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Old 10-29-2008   #11
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Re: Erotic Passage of the Day

That's nothing out of the ordinary," said the Knave. "It doesn't qualify as a superior performance. Such mediocre ability is ample for everyday sex with one's wife, but I'm afraid it would be quite inadequate for conducting a raid on someone else's compound." "You're worrying unnecessarily, my good fellow," said Vesperus. "The other day I bought myself an excellent aphrodisiac, which I keep in my room. I have no woman at present, so I'ma warrior without a battlefield. If an assignation can be arranged,...

Li Yu - "The Carnal Prayer Mat"

All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream..
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Old 10-29-2008   #12
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Re: Erotic Passage of the Day

"Song to the tune of 'Soaring Clouds'" by the Poetess Huang O (1498-1569)

You held my lotus blossom
In your lips and played with the
Pistil. We took one piece of
Magic rhinoceros horn
And could not sleep all night long.
All night the cock's gorgeous crest
Stood erect. All night the bee
Clung trembling to the flower
Stamens. Oh, my sweet perfumed
Jewel! I will allow only
My lord to possess my sacred
Lotus pond, and every night
You can make blossom in me
Flowers of fire.

-- from The Orchid Boat: Women Poets of China (trans. and edited by Kenneth Rexroth and Ling Chung)

"Reality is the shadow of the word." -- Bruno Schulz
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Old 10-29-2008   #13
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Re: Erotic Passage of the Day

Quote Originally Posted by Bleak&Icy View Post
We took one piece of
Magic rhinoceros horn
And could not sleep all night long.
See how everything fits together?

"What does it mean to be alive except to court disaster and suffering at every moment?"

Tibet: Carnivals?
Ligotti: Ceremonies for initiating children into the cult of the sinister.
Tibet: Gas stations?
Ligotti: Nothing to say about gas stations as such, although I've always responded to the smell of gasoline as if it were a kind of perfume.
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Old 10-30-2008   #14
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Re: Erotic Passage of the Day

As he scrambled along the bank towards the recumbent figure, his satyrish pleasure in the exposed curves of her limbs was lost in a moment's intense thinking; and yet it was not so much "thinking" as the distressing clash of two contradictory opportunities, the opportunity to be faithful to Wizzie, and the opportunity to enjoy, after his own cerebral fashion, the yielding mood of this strange young woman.

It was some plausible demon--the demon of convoluted self-preservation perhaps--that came to his rescue as he clambered over the girl's body to his balancing-place at her side. This demon suggested to him the idea of exploiting his moral disapproval of her treating of Mr. Wye, exploiting his resentment with her for her seduction of Wizzie, exploiting his accumulative malice against her, to assist him to remain scrupulously faithful to the circus-rider, while at the same time he allowed his sense of sight to enjoy what he rigorously refused to his sense of touch!

"She will be piqued," this crafty advisor whispered, "by not being able to ruffle your self-control; and without giving her the satisfaction of making you unfaithful to Wizz you will get such pleasure from contemplating what you refuse to touch that tantalization will be swallowed up in ecstasy."

But Dud's demon betrayed him into the girl's hands. Thuella must have had the exactly corresponding feminine perversity answering our friend's...

...and all the while their real thoughts were the recurrent orbits, each revolving on its own quivering axis, of their magnetic advances and retreats, while the absence of actual contact between them evoked, in place of any twinge of tantalization, an intensity of imaginative lust that was transporting.

Thuella seemed to know to a point of exquisite clairvoyance how to play on the psychic nerve of his cerebral desire; and our friend was astounded, even while he was enraptured, by her understanding of the perversity of his senses.

The magnetic interchange between them was rendered more complicated though not less exciting by reason of their dangerous position above the "scummy pond," into whose dark water it is certain that John Bunyan would have precipitated them both, and out of whose green slime it is equally certain that Dante would have called forth a cartload of horned devils, of scratching, biting, scaly devils, of foul, stinking, obscene devils, to switch them off to hell.

But all forms of erotic rapture--even that mysterious embracing of the cosmos known to so many of the old saints--come at last to an end, and the time arrived when our friend found himself helping Thuella, with her hat in her own hand now, to reach the gate.

-- Maiden Castle by John Cowper Powys.

"Reality is the shadow of the word." -- Bruno Schulz
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Old 10-30-2008   #15
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Re: Erotic Passage of the Day

"'Show me the worst,' I said, eyeing the undersized door before us.

The situation here was as transparent as the others. Only this time it wasn't pet leopards, pathetic clowns, or paranoid shadows. It was, in fact, two new characters: a wicked witch and her assistant in the form of an enchanted puppet. The clumsy little creature, due to an incorrigibly mischievous temperament, had behaved badly. Now the witch was in the process, which she had down to perfection, of putting him back in line. She swept across the room, her dark dress swirling like a maelstrom, her hideous face sunken into an abundant hood. Behind her a stained-glass window shone with all the excommunicated tints of corruption. By the light of this infernal rainbow of wrinkled cellophane, she collared her naughty assistant and chained him hands and feet to a formidable-looking stone wall, which buckled aluminum-like when he collapsed against it. She angled down her hooded face and whispered into his wooden ear.

'Do you know what I do with little puppets who've been bad?' she inquired. 'Do you?'

The puppet trembled a bit and would have beamed bright with perspiration had he been made of flesh and not wood.

'I'll tell you what I do,' the witch continued half-sweetly. 'I make them touch the fire. I burn them from the legs up.'

Then, surprisingly, the puppet smiled.

'And what will you do,' the puppet asked, 'with all those old dresses, gloves, veils, and capes when I'm gone? What will you do in your low-rent castle with no one to stare, his brow of glittering silver, into the windows of your dreams?'

Perhaps the puppet was perspiring after all, for his brow was now glistening with tiny flecks of starlight."
Thomas Ligotti - "Eye of the Lynx"

"What does it mean to be alive except to court disaster and suffering at every moment?"

Tibet: Carnivals?
Ligotti: Ceremonies for initiating children into the cult of the sinister.
Tibet: Gas stations?
Ligotti: Nothing to say about gas stations as such, although I've always responded to the smell of gasoline as if it were a kind of perfume.
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Old 10-30-2008   #16
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Re: Erotic Passage of the Day

It was hot, and the hour was past noon:
my limbs sank down, eased upon the bed.
Part of the window was open, part was shut,
shading the light the way in woods it often does,
glowing softly as when Phoebus* escapes at dusk
or as night leaves, wth day not yet begun--
the kind of light sought out by shamefaced girls,
whose shyness hopes for such a shady place to hide.
Look, Corinna comes, flesh veiled by her undone chemise,
straying hair mantling her pure white throat,
just so was Semiramis in her wedding chamber,
they say, or Lais, loved by many men.
I pulled at her chemise --its sheerness barely hindered me
yet she still fought to keep its scant protection.
She battled, though, as if she did not wish to win--
vanquished without much struggle, self-betrayed--
and stood uncovered: naked before my eyes.
There was no flaw, none, in her whole body.
What shoulders, what arms I saw and touched!
The shape of her nipples--so ready to be kissed!
Impossible to criticize the flat belly below her waist!
What long and lovely flanks! What youthful thighs!
Why recount all that I saw--I saw nothing lacking praise!
I pressed her naked body against mine.
Who doesn’t know what followed? Wearied, we both rested.
O give me many afternoons like this!



Ovid - "Amores Elegy V, Book 1"

All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream..
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Old 10-30-2008   #17
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Re: Erotic Passage of the Day

“Kisses in the Train” by D. H. Lawrence (1885-1930)

I saw the midlands
Revolve through her hair;
The fields of autumn
Stretching bare,
And sheep on the pasture
Tossed back in a scare.

And still as ever
The world went round,
My mouth on her pulsing
Throat was found,
And my breast to her beating
Breast was bound.

But my heart at the center
Of all, in a swound
Was still as a pivot,
As all the ground
On its prowling orbit
Shifted round.

And still in my nostrils
The scent of her flesh;
And still my blind face
Sought her afresh;
And still one pulse
Through the world did thresh.

And the world all whirling
Round in joy
Like the dance of a dervish
Did destroy
My sense—and reason
Spun like a toy.

But firm at the centre
My heart was found;
My own to her perfect
Heartbeat bound,
Like a magnet’s keeper
Closing the round.
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Old 10-31-2008   #18
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Re: Erotic Passage of the Day

"To the tune 'I Paint My Lips Red'" by a Nemonymous Courtesan (11th Century)

After kicking on the swing,
Lasciviously, I get up and rouge my palms.
Thick dew on a frail flower,
Perspiration soaks my thin dress.
A new guest enters.
My stockings come down
And my hairpins fall out.
Embarrassed, I run away,.
And lean flirtatiously against the door,
Tasting a green plum.

-- from The Orchid Boat: Women Poets of China (trans. and edited by Kenneth Rexroth and Ling Chung)

"Reality is the shadow of the word." -- Bruno Schulz
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Old 10-31-2008   #19
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Re: Erotic Passage of the Day

"To the tune 'Intoxicated with Shadows of Flowers'" by Yu Ch'ing-tseng (late 19th Century)

A brush of evening clouds.
The perfume of flowers in the darkness.
A harp melody
Accompanies the chanting of poetry.
Smoke rises from the incense clock's seal characters.
We lock the silk sliding doors,
And let down the curtains of the bed,
And whisper the words
We do not want others to hear.
The moonlight flows like water.
All the world is still.
My young lover can read my mind.
Laughing, we wash away my makeup,
And watch our love making in the mirror.

-- from The Orchid Boat: Women Poets of China (trans. and edited by Kenneth Rexroth and Ling Chung)

"Reality is the shadow of the word." -- Bruno Schulz
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Old 10-31-2008   #20
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Re: Erotic Passage of the Day

At first, of course, Daisy was politely reserved when I asked about some lilting blossoms for a loved one's memorial. I soon cured her, however, of this unnecessarily detached manner. In my deeply shy and friendly tone of voice I asked her about some of the other flowers in the shop, ones having nothing to do with loss, if not everything to do with gain. She was quite glad to take me on a trumped-up tour of hyacinths and hibiscuses. I confessed to knowing next to nothing about commercial plants and things, and remarked on her enthusiasm for this field of study, hoping all the while that at least part of her animation was inspired by me. "Oh, I love working with flowers," she said. "I think they're real interesting." Then she asked if I was aware that there were plants having flowers which opened only at night, and that certain types of violets bloomed only in darkness underground. My inner flow of thoughts and sensations suddenly quickened. Though I had already sensed she was a girl of special imagination, this was the first hint I received of just how special it was. I judged my efforts to know her better would not be wasted, as they have been with others. "That is real interesting about those flowers," I said, smiling a hothouse warm smile. There was a pause which I filled in with my name. She then told me hers. "Now what kind of flowers would you like?" she asked. I sedately requested an arrangement suitable for the grave of a departed grandmother. Before leaving the shop I told Daisy I might need to stop by again to satisfy some future floral needs. She seemed to have no objection to this. With the vegetation nestled in my arm I songfully walked out of the store.

-- "Les Fleurs" by Thomas Ligotti (indeed, who else could have written the above passage?)

"Reality is the shadow of the word." -- Bruno Schulz
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