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@daweyt
"that's oddly specific!" i live in a world of such detail it would melt your mind
le miserable. there's just one of him
I support recreational and erotic testosterone use
“In the solitude I entered, the norms of this world, if they subsist, do so in order to maintain a dizzying feeling of enormity: this solitude, it is God.”
Georges Bataille, from “My Mother,” tr. Austryn Wainhouse.
“Pleasure only starts once the worm has got into the fruit, to become delightful happiness must be tainted with poison.”
Georges Bataille, from “My Mother,” tr. Austryn Wainhouse.
“What I want? ...Even if it kills me, to yield to my desires, to every last one of them.”
Georges Bataille, from “My Mother,” tr. Austryn Wainhouse.
“The desire burning in me was without conceivable limit, it was monstrous...”
Georges Bataille, from “My Mother,” tr. Austryn Wainhouse.
“I don’t want your love unless you know I am repulsive, and love me even as you know it.”
Georges Bataille, from “My Mother,” tr. Austryn Wainhouse.
“...desire reduces us to pulp.”
Georges Bataille, from “My Mother,” tr. Austryn Wainhouse.
“Could I blame myself for a sin which attracted me, which flooded me with pleasure precisely to the extent it brought me to despair?”
Georges Bataille, from “My Mother,” tr. Austryn Wainhouse.
“...desire for you is maddening me.”
Georges Bataille, from “My Mother,” tr. Austryn Wainhouse.
“Sensual pleasure and death have the same dignity – and the same indignity – the same violence and nevertheless the same sweetness.”
Georges Bataille, from “My Mother,” tr. Austryn Wainhouse.
“Pleasure only starts once the worm has got into the fruit, to become delightful happiness must be tainted with poison.”
Georges Bataille, from “My Mother,” tr. Austryn Wainhouse.
“Laughter is more divine and in meaning more elusive than tears.”
Georges Bataille, from “My Mother,” tr. Austryn Wainhouse.
“It seemed to me that her monstrous impurity, and mine, no less revolting, cried out to heaven and that they bore an affinity to God, inasmuch as only utter darkness can be likened to light.”
Georges Bataille, from "My Mother,” tr. Austryn Wainhouse.
T. S. Eliot, from “Collected Poems: 1909-1962; The Waste Land: I. The Burial of The Dead”, originally published c. 1963.
Rainer Maria Rilke, from “The Poetry of Rilke: Bilingual Edition: ‘Elegy I,’” tr. Edward Snow.