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Old 02-01-2009   #81
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Re: Erotic Passage of the Day

"First Evening" by Arthur Rimbaud

Her clothes were almost off;
Outside, a curious tree
Beat a branch at the window
To see what it could see.

Perched on my enormous easy chair,
Half nude, she clasped her hands.
Her feet trembled on the floor,
As soft as they could be.

I watched as a ray of pale light,
Trapped in the tree outside,
Danced from her mouth
To her breast, like a fly on a flower.

I kissed her delicate ankles.
She had a soft, brusque laugh
That broke into shining crystals -
A pretty little laugh.

Her feet ducked under her chemise;
"Will you please stop it!…"
But I laughed at her cries -
I knew she really liked it.

Her eye trembled beneath my lips;
They closed at my touch.
Her head went back; she cried:
"Oh, really! That's too much!

"My dear, I'm warning you…"
I stopped her protest with a kiss
And she laughed, low -
A laugh that wanted more than this…

Her clothes were almost off;
Outside, a curious tree
Beat a branch at the window
To see what it could see.

All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream..
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Old 02-02-2009   #82
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Re: Erotic Passage of the Day

Rose, I hear your voice near to me
Let's put away the poisoned chalice, for now
And lie down amongst the flowerbeds

Whichever stars we walk among
We both seek out the darkest red
The wine was turned to blood again
Without this blood we'd both be dead

I've wound myself tight into the hedgerows
Let's see which way the winter wind blows

(You are my shadow)

- Coil, Rosa Decidua

"The failed magician waves his wand, and in an instant the laughter is gone." - Martin Gore
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Old 02-19-2009   #83
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Re: Erotic Passage of the Day

"The stuttering light transformed us into players in a clandestine film. The silver streamers of jetting water seemed to caress the young woman's naked body. I clasped my hands behind her head and held her small face within my forearms. Her hands were trapped against my chest, but I felt her palms embrace me as our shared fevers came together in the trembling night."
J. G. Ballard - The Day of Creation

"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 03-13-2009   #84
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Re: Erotic Passage of the Day

"She watched me brush a leaf from my lapel, and a smile moved like a slow tic across her mouth. She sipped her coffee, then pressed a tissue to her lips, leaving the imprint of a crushed kiss on the table. She returned to the laptop, perhaps outlining a cost-benefit analysis of her next affair, the contingency funds to be assigned to minor cosmetic surgery, precautionary visits to the HIV clinic...

As if to encourage the fantasies of the stranger sitting nearby, she kicked off her high-heeled shoes and hitched up her skirt to scratch her stockinged insteps, exposing a satisfying glimpse of white thigh. Despite the smart suit, her blonde hair was a little too blown, giving her the look of a nervy and intellectual tart. Was she a call-girl, computerized like everyone else at Eden-Olympia? Her sceptical stare at the Elf building made it hard to believe that she worked as a contented member of anyone's team."
J. G. Ballard - Super-Cannes

"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 05-20-2009   #85
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Re: Erotic Passage of the Day

A Broken Appointment by Thomas Hardy

You did not come,
And marching Time drew on, and wore me numb.
Yet less for loss of your dear presence there
Than that i thus found lacking in your make
That high compassion which can overbear
Reluctance for pure loving kindness' sake
Grieved I, when, as the hope-hour stroked its sum,
You did not come.

You love not me,
And love alone can lend you loyalty;
-I know and knew it.But, unto the store
Of human deeds divine in all but name,
Was it not worth a little hour or more
To add yet this: Once you, a woman, came
To soothe a time-torn man; even though it be
You love not me?

All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream..
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Old 05-21-2009   #86
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Re: Erotic Passage of the Day

She began to undress with a studied slowness. First she threw her coat aside, then stepped out of her (black) dress; and she stood like that, faintly alluring in her cheap lace underthings, her arms naked and the swell of her breast rising and falling.

[...] Even more slowly, she pulled down the left shoulder of her slip (this, I knew, was the only screen between my real desire and her), still holding up his last garment with one hand. She looked at me again, darkly, almost questioningly, almost as if she were waiting for some impatient gesture from me; then she took her hand away releasing the thin fabric; and finally, that left coral colored breast was born, liberated anew.

"There", she added with desolate simplicity.

A breast: but was this vile and naked thing, this vilely naked, naked vile thing before me in the gold light a woman's breast? Hardly; obscene creases ran toward the tip of that pale flesh which was swollen, yes, but somehow dead; and the aureola, which in a truly feminine breast has the vividness of gums, looked colorless and sick, and was even surrounded by long black hairs; and the ultimate horror, the ultimate ignominy, was that in the place of the nipple (the source of supreme pride) was a sort of dark and flaccid flesh, like the mouth of an old, toothless man.

Tommaso Landolfi.
Extract from "A Woman's Breast", from "Words in Commotion", published in 1986 by Viking.

I know who you are
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Old 05-22-2009   #87
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Re: Erotic Passage of the Day

No poet's verses or painter's palette could give you a conception of it. She was tall and with the figure and bearing of a goddess. Her hair was blond with russet lights, parted at the crown of her head and streaming down over her temples like two waves of red gold, so one had the impression of a queen wearing a diadem. Her forehead was broad and tranquil, with a transparent blue-whiteness of complexion; it stretched above eyebrows that were surprisingly dark brown, a singularity which added still more to the startling effect of her vivid sea-green eyes, intolerably bright. What eyes those were! They decided a man's destiny in a single flash. They had a life, a clear shining depth, a keen and glistening brilliance that I had never seen in a human eye before: shafts of light sped from them, as distinct to me as flights of arrows striking towards my heart. I do not know if the fire that lit them came from heaven or hell, but undoubtedly it came from one or the other. That woman was either an angel or a demon, or perhaps both, but she could not possibly have sprung from the loins of Eve, the common mother of us all.

Behind the red smile of her lips glittered teeth of the finest orient, and in the rose satin of her adorable cheeks tiny dimples puckered at each inflexion of her mouth. Her nose had the high pride and delicacy of cut which betrayed aristocratic blood. The smooth, glowing skin of her half-bared shoulders flowed with light like white agates, while loop after loop of fat milky pearls, almost identical with the flesh tones of her neck, crowded down upon her breast. From time to time she tossed her head with the slow rippling movement of a serpent or a peacock displaying itself, and a light tremor passed through the transparent lacework of the high ruff-collar encircling her face like a haze of silver.

Théophile Gautier.
Extract from "The Priest", from "My fantoms", published in 1976 by Quartet Book Limited.

I know who you are
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Old 05-22-2009   #88
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Re: Erotic Passage of the Day

Quote Originally Posted by Ligeia View Post
"First Evening" by Arthur Rimbaud

Her clothes were almost off;
Outside, a curious tree
Beat a branch at the window
To see what it could see.

Perched on my enormous easy chair,
Half nude, she clasped her hands.
Her feet trembled on the floor,
As soft as they could be.

I watched as a ray of pale light,
Trapped in the tree outside,
Danced from her mouth
To her breast, like a fly on a flower.

I kissed her delicate ankles.
She had a soft, brusque laugh
That broke into shining crystals -
A pretty little laugh.

Her feet ducked under her chemise;
"Will you please stop it!…"
But I laughed at her cries -
I knew she really liked it.

Her eye trembled beneath my lips;
They closed at my touch.
Her head went back; she cried:
"Oh, really! That's too much!

"My dear, I'm warning you…"
I stopped her protest with a kiss
And she laughed, low -
A laugh that wanted more than this…

Her clothes were almost off;
Outside, a curious tree
Beat a branch at the window
To see what it could see.
A perfect choice.

And the John Cale reading on Hector Zazou's SAHARA BLUE is stunning.

"He who hides his madman, dies voiceless."
-- Henri Michaux
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