Friday, April 30, 2010

Happy Beltane... & Alan Jay Lerner and Frederick Loewe from Camalot


Jacob Matham after Hendrik Goltzius - Libido 1587

It's May, it's May,
the month of "Yes, you may"
The time for every frivolous whim, proper or im-
It's wild, it's gay,
depraved in every way
The birds and bees with all
of their vast amorous past
Gaze at the human race aghast
The Lusty Month of May

It's May, it's May, the lusty Month of May
That lovely month when everyone goes
blissfully astray
it's here, it's here,
that shocking time of year
When tons of wicked little thoughts
merrily appear

It's May, it's May,
the month of great dismay
when all the world is brimming with fun,
wholesome or un-
It's mad, it's gay,
alive a lust display
Those dreary vows that everyone takes,
everyone breaks
Everyone makes divine mistakes
The Lusty Month of May

Alan Jay Lerner and Frederick Loewe from Camalot

Hendrick Goltzius (1558–1617) ... blooming muse...


Monday, April 26, 2010

Austin Osman Spare...The Focus of Life... a video by Darius Meilus

more at theletus

The 'Self,' will pleasure in all things. There is only one sense,-the sexual. There is only one desire,-procreation. I am the cause-thou the effect. I am all that I concieve. Not for all time but at some time. 'I multiply I' is creation: The sexual infinity. There is no end to the details of my extreme likeness.

The more chaotic-the more complete am I. The soul is the ancestral animals. The body their knowledge. This omnivorous soul, how lusty: it would seem to be everlasting in its suicide. These modified sexualities are the index of knowledge; this realized; the dualities do not obstruct with associations that involve infinite complexities and much education. Existence is a continuation of self-realization. To create value where there is none.

By all desire being one there is no overlapping nor the later necessity of undesiring. Complex desire is the further creation of different desire, not the realization of [particular] desire. O Zos, Thou shall die of extreme youth! Death is a disease of fear. All is a backward walking-realized incapacity of volition: To walk towards thyself. With thine infinite self multiplication of associations Thou knowest all things. Among sentient creatures human birth is highly desirable, man desires emancipation-liberation to his primeval self.
Remember! Didst thou leave the high estate for worse things? Man becomes what he relapses into.


Leo Fontan... Faunesse!


Sunday, April 25, 2010

Alan Sillitoe...Poem

Alan Sillitoe, 4 March 1928 – 25 April 2010.

Hannes Bok

sonnet: love

Love is not to be sought and known
When a mere comet-flash means dark
Oncoming doom. Who seek Love stand alone--
(Do not dream what visitations mark
The final pain of procreative world,
What blood-bellied moons of solstice red
Shine at myrtle-berried midnight)--are killed
In stone-cold bodies never brought to bed.

Love is antique, no fickle mind
Can satisfy it; and never Hope will gain
An entrance to loins that like a wind
Spin a black night into a wheel of pain:
Not to know, and a tiger's black and gold,
Can the vast orbit of Love's pleasure hold. 

Flemish School ...1600's


Thursday, April 22, 2010

Giordano Bruno... sonnets


Giordano Bruno (1548 – February 17, 1600)

sonnets excerpts

Cause, Principle and One, the Sempiterne,
On whom all being, motion, life, depend,
From whom, in length, breadth, depth, their paths extend
As far as heaven, earth, hell their faces turn:
With sense, with mind, with reason, I discern
That act, rule, reckoning, may not comprehend
That power and bulk and multitude which tend
Beyond all lower, middle, and superne.

Blind error, ruthless time, ungentle doom,
Deaf envy, villain madness, zeal unwise,
Hard heart, unholy craft, bold deeds begun,
Shall never fill for one the air with gloom,
Or ever thrust a veil before these eyes,
Or ever hide from me my glorious sun.


Since i have spread my wings to purpose high,
The more beneath my feet the clouds I see,
The more I give the winds my pinions free,
Spurning the earth and soaring to the sky.
Unwarned by Icarus' sad fate to ply
My flight near earth, I farther heavenward flee.
That I shall sink in death, I know must be;
But with that death of mine what life will die?

Across the air, I hear my heart's voice cry:
Where dost thou bear me reckless one? Descend!
Such rashness seldom ends but bitterly'
'Fear not the lofty fall' I answer 'rend
With might the clouds, and be content to die,
if God such a glorious death for us intend.

Giordano Bruno

Such glorious death God did intend; and the poet met it, as an exceptional honor, without fear, without complaint, without appeal. Such in life and death, was Giordano Bruno, the first of modern men, the Messiah of free thought and free life-
Thomas Davidson 1885

Thursday, April 15, 2010

Bookplate... the witch swims!


Illustration from
Montague Summers's The Discovery
of Witches: A Study of Master Mat-
thew Hopkins. 1928

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

The Lizard Phallus...erotica watercolour 1870


anonymous, inspired by Poitevin 1870

 from an interesting collection of erotica artworks at La Galerie Libertine

Alfred Proessdorf... erotica 1920


The Indiscreet Jewels (French: Les bijoux indiscrets) is the first novel by Denis Diderot, published anonymously in 1748. It is an allegory that portrays Louis XV as the sultan Mangogul of the Congo who owns a magic ring that makes women's genitals ("jewels") talk.

Thursday, April 8, 2010

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

Paul Gregor ...'Journal d'un Sorcier' ( A Wizard Diary)

Paul Gregor (aka Paul Sebescen, 1914-1988) became famous in the french occult world when he published, in 1964, his famous 'Journal d'un Sorcier' (A Wizard Diary). He was relating in this book his astonishing adventures in Brazil, just after World War II, when he plunged into the world of the 'Quimbanda', the darker side of Macumba.





an excerpt from unfinished novel 'Circe's Island'...

"We are both living inside our two bodies and also far beyond them. We are part of the exuberant nature which surrounds us, of its soothing quiet and also of its sadistic Black Masses. We are ceaselessly changing. Into night-flowers, birds, trails of blood, rags of skin lacerated by razor-blades - now we are hoarse yells, now the murmur of brooks under the moon. Only in our imagination? Where does imagination begin? Where does it end? Is it morbid? Why should we care?"

"The only thing I know for certain: this is eternity. Our sighs are sighed by our innermost life. Our breathing follows the rhythm of permanent orgasm, we are cast in the iron mould of unending lust: ceaselessly ebbing and flowing."

"We are that fabulous being of Plato, with two heads, four arms and four legs."

Hail to thee, oh Whirling Dove!
Hail, oh Woman-Exù!
She is waiting at her crossroads
Doing whatever she wills to do.

* Many thanks to Philippe Pissier for all the above

Jose Galdo... art works





Skaryski Jerzy... prints