http://www.scribd.com/doc/210939/THE-STORY-OF-THE-EYE-Georges-Bataille?classic_ui=1
Erotic novel from 1928. Contains NSFW text.
go to a random page and read.
One Internets will be awarded to whoever can find the best quote.
edit; link updated with a page you can actually scroll through
Quote from: Page 42Simone settled on the toilet, and we each ate one of the hot eggs with salt. With the three that were left, I softly caressed her body, gliding them between her buttocks and thighs, then I slowly dropped them into the water one by one. Finally, after viewing them for a while, immersed, white, and still hot (this was the first time she was seeing them peeled, that is naked, drowned under her beautiful cunt), Simone continued the immersion with a plopping noise akin to that of the soft-boiled eggs.
Quote"First I am going to tell you a story," Sir Edmund said to him sedately. "You know that men who are hanged or garroted have such stiff cocks the instant their respiration is cut off, that they ejaculate. You are going to have the pleasure of being martyred while fucking this girl."
...
Simone lay on the floor, her belly up, her thigh still smeared by the dead man’s sperm which had trickled from her vulva. I stretched out at her side to rape and fuck her in turn, but all I could do was squeeze her in my arms and kiss her mouth, because of a strange inward paralysis ultimately caused by my love for the girl and the death of the unspeakable creature. I have never been so content.
oh man, 1928 snuff porn
this stuff is so classic
QuoteAt that time, we imagined Marcelle, with her dress tucked up, but her body covered and her feet shod: we would put her in a bathtub half filled with fresh eggs, and she would pee while crushing them. Simone also day dreamed about my holding Marcelle, this time with nothing on but her garter belt and stockings, her cunt aloft, her legs bent, and her head down; Simone herself, in a bathrobe drenched in hot water and thus clinging to her body but exposing her bosom, would then get upon a white enameled chair with a cork seat. I would arouse her breasts from a distance by lifting the tips on the heated barrel of a long service revolver that had been loaded and just fired (first of all, this would shake us up, and secondly, it would give the barrel a pungent smell of powder). At the same time, she would pour a jar of dazzling white crème fraise on Marcelle’s gray anus, and she would also urinate freely in her robe or, if the robe were open, on Marcelle’s back or head, while I could piss on Marcelle from the other side (I would certainly piss on her breasts).Furthermore, Marcelle herself could fully inundate me if she liked, for while I held her up, her thighs would be gripping my neck. And she could also stick my cock in her mouth and what not.
I don't know why, but after reading that whole passage, the last sentence cracked me up
QuoteI don't know why, but after reading that whole passage, the last sentence cracked me up
:lulz: :lulz: :lulz:
I'll tell you what, I didn't even
have to read the whole passage for that line to crack me up.
"And what not" is a SEXY phrase.
Also, the guy's pretty obsessed with eggs, no?
:? :lulz:
This story is brilliant.
QuoteSimone began by slamming the base of the chalice against his skull, which jolted him and left him utterly dazed. Then she resumed sucking him, which provoked his ignoble rattles. After bringing his senses to a height of fury with Sir Edmund's help and mine, she gave him a hard shake.
"That's not all," she said in a voice that brooked no reply. "It's time to piss."
And she struck his face again with the chalice, but at the same time she stripped naked before him and I finger-fucked her.
Quote from: LMNO on August 18, 2009, 03:47:46 PM
"And what not" is a SEXY phrase.
Also, the guy's pretty obsessed with eggs, no?
Apparently there is a deep and meaningful reason for that:
QuoteWhen I was born, my father was suffering from general paralysis, and he was already blind when he conceived me; not long after my birth, his sinister disease confined him to an armchair. However, the very contrary of most male babies, who are in love with their mothers, I was in love with my father. Now the following was connected to his paralysis and blindness. He was unable to go and urinate in the toilet like most people; instead, he did it into a small container at his armchair, and since he had to urinate very often, he was unembarrassed about doing it in front of me, under a blanket, which, since he was blind, he usually placed askew. But the weirdest thing was certainly the way he looked while pissing.Since he could not see anything, his pupils very frequently pointed up into space, shifting under the lids, and this happened particularly when he pissed. Furthermore, he had huge, ever-gaping eyes that flanked an eagle nose, and those huge eyes went almost entirely blank when he pissed, with a completely stupefying expression of abandon and aberration in a world that he alone could see and that aroused his vaguely sardonic and absent laugh (I would have liked to recall everything here at once, for instance the erratic nature of a blind man's isolated laughter, and so forth). In any case, the image of those white eyes from that time was directly linked, for me, to the image of eggs, and that explains the almost regular appearance of urine every time eyes or eggs occur in the story
TLDR:
His father used to piss in a jar because he was disabled, and while pissing in the jar he looked aroused and his eyes looked like eggs.
Quote from: Rumwolf on August 18, 2009, 04:02:07 PM
TLDR:
His father used to piss in a jar because he was disabled, and while pissing in the jar he looked aroused and his eyes looked like eggs.
I almost yearn for the simplicity of such a time when having a convoluted backstory was a good substitute for actual meaning.
:lulz: :lulz: :lulz:
QuoteAnd it struck me that death was the sole outcome of my erection, and if Simone and I were killed, then the universe of our unbearable personal vision was certain to be replaced by the pure stars, fully unrelated to any external gazes and realizing in a cold state, without human delays or detours, something that strikes me as the goal of my sexual licentiousness: a geometric incandescence (among other things, the coinciding point of life and death, being and nothingness), perfectly fulgurating. Yet these images were, of course, tied to the contradiction of a prolonged state of exhaustion and an absurd rigidity of my penis.
I love this so much.
Because a professor I really enjoyed talking with and working with while I studied in Paris was absolutely OBSESSED with Bataille and had done tons of research and published on him.
I never knew shit about Bataille until now.
Good god, I might fall off my chair I'm laughing so hard.
:asplode: :asplode: :asplode:
:asplode: :asplode:
I love the terrible absurdity of some most of the lines.
Quote from: Darth Cupcake on August 18, 2009, 09:50:45 PM
I love this so much.
Because a professor I really enjoyed talking with and working with while I studied in Paris was absolutely OBSESSED with Bataille and had done tons of research and published on him.
I never knew shit about Bataille until now.
Good god, I might fall off my chair I'm laughing so hard.
So he tried to sell this stuff as high literature, right? He sounds like a crazy character.
Quote from: wikipediaInitially attracted to Surrealism, Bataille quickly fell out with its founder André Breton, although Bataille and the Surrealists resumed cautiously cordial relations after World War II. Bataille was a member of the extremely influential College of Sociology in France between World War I and World War II. The College of Sociology was also comprised of several renegade surrealists. He was heavily influenced by Hegel, Freud, Marx, Marcel Mauss, the Marquis de Sade, Alexandre Kojève, and Friedrich Nietzsche, the last of whom he defended in a notable essay against appropriation by the Nazis.[1]
Fascinated by human sacrifice, he founded a secret society, Acéphale, the symbol of which was a decapitated man. According to legend, Bataille and the other members of Acéphale each agreed to be the sacrificial victim as an inauguration; none of them would agree to be the executioner. An indemnity was offered for an executioner, but none was found before the dissolution of Acéphale shortly before the war. The group also published an eponymous review, concerned with Nietzsche's philosophy, and which attempted to postulate what Jacques Derrida has called an "anti-sovereignty". Bataille thus collaborated with André Masson, Pierre Klossowski, Roger Caillois, Jules Monnerot, Jean Rollin and Jean Wahl.
Bataille drew from diverse influences and used diverse modes of discourse to create his work. His novel Story of the Eye (Histoire de l'oeil), published under the pseudonym Lord Auch (literally, Lord "to the shithouse" — "auch" being short for "aux chiottes," slang for telling somebody off by sending him to the toilet), was initially read as pure pornography, while interpretation of the work has gradually matured to reveal the considerable philosophical and emotional depth that is characteristic of other writers who have been categorized within "literature of transgression." The imagery of the novel is built upon a series of metaphors which in turn refer to philosophical constructs developed in his work: the eye, the egg, the sun, the earth, the testicle.
:x
Quote from: Cramulus on August 18, 2009, 09:49:33 PM
QuoteAnd it struck me that death was the sole outcome of my erection, and if Simone and I were killed, then the universe of our unbearable personal vision was certain to be replaced by the pure stars, fully unrelated to any external gazes and realizing in a cold state, without human delays or detours, something that strikes me as the goal of my sexual licentiousness: a geometric incandescence (among other things, the coinciding point of life and death, being and nothingness), perfectly fulgurating. Yet these images were, of course, tied to the contradiction of a prolonged state of exhaustion and an absurd rigidity of my penis.
that's almost like Lovecraft slashfic!
QuoteSimone's ass, raised aloft, did strike me as an al-powerful entreaty, perfect as it was; with its two narrow, delicate buttocks and its deep crevice; and I never doubted for an instant that the unknown manor woman would soon give in and feel compelled to masturbate endlessly while watching that behind.
:x
Streaks of come in the steaming hair helped give that dreamy vision a disastrous sadness.
:lulz: ho ho ho hoooo boy I love this thread
Quote
And laughing even harder, he pointed at a large church brass at our feet. It was the tomb of the church's founder, who, the guides claimed, was Don Juan: after repenting, he had himself buried under the doorstep so that the faithful would trudge over his corpse when entering or leaving their haunt.
But now our wild laughter burst out again tenfold. In our mirth, Simone had lightly pissed down her leg, and a tiny trickle of water had landed on the brass.
EDIT:
QuoteI softly drew up at the side to try and see what was happening:
Simone really was masturbating, the left part of her face was pressed against the grille near the priest's head, her limbs tensed, her thighs splayed, her fingers rummaging deep in the fur; I was able to touch her, I bared her cunt for an instant. At that moment, I distinctly heard her say:
"Father, I still have not confessed the worst sin
of all."
A few seconds of silence.
"The worst sin of all is very simply that I'm
tossing of while talking to you."
More seconds of whispering inside, and finally
almost aloud:
"If you don't believe me, I can show you."
And indeed, Simone stood up and spread one thigh before the eye of the window while masturbating with a quick, sure hand.
"All right, priest," cried Simone, banging away
at the confessional, "what are you doing in
your shack there? Tossing off, too?"
FOR SURE,
this is Bataille's most enigmatic ("fictional")work, however, if you like this stuff, dig in because he always delivers.
FOR THOSE
unfamiliar with his writing, IT IS NOT - ALL - totally weird, he threw down some fantastic post-modern philosophical reads that crank it up.
ALSO,
the best singer in the world, MARC ALMOND, has a live L.p. titled "violent silence", recorded at a Bataille festival in England (1985?) which is haunting, beautiful and as disturbing as necessary.
I cut the rope, but she was quite dead. We laid her out on the carpet. Simone saw I was getting a hard-on and she started tossing me off I too stretched out on the carpet. It was impossible to do otherwise; Simone was still a virgin, and I fucked her for the first time, next to the corpse. It was very painful for both of us, but we were glad precisely because it was painful. Simone stood up and gazed at the corpse. Marcelle had become a total stranger, and in fact, so had Simone at that moment. I no longer cared at all for either Simone or Marcelle.
I observed Simone, and, as I precisely recall, my only pleasure was in the smutty things Simone was doing, for the corpse was very irritating to her, as though she could not bear the thought that this creature, so similar to her, could not feel her any more. The open eyes were more irritating than anything else. Even when Simone drenched the face, those eyes, extraordinarily, did not close. We were perfectly calm, all three of us, and that was the most hopeless part of it.
I think a certain Frenchman's Mother never slapped his legs hard enough when he was a child. The dirty bastard! :postpics:
Sweet Baby Jaysus, it get's worserer. Is there no end to this fiend's depravity? No depth to which he might not follow lead drag us down to? What they say about the French, and their aversion to soap must apply to their imaginations also. The things I imagine this, this debauched old slopbucket did for inspiration when he thought himself unseen, would make even the most irredeemable of wretches turn away, blushing. I would have thought.
She took my hand wordlessly and led me to an outer courtyard of the filthy arena, where the stench of equine and human urine was suffocating because of the great heat. I grabbed Simone's cunt, and she seized my furious cock through my trousers. We stepped into a stinking shit house, where sordid flies whirled about in a sunbeam. Standing here, I exposed Simone's cunt, and into her blood-red, slobbery flesh I stuck my fingers, then my penis, which entered that cavern of blood while I tossed of her ass, thrusting my bony middle finger deep inside.
I think I need to read just a little more, just to see if he really is as wicked as he seems. There may be some literary merit hidden somewhere amidst the filth and the fornicating, that escaped my wounded eyes during my last three perusals. Oh well, once more into the breach, (as it were) in the thankless search for abomination, that it may more easily be accessed for fappability spurned by the pure, unsullied mind of my fellow man. :aaa: :crackhead: :jebus: :fap:
Mother of Christ, it DOES get worse! And now I fear It's contamination has doomed me to the same squalid Hell as it's author! Turn back, turn back I tell you, lest you also be dragged down to the pit!
Simone lay on the floor, her belly up, her thigh still smeared by the dead man's sperm which had trickled from her vulva. I stretched out at her side to rape and fuck her in turn, but all I could do was squeeze her in my arms and kiss her mouth, because of a strange inward paralysis ultimately caused by my love for the girl and the death of the unspeakable creature. I have never been so content.
Ah, I see now the finer juxtaposition of foulness, next to beauty, sex, to death, and I realise what this great, great man really meant! Now I can sleep again, safe in the knowledge that I am not alone doomed, but saved! Yes, salvation awaits!!
Warning: this topic has not been posted in for at least 120 days.
For the love of god don't make us read this shite anymore.
Quote from: Cramulus on October 29, 2010, 05:30:53 PM
Warning: this topic has not been posted in for at least 120 days.
For the love of god don't make us read this shite anymore.
HO HO HO
Current avatar highly relevant.
Cram, you villain! I almost never saw this.
QuoteThe past is a grotesque animal
And in its eyes you see
How completely wrong you can be
How completely wrong you can be
The sun is out, it melts the snow that fell yesterday
Makes you wonder why it bothered
I fell in love with the first cute girl that I met
Who could appreciate Georges Bataille
Standing at Swedish festival discussing "Story of the Eye"
Discussing "Story of the Eye"
It's so embarrassing to need someone like I do you
How can I explain, I need you here and not here too
How can I explain, I need you here and not here too
I'm flunking out, I'm flunking out, I'm gone, I'm just gone
But at least I author my own disaster
At least I author my own disaster
Performance breakdown and I don't want to hear it
I'm just not available
Things could be different but they're not
Things could be different but they're not
The mousy girl screams, "Violence! Violence!"
The mousy girl screams, "Violence! Violence!"
She gets hysterical because they're both so mean
And it's my favorite scene
But the cruelty's so predictable
It makes you sad on the stage
Though our love project has so much potential
But it's like we weren't made for this world
(Though I wouldn't really want to meet someone who was)
Do I have to scream in your face?
I've been dodging lamps and vegetables
Throw it all in my face, I don't care
Let's just have some fun
Let's tear this shit apart
Let's tear the fucking house apart
Let's tear our fucking bodies apart
But let's just have some fun
Somehow you've red-rovered the gestapo circling my heart
And nothing can defeat you
No death, no ugly world
You've lived so brightly
You've altered everything
I find myself searching for old selves
While speeding forward through the plate glass of maturing cells
I've played the unraveler, the parhelion
But even apocalypse is fleeting
There's no death, no ugly world
Sometimes I wonder if you're mythologizing me like I do you
Mythologizing me like I do you
We want our film to be beautiful, not realistic
Perceive me in the radiance of terror dreams
And you can betray me
You can, you can betray me
But teach me something wonderful
Crown my head, crowd my head
With your lilting effects
Project your fears on to me, I need to view them
See, there's nothing to them
I promise you, there's nothing to them
I'm so touched by your goodness
You make me feel so criminal
How do you keep it together?
I'm all, all unraveled
But you know, no matter where we are
We're always touching by underground wires
I've explored you with the detachment of an analyst
But most nights we've raided the same kingdoms
And none of our secrets are physical
None of our secrets are physical
None of our secrets are physical now
Bump because I just discovered there's a movie
http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/georges_batailles_story_of_the_eye/
awww "inspired by" the book, not based on the book :x
Egg and piss porn? Fucking french.
Quote from: Nigel on August 19, 2009, 02:32:46 AM
Quote from: Rumwolf on August 19, 2009, 02:09:52 AM
Quote from: Triple Zero on August 18, 2009, 10:35:40 PM
that's almost like Lovecraft slashfic!
ZALGO HE CUMS
:argh!: :lulz: :horrormirth: :x:1fap:
Oh noes... is :1fap: broken? :(
Also this thread makes me miss E.O.T. He doesn't have a computer (because his wife took it when she moved out... and she even told him that she didn't need it because there was one where she was moving, she just didn't want him to have it) and he's so busy I hardly ever see him anymore. :(
that blows! I miss EOT too!
Quote from: Cramulus on August 29, 2011, 12:57:28 AM
that blows! I miss EOT too!
CRAM'S ALIVE. CHECK. HIS HOUSE DIDN'T GET UP-HILL FLOODED BY THE HUDSON NOR DID IT GET TORN APART BY EVIL HURRICANE STORM WIND (CRAM YOU PROBABLY HAVE TO THANK YOUR CARPENTER BEES FOR BUILDING REINFORCEMENTS ALL SUMMER LONG)
EROTIC HORROR BUMP
Quote from: Triple Zero on August 18, 2009, 10:35:40 PM
Quote from: Cramulus on August 18, 2009, 09:49:33 PM
QuoteAnd it struck me that death was the sole outcome of my erection, and if Simone and I were killed, then the universe of our unbearable personal vision was certain to be replaced by the pure stars, fully unrelated to any external gazes and realizing in a cold state, without human delays or detours, something that strikes me as the goal of my sexual licentiousness: a geometric incandescence (among other things, the coinciding point of life and death, being and nothingness), perfectly fulgurating. Yet these images were, of course, tied to the contradiction of a prolonged state of exhaustion and an absurd rigidity of my penis.
that's almost like Lovecraft slashfic!
Oh my god, it totally is!
Quote from: Placid Dingo on August 25, 2011, 02:20:41 PM
Bump because I just discovered there's a movie
http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/georges_batailles_story_of_the_eye/
Quote from: Placid Dingo on August 25, 2011, 02:20:41 PM
Bump because I just discovered there's a movie
http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/georges_batailles_story_of_the_eye/
That review says it's not accurate to the book. Why is french pornography never adapted accurately in film!?