seems to me that cats never like to depend on anything. When they are tired, they sleep. When they want to eat, they cry. And when they want to have sex, they just do it… In Japan, we say, ‘Before cats die, they disappear from their owner.’ Cats are very hidden, mysterious, and proud. I often feel they know how to make me take pictures of them, and they reveal what’s inside.”
That’s what I do: I make coffee and occasionally succumb to suicidal nihilism. But you shouldn’t worry — poetry is still first. Cigarettes and alcohol follow.
There is horror in being: this horror is repugnant animality; this does not repel me, on the contrary, I thirst for it; far from escaping, I may resolutely quench my thirst with this horror … for this I have filthy words at my disposal, words that sharpen the feeling I have of touching on the intolerable secret of being … at this moment I no longer doubt that I am embracing the totality without which I was only outside: I reach orgasm.
Georges Bataille, The Accursed Share, translation by Rowan G. Tepper
You are my stranger and see how we have closed. On both ends.
Night wets me all night, blind, carried.
Would I dance with you? Both forever and rather die.
It would be like dying, yes. Yes I would.
Quote with 19 notes
If abomination is the lining of my symbolic being, “I” am therefore heterogeneous, pure and impure, and as such always potentially condemnable. I am from the very beginning subject to persecution as well as to revenge. The infinite meshing of expulsions and hazings, of divisions and inexorable, abominable reprisals is then thrown into gear. The system of abominations sets in motion the persecuting machine in which I assume the place of the victim in order to justify the purification that will separate me from that place as it will from any other, from all others.
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