Showing posts with label erotica. Show all posts
Showing posts with label erotica. Show all posts

Friday, May 17, 2013

Book cover... illustrations by Genesis P-Orridge for Terence Sellers ... The Correct Sadist... 1983/1990



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''All the so-called terrors of solitude console me. The resonant silence of the evening's end, as the stars come into their own is a pleasure I cannot share with anyone - though some do seem sensitive enough. I often awake alone, with the echo of an uncertain sound from the house below fading in my ears . . . I leap from the bed directly and rush to meet the intruders. Perhaps once a week I have such an adventure. But no one is ever there." TS


Monday, March 4, 2013

Frans de Geetere & Arthur Rimbaud... The Stupra... 1925




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Frans de Geetere ~ illustration for The Stupra 1925


The ancient beasts...


The ancient beasts bred even on the run,
Theirs glans encrusted with blood and excrement. 
Our forfathers displayed theirs members proudly
By the fold of the sheath and the grain of the scrotum.

In the middle ages, for a female, angel or sow,
A fellow whose gear was substantial was needed;
Even a Kléber, judging by his breeches which exagerate
Perhaps a little, can't have lacked resources.

Besides, man is equal to the proudest mammal;
We are wrong to be surprised at the hugeness of their members;
But a sterile hour has struck: the gelding

And the ox have bridled their ardours, and no one
Will dare again to raise his genital pride
In the copses teeming with comical children.

Arthur Rimbaud ~ The Stupra 1925



Monday, May 21, 2012

Vladimira Milashevskago...illustrations ...Zanaveshennye kartinki (Curtained pictures) ...1920



Poems by Mikhail Kuzmin, Illustrated by Vladimir Milashevsky 1920




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Sun, Sun

Sun, sun,
divine Ra-Helios,
you delight
the hearts of kings and heroes,
sacred horses neigh to you,
in Heliopolis they sing hymns to you;
when you shine,
lizards crawl out onto rocks
and boys go laughing
to swim in the Nile.
Sun, sun,
I am a pale scribbler,
a library recluse,
but I love you, sun, no less
than a tanned sailor
smelling of fish and salt water,
and no less
than his accustomed heart
rejoices
at your royal rising
from the ocean,
my heart trembles,
when your dusty, but flaming ray
slips
through the narrow window by the ceiling
onto my filled page
and my thin, yellowish hand,
writing out in vermilion
the first letter of a hymn to you,
O Ra-Helios sun!