Sarah Bernhardt in pensive mood

I exist here in the wrong time and place. This is more than a feeling with me: it is an absolute certainty, I belong elsewhere – “fin de siècle”  Paris, for example!

Yes, a time of ‘semiotic arousal’, and in a place considered the heart of civilisation.

Why not?

The year 1900. The newly gilded Eiffel Tower thrusting into the soft grey underbelly of the evening sky. Lights glowing along the Boulevard de Strasbourg, circles of yellow eating into the gloom. The Théâtre-Français is my destination. Here, the long-awaited premiere of Edmond Rostand’s play L’ Aiglon, staring that most popular of actresses, Sarah Bernhardt, is about to take place.

Ah, Bernhardt, her ripe fifty-five-year-old figure laced into a black satin corset before dressing in the tight uniform of the Duc de Reichstadt. How I would love to charm and seduce her. Together we could sip the best champagne from frosted crystal flutes following her stunning performance. I could unlace that confining corset, and free tiny pale breasts.

During rehearsals of the play, dear Sarah insisted in one scene on having a horse on stage. What Sarah wanted, Sarah got. A horse was duly sent for – but proved too ‘frisky’ for the great actress. A second horse was supplied, but this one, unfortunately, suffered from terrible flatulence, and the many farts erupting from its rear-end were unacceptable to all. A third horse was to be summoned, but Bernhardt had changed her mind. There would be no horse in the scene.

Where was I? Oh, yes, fondling those small but beautiful breasts, lightly kissing the rosette nipples.

Sarah was born Henriette Rosine Bernard and her legendary affairs were the talk of the town. Napoleon III and Edward, Prince of Wales had both taken their delight in Sarah’s naked flesh (not, of course, at the same time!); they were just two of a coterie of lovers attracted to the bright flame that was Sarah Bernhardt. Her body was pale and skinny like a boy’s – which may be why she played so many male parts on stage?

“It’s not that I prefer male roles, it’s that I prefer male minds,” she once commented.

Paris Exposition Universelle in 1900

The Great Exposition Universelle – Paris 1900

Leaving Sarah semi-naked in her dressing room, I exit the theatre and make my way to the Place de la Concord – here I find the brilliantly lighted, multicoloured dome that houses fifty-six ticket offices for the exposition universelle: this is the entrance, Porte Binet, to the exhibition site.

There is, on my righthand, a fifteen foot high plaster statue symbolizing Paris, with great tits and flowing robes designed by Paquin. La Parisienne, sculpted by Paul Moreau–Vauthier, modeled on non-other than Sarah Bernhardt and described by many as ‘The triumph of Prostitution’; it is typical of the use of sculpted allegory throughout the exhibition grounds. No matter where you turn, you are confronted by plump plaster breasts, curvaceous bellies or muscular male athletes, semi-nude, with huge rippling biceps.

Dear Sarah, walking here amongst all this exposed allegorical flesh, would undoubtedly feel a certain dampness in her baggy silken drawers – as, in all probability, do many visiting females. Speaking for the male of the species, I find Loie Fuller’s spectacular dancing in her own art nouveau theater, quite arousing: those whiplash curves match the flowing movements of her body and flying, illuminated veils. It all leads one, inevitably, to remain in the perpendicular throughout her performance.

The most obviously picturesque sections of the exhibition lay along the banks of the Seine. Old Paris on the Right Bank with its gables and spires and its costumed actors; on the Left Bank, overshadowing it, rests the Rue des Nations – great pavilions erected by the many foreign powers (but not the US whose modest building is wedged between Australia and Turkey, elsewhere). Richness metamorphosed into vulgarity. The plaster picturesqueness of the colonial section below the Trocadero, where Javanese nymphets vie with devil dancers from Ceylon, Chinese violins, Spanish castanets, African drums and high pitched wails of Algerian singers, mingle –

And the pretty Moroccan boys with their dark, restless eyes who offer to take your penis in their mouth for a couple of francs. Buggery is slightly more expensive, of course.

Paris moving pavements designed for the Exposition

Moving Pavements designed for the Exposition

Art and sex go hand-in-hand. For the gentleman impossibly aroused by the sights and sounds of the exposition universelle and with no desire for young boys, then beyond the exhibition grounds are the maisons closes, or “shuttered houses”; for example number 12, rue Chabanais, a prestigious bordello where you can bathe with prostitutes in a huge copper bathtub of champagne – for a price! There are other brothels offering more specialised services: dominatrix role play, for example. You can be birched by the dominatrix for five francs a stroke, ‘manual relief’ may be offered afterwards for a further five francs.

Typical Parisian brothel on a quiet day

Paris 1900 is an island of fantasy and pleasure. It is a time of sadomasochistic impulses, Oedipal desires, homosexuality, incest, violence and the irrationality that hides beneath the fragile veneer of civilisation.

Ah, but I cannot remain in this wonderful Paris – I must return to my damp, cold moor at the edge of the world; to this place, home, and my reckless liaisons. To this world where one powerful, egotistical child informs another powerful, egotistical child: ‘My button is bigger than your button!’

Who says satire is dead?

Depressing démarche!

love who you love

February 12, 2017

wednesday_scream3_pervert

Whether it’s men, women – it doesn’t really matter. The human race is filled with passion and lust. And to coin terms like heterosexuality, homosexuality or even bisexuality makes no sense to me. You are human. You love who you love. You fuck who you fuck. That should be enough — no labels. No stigmas. Nothing. Just be to be.

But life isn’t that kind. People will always find things to hate.

Krista Ritchie
Kiss the Sky

lightening

Diary 27th November

Sunday. Up before the lark. Cold and dark, but no rain. The wind seems to have let up somewhat, which is a small blessing. To the pub, later, after a soggy walk across the moor. Drunkenness is its own consolation…

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Yesterday she said, ‘Why on earth did Aliester Crowley put that “K” on the end of magic, Peedeel?’

‘His motives were sexual,’ I replied, my attention mainly devoted to stroking the cat on my lap.

‘Of course,’ Jay-Jay said. ‘Typical Peedeel answer. It’s all about sex…’

‘Crowley needed to differentiate his brand of magic from the popular stage magic of the day. To the forefront of his mind was the initiation of all those nice boys and their virile penises. He had a vigorous sex life as a young man. Indulged himself with multitudinous street prostitutes. But, perhaps, inevitably, he eventually extended his sexual range to include homosexuality. Crowley liked best the passive role in these practices. Throughout his life he took part in the rituals of sex magic…or sex magick, if you prefer.

‘Crowley initially took the word magick from a translation of Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa’s “De occulta philosophia libri tres”. He liked that ‘K’ because it is the eleventh letter of a number of alphabets. And eleven is a magical number, a power number attributed to the Qliphoth. More than that, however, it stands for Kteis, the vagina, counterpart to the magician’s wand or phallus. So, you see, it is very sexual…’

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A number of countries have experienced declining birth rates over the past decade. So much so that their death rates exceeded their birth rates. Germany, for example. Canada, too. Both of these countries, consequently, have opened the door to widespread immigration and their populations are now growing.

Japan, however, poor overcrowded Japan, has witnessed a huge decline in births, well under the number of deaths. And there’s no solution in sight for this problem. The Japanese hate the idea of ‘immigration’ (who does that remind you of, boys and girls?). In fact, to generalise, they hate foreigners. Traditionally it was believed in Japan that to be truly accepted in their society, one must have the blood (Japanese blood), the Japanese language, and be from Japan. It is practically impossible for a foreigner to follow the social protocols that exist throughout every level of Japanese society. Even the Japanese word for foreigner, “gaijin”, once carried the connotation of “barbarian”.

So Japan has fewer and fewer young people, but a substantial elderly population that ultimately will have no one to look after it. I suspect that Japan, and to an extent China, with their anti-immigration policies, will probably experience a shit-storm of biblical proportions before the end of this century, unless, of course, their attitudes change to immigration and outsiders.

As for the UK with its armies of ‘little Englanders’ and ‘little Scotlanders’ what can I say? We are all brothers under the skin…

And in the US? Well, they don’t have a declining birth rate, not yet. But they do have a downer on immigrants (foreigners), and apparently wish to build walls between themselves and their neighbours. Before too long, alas, they will learn those walls will make a prison from which there’ll be no easy escape; such walls will simply compound many of the ills besetting that country.

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And Caitlín R. Kiernan posted on Facebook the other day:

‘I think that tonight I am at the lowest point I’ve been since election night. I cannot imagine a way forward. I’m more than half a century old, and never in my life has our country faced such a crisis. Ignorance, stupidity, prejudice, fear, greed, selfishness, and cynicism have won out. The lessons of the American Civil War, two world wars, the Holocaust, the Cold War, and the American Civil Rights Movement have been forgotten. We’ve allowed a grotesque billionaire clown to seize the highest office in the free world, and he’s building an administration of monstrosities. This is not business as usual. This is not Nixon, Reagan, George Bush, or W. Bush. This is not normal. Across Europe and America, populism and fascism are again on the rise – and winning. And the truth is I don’t have hope. This is so much bigger than so many seem to comprehend. Tonight, I am only afraid and exhausted and horrified.’

As are all “thinking” human beings.

shoulder

Apparently I had failed disastrously to distinguish between ‘lesbianism’ as an active erotic drive . . . and ‘lesbianism’ in the political sense . . . : a mode of eXistence devoted to subverting the whole set of oppressive, phallic assumptions at large in heteroseXist society. .   Far from interpreting the whole thing as the passionate Defence of HomoseXuality I intended. . . she has taken the whole thing to be an attack! . . . in fact the very opposite of the ‘Feminist Lesbian Novel’ she apparently lectures on in her ‘Women’s Writing Course’ . . . where she once told me they also hi-jack, eXplode and dismember certain rabidly ‘decadent’ nineteenth-century teXts on grounds of heteroseXist hypostatization, phallocentricity, pre-post-modernist recuperation and the like. . . . Yes, come to think of it, a white paperback by someone called Monique Wittig – couldn’t see the title – was poking upside down from her rucksack.

Christine Crow
Miss X or The Wolf Woman

wolves

Diary 13th March

Sometimes we resemble a small pack of wolves, we’re that insatiable…
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Yesterday, I was out of “salts”: hardly any sleep to speak of; prepared breakfast as usual, but couldn’t face my own…For the whole day I eat only a small bowl of cous-cous mixed with roasted veg. Drank nothing but water and one glass of apple juice. Concern from the others – Was I all right? ‘You must eat…’

Made tender love together in the evening – but, abruptly, it turned rough and selfish. We pursued and achieved climax in an orgiastic delight of thrashing flesh…
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Talk of monsters…Real monsters. The rise of Adolf Hitler in Germany. Almost inevitable given the circumstances of Germany at that time. Probably one of the most hypnotic orator’s of the twentieth century. He offered boundless aims and promises, and unlike other politicians of his day, he gave social conflicts and national hopes a mystical sense of majesty and purpose.

The man did not step from a void, however: a strong belief in German racial superiority had developed during the Second Reich of Bismarck and Kaiser Wilhelm…Hitler was a logical heir to this idée fixe of the German people.

It is easy to overlook the part played by the Weimar Republic in the rise of Hitler, the terrible inflation, the tidal wave of sexual immorality…Thomas Mann’s son, Klaus described walking past a group of dominatrices in Berlin 1928:

“Some of them looked like fierce Amazons, strutting in high boots made of green, glossy leather. One of them brandished a supple cane and leered at me as I passed by. ‘Good evening, madam,’ I said. She whispered in my ear, ‘Want to be my slave? Costs only six billions and a cigarette.”

Child prostitution was commonplace in the larger cities. There were brothels specialising in the supply of girls as young as eight years old in Berlin. Mother and daughter “teams” delivered sexual services to men, as described in pornographic detail by the French journalist, Jean Galtier-Boissière. Prostitutes were everywhere on the streets. When your currency is devaluing with every passing second, when work is nowhere to be found, then a woman’s greatest asset becomes her body. Earn the cash and spend it quickly before it becomes worthless. The same applied to boys and young men, too, of course.

In his memoir, “The Europeans”, Luigi Barzini affords us a view of the sleazy side of Berlin brothel-life:

“I saw pimps offering anything to anybody: little boys, little girls, robust young men, libidinous women, animals. The story went the rounds that a male goose whose neck you cut at just the right ecstatic moment would give you the most delicious frisson of all – as it allowed you to enjoy sodomy, bestiality, homosexuality, necrophilia and sadism at one stroke. Gastronomy too, as one could eat the goose afterwards…”

It was a time when six wheelbarrows full of bank notes could barely cover the cost of a loaf of bread. A single pound sterling could purchase in excess of eight billion German marks…!
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Cold night, but I slept for a few hours. Outside before dawn, the air smelled fresh and cold, frost on all the cars. The lounge retained the faintest tang of the roasted vegetables I cooked last night. A truly lovely smell, that…peppers, red onion, courgette, tomatoes and olive oil, overlaid with a hint of spices, cumin etc.
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If you don’t frighten people a little bit, then what’s the point…?
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Sweet Cheeses! Every night he rises from his coffin-bed silently to seek the soft flesh, the warm blood he needs to keep himself alive!

I find this very disturbing. It would appear, if the police officers are correct, that a message in Christ’s gospel is now illegal in the UK? On the other hand, no mention was made by Mr. Robertson of homosexuality…so now we have a situation where a simple accusation is sufficient to silence anyone?

RIP freedom of speach and debate!

I appreciate Wells’ Morlocks and Eloi in his “Time Machine” were symbolic of the servants and their employers in an English country house (the Upstairs and Downstairs) of his boyhood. However, he may have been literally more prophetic than anyone ever realised before!

You’ll remember the Morlocks treat the Eloi as cattle. They provide three good, nourishing meals every day. Well, we live in a world of shortages…?

Cannibalism I know has had a bad press, but when needs must (as they say)…and, not to put too fine a point on it, eating animals, pork, beef, and fish is a form of cannibalism anyway! One thinks of Anthony Burgess’ novel “The Wanting Seed”, a vision of an overpopulated future Britain, where the government encourages homosexuality (with the slogan “It’s sapiens to be homo”, and where police officers are recognized by their bright red lipstick). Yes, cannibalism is within our reach now!

It is the solution to a pressing problem! Too many people, not enough to eat. Kill two birds with one stone! Eat a friend…

According to Evolutionary theorist Oliver Curry a genetic upper class and a dim-witted underclass will emerge in the future. I think he may be correct – but I think the time’s arrived…NOW!

See here.

Time, indeed, for publication of the “Good Cannibals Cook Book”. With its follow up of “IOOI sauces for roast and fried third worlders”.