White Stains has ratings and 7 reviews. Jeff said: Degradation, depravity and odes to fellatio. Yes, the folks of the late ‘s-early ‘s new ho. Other Works by Aleister Crowley: Plays, Fiction, and other originally unnumbered works. WHITE STAINS THE LITERARY REMAINS OF GEORGE ARCHIBALD BISHOP A NEUROPATH OF THE SECOND EMPIRE (Aleister Crowley) Transcribed.
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At this point the accounts of Mr. It was vaguely interesting, but not particularly enjoyable.
White Stains: Pornographic Occult Poetry as Shadow Confrontation and Cathartic Liberation
Between shy finger whisper me the ‘yea! He hath no scent to drive men mad; no mystic fragrance from his skin Sheds a loose hint of subtle sin such as the queen Faustina had. John Addington Symonds Editor.
So be it, in thy arms I rest, lulled into silence by the strain Of sweet love-whispers, while I drain damnation from thy tawny breast. Es-tu fou Que ta grosse bouche baise Quand whitw lune est moins aigue Le bon vin au gout des fraises De ces nymphes si sanglantes– Ce qu’on nomme ‘les Anglaises’ Envie-tu ces amantes  Qui le culte de Sapho Jouissent, petites tantes?
Showing of 6 reviews. Again as dead Were we borne forth, and then — Can I forget? Unknown Bindingpages.
Love’s fountains fill me. I did, however, come across a couple of stanzas which began: Oh cruel power Of wide deep thighs that make me furious As they enclasp me and swing to and fro With passion that grows pale and drives the flow Of the fast fragrant blood of both of us Into the awful link that knits us close With chain electric!
Her silky breath no longer fans my ears; I dream I float on some forgotten stream that hath a saviour still of death, A sweet warm smell of hidden flowers whose heavy petals kiss the sun, Fierce tropic poisons every one that fume and sweat through forest hours; They grow in darkness, heat beguiles their sluggish kisses, in the wood They breathe no murmur that is good, and Satan in their blossom smiles.
White Stains by Aleister Crowley
Convention and social confines help to prevent these types of actions from occurring in reality, but in the process they also carry the capacity to repress and bury potentially powerful and transformative portions of our psyche. White Stains by Aleister Crowley. O wanton breasts that heave deliciously And tempt my eager teeth! Life shall gasp out in the gloom, and all our desires shall perish; Hope and its roseate crown shall fall in the dark to the dust.
Full text of “Collected PDF’s by Aleister Crowley”
Anathema foederis nefandi, jugeris immondi, flagitii contra Amorem, contra Naturam, contra Deum, in saecula praesit Amen! I shall faint with pain, I hide my face For shame. I nerve myself to spring upon and pierce With maddening fangs those firm white bosom towers, To tear those lithe voluptuous limbs apart And glut my ravening soul with vengeance. A strong man’s love is my delight!
Spirit of Liberty, Bear thou my kisses’ sunshine, my tears’ rain To him I love, who may one day love me, And bid him gladden at my amorous strain Across the sea. Come, some new devilry to reinspire My lips with frenzied laughter! O flamed through the sky as a harlot In splendour transcendent and bold, With purple and crimson and scarlet And azure and olive and gold! Smite me, my fiend- fair whore, nor spare My raging hips, but wake again The old desires ere I’m aware, Joy more intense from cruel pain: Draw nigh, sweet maiden, violets blush at birth, Pale lilies tinge with crimson, as the snow At dawn’s approach, the pansy’s darksome dye Deepens when tender winds blow over it And give its beauties to the summer’s gaze: Baudelaire the diabolist, debauchee of sadism, whose dreams are nightmares, and whose waking hours delirium; Rollinat the necrophile, the poet of phthisis, the anxiomaniac; Peladan, the high priest — of nonsense; Mendes, frivolous and scoffing sensualist; besides a host of others, most alike in this, that, below the cloak of madness and depravity, the true heart of genius burns.
Ships from and sold by Amazon. Perhaps pornography, and our relationship and reaction to it, can afford us similar insights but we shall never know if we continue to fear the Beast known as Lust, isolate concepts of beauty from eroticism, and continue to segregate ourselves from ourselves.
Nor thus did love’s embraces wane, Though lusty limbs grow idle quite; Our mouths’ red valves are over-fain To suck the sweetnest from the night; And amorously, with touches light, Steal passion from reluctant pain. I have it now, Thy gift from Hell’s door!
Better he think, fantasize, equate, and write of these things than repress the fact that he, and in extension all of us, might be capable of such actions. At last, so long desired, so long delayed, The step is taken, and the threshold past; I am within the aleiwter I have prayed At last.