She was sitting…

February 24, 2015


She was sitting at the table under the barred window with all the materials for stuffing a chicken around her, but a book was in front of her and she was reading. As he came in she slowly looked up.

‘Is that for tonight?’ he enquired, poking the chicken with a not very clean finger.

‘Yes. Don’t do that.’

‘Don’t you put sage in the stuffing, then, you know I can’t abide it.’

‘It isn’t going to be stuffed with sage, it’s going to be stuffed with prunes and chestnuts.’

She put her chin into her hands and smiled at him. Her face always had the ghost of a smile on it, and this annoyed people in Seagate. Her teeth were not her own and her lips were too full and she was forty-seven and not groomed, but she was beautiful. Ted was too inexperienced to know what was the force that made her face attractive. It was not intelligence, nor gentleness nor spirituality. Most women disliked her at sight.’

Stella Gibbons
The Rich House

A sign to reassure you….

February 24, 2015


The Sadeian Women….

February 24, 2015


“Eugenie de Mistival commits a gross sexual assault upon her mother. Though it is performed with obscene relish, this monstrous act is primarily occasioned by vengeance, rather than lust…She first rapes her and then sews up her mother’s genital orifice with needle and thread.

…(Having first arranged) “a syphilitic who inoculates her with the pox in both orifices…(before) Eugenie seizes needle and thread and sews her securely up.”

Angela Carter
The Sadeian Women

My first trip to the Zoo….

February 24, 2015


My first trip to the Zoo as a child, I was so terribly disappointed they had no dragons.

She loved the moors…

February 24, 2015


She loved the moors. Flowers brighter than the rose bloomed in the blackest of the heath for her; out of a sullen hollow in a livid hillside her mind could make an Eden. She found in the bleak solitude many and dear delights.

Charlotte Brontë
Jane Eyre

Hers was a twilight world….

February 24, 2015


Hers was a twilight world, where the moon floated up over the trees at night like a tremulous balloon of silver light and the bluish rays wavered through the leaves outside her window, quivering in fluid patterns on the wallpaper of her room. The very air was mildly opaque, and forms wavered and blended one with the other. The wind blew in gentle, capricious gusts, now here, now there, coming from the sea or from the rose garden (she could tell by the scent of water or of flowers).

Sylvia Plath
Sunday at the Mintons

Oh, like this…

February 24, 2015


Useful DIY guide….

February 24, 2015

Do-it-yourself coffins

Eyes sunken in….

February 24, 2015


I would love your eyes sunken in, your lips silenced, your sex frozen, if only you were dead; unfortunately, you have the bad taste to be alive.

Gabrielle Wittkop
The Necrophiliac