‘Some decades after de Sade, between 1868 and 1869, Uruguayan-born French author Isidore-Lucien Ducasse, better known as Comte de Lautréamont, created, among his few works, a poetic masterpiece that remains to this day one of the most important reflections on misanthropy and the limits of human cruelty. Les Chants de Maldoror or The Songs of Maldoror is a book with no logical plot, divided into six cantos that focus primarily on the cynic Maldoror, an incarnation of evil who openly rejects God and humanity, so he openly talks about how he witnesses crimes and also commits them.
“God grant that the reader, emboldened and having become at present as fierce as what he is reading, find, without loss of bearings, his way, his wild and treacherous passage through the desolate swamps of these somber, poison-soaked pages; for, unless he should bring to his reading a rigorous logic and a sustained mental effort at least as strong as his distrust, the lethal fumes of this book shall dissolve his soul as water does sugar.”
‘From the beginning, Maldoror addresses the readers, telling them about what they’re going read in the following pages and inviting them to be as defiant and rebellious as him. Readers are supposed to understand his reflections and follow his instructions to the letter. Ironically, Maldoror insinuates that humanity is so biased by morals and rules that his reflections will end up being either too disturbing to understand, or too enticing and capable of encouraging the most twisted minds to do what they please. Although each episode deals with different instances of cruelty, in most of them Maldoror narrates with an almost religious devotion the suffering of others, how he rejoices in it, and how his condition as an outcast has allowed him to be free from the rules and morality that define society.
‘Although the book went almost unnoticed when it was first published, it was rediscovered around the turn of the nineteenth century. In that moment, it set the foundation for Surrealism with its illogical structure, scandalous principles, and bizarre figures of speech. Take for instance how he describes himself:
“I am filthy. I am riddled with lice… A family of toads has taken up residence in my left armpit and, when one of them moves, it tickles. Mind one of them does not escape and come and scratch the inside of your ear with its mouth; for it would then be able to enter your brain. In my right armpit there is a chameleon which is perpetually chasing them, to avoid starving to death…”
‘Not only is this character physically stomach-churning, but he also seems to not care about it. His casual tone, his lack of disgust, and the indifference with which he describes himself in a condition that many would consider nauseating is just a taste of the way he reacts to everything bad, including the suffering of others, as well as his. However, as you keep reading Maldoror’s ponderings and views on life, you realize he is actually criticizing the hypocrisy of traditions and established notions of good and beauty. His views are truly extreme. Nevertheless, it’s up to the reader whether they use them as food for thought or as an actual manual on how to be the cruelest person alive.
‘Lautréamont’s greatest work, as well as other writings dealing with similar topics, can be seen as inspiration for great masterpieces, as it was for the Surrealists who read him. They interpreted it as an expression of the human mind without inhibitions. On the other hand, one can also find in Maldoror a role model. Is cruelty inherent to us human beings? A book is not to decide that, but what one decides to do with it.’ — Andrea Mejía
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Further
Les Chants de Maldoror @ Wikipedia
Les Chants de Maldoror @ goodreads
The Celestial Bandit: Tribute to Isidore Ducasse, the Comte de Lautréamont edited by Jordan A. Rothacker
Lautréamont’s Les Chants de Maldoror
Given its awesome, horrifying appearance …
Les Chants de Maldoror explained
The Depraved Book That Teaches You How To Be The Cruelest Person On Earth
Maldoror in love
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Selected artist illustrations
Rene Magritte
Lucien Lorelle
Émile Henriot
Salvador Dali
Bernard Buffet
Hans Bellmer
Jacques Houplain
Armand Simon
Adolf Hoffmeister
Miguel Ángel Martín
Marcel Jean
Odile Redon
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Extras
LAUTRÉAMONT – Une Vie, une Œuvre : 1846-1870 (France Culture, 1992)
LAUTRÉAMONT – Quand Julien GRACQ parle de Ducasse (France Culture, 1968)
LAUTRÉAMONT – Ultime hommage (France Culture, 1987)
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Selected film adaptations
Shuji Terayama Les Chants de Maldoror (1977)
‘A “reading film” of delirious image and text, Les chants de Maldoror takes its title and inspiration from Comte de Lautréamont’s 1869 proto-Surrealist poetic novel which, for instance, describes beauty as the chance encounter of a sewing machine and an umbrella on an operating table. In the novel’s six cantos, a young misanthrope indulges in depraved and destructive acts. Unexpected encounters abound, with turtles and birds joining Terayama’s regular cast of snails and dogs to wander over books and bare torsos. Feverish video processing posterizes, inverts and overlays images that are further colored by sound—pushing the limits of his literary adaptation. Terayama wrote that the only tombstone he wanted was his words, but, as Les chants de Maldoror demonstrates, words need not be confined to carved monuments or bound hardcopies.’ — Letterboxd
Jean-Luc Godard Weekend (1967)
‘In 1967, Jean-Luc Godard used excerpts from Les Chants de Maldoror in his film Week-End to express his critical attitude toward the society of entertainment and consumption.’ — FVB
Kadour Naimi Maldoror (1997)
‘Adapted from the Isidore Ducasse’s (called Lautréamont) book, Les Chants de Maldoror (The Maldodor’s Chants). The film is a cinematic language essay which “tells”, in a non-linear narrative, the activity of a consciousness that confronts, relentlessly, with its brightest part as the most obscure.’ — Internet Archive
Alberto Cavallone Maldoror (1977)
‘Maldoror (also known as Blue Ecstasy and Il dio selvaggio) is a 1977 unreleased Italian movie by Alberto Cavallone, based on the 1869 poetic novel Les Chants de Maldoror by Comte de Lautréamont. Cavallone started directing the film in Italy and Turkey in 1975; it was completed, but never released probably due to its explicitly anticlerical content. Around 1979, Cavallone attempted to reuse the footage from the movie in another project, an exploitation flick called Blue Ecstasy. It has been alleged that one of the remaining copies of Maldoror was sold to a private collection for 20000 Euro.’ — LMW
Guillaume Vallée Maldoror Series (2013)
‘An ongoing series of short silent cameraless 16mm films based on Les Chants de Maldoror, by Lautréamont [Isidore Ducasse].’ — gvallee
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Perish then Publish: Partial Truth in the 1890 Edition of Maldoror
by Andrea S. Thomas
By 1890, the rediscovery of Lautréamont had led to a demand for a new edition of Les Chants de Maldoror because, even though it had been printed before 1890, it had still never been sold.
This project for a new edition was undertaken by Léon Genonceaux. Historians are as uncertain about Genonceaux’s discovery of Lautréamont’s work as they are about this enigmatic publisher’s biography. Literary critics have traditionally granted Genonceaux varying degrees of honor as Ducasse’s first biographer. For this reason, Genonceaux’s preface has been included in many editions of Lautréamont’s work, including both the 1970 and 2009 Bibliothèque de la Pléiade volumes. Maurice Saillet suggested that Genonceaux best contributed to demystifying Lautréamont through his “patientes recherches” [in-depth research].
Jean-Jacques Lefrère, though careful to draw attention to certain dubious elements in Genonceaux’s preface, nonetheless qualified it as a primary source for subsequent research.
Genonceaux may well have been the first critic to show that Lautréamont had an identity. This identity, however, is inaccurate and largely imagined. A preface, a facsimile letter written by Ducasse, and a fron-tispiece all bedeck Genonceaux’s edition. These ornaments testify to the various means by which what Gérard Genette terms “paratext” can alter the reception of a literary work. Paratextual accessories, which Genette argues serve to present the work and bring it up to date, are “ce par quoi un texte se fait livre” [that through which a text becomes a book].
Genonceaux, Lautréamont’s first publisher in the sense that he was the first to market and distribute Lautréamont’s poem, whereas Albert Lacroix had not, provides these paratextual ornaments to ordain Ducasse as an Author. Genonceaux argues that Lautréamont should not only be considered eccentric, but a genius as well: a skillful artist of his own transgression. He spins his preface largely to prove Lautréamont’s mental stability, showing that he had a real name and a real death caused not by lunacy, but by unknown causes. He exhibits several autographed documents and employs an anonymous graphologist who doubles as an alienist to confirm that the young Ducasse was less a madman than an artist, a logician, and even a musician. Weaving a strategic web of pseudoscientific proofs, he claims there is method to Lautréamont’s madness. Such claims of authenticity are misleading and in most cases false, indicating a calculated effort to subvert Lautréamont’s image to marketable ends. A review of the publishing situation in France and Belgium during and immediately after Lautréamont’s life reveals why creating the maudit
Hosts of critics and scholars have addressed the relationship of the editor with the author, particularly in fin de siècle France and Belgium. Both names, after all, appear on the cover of all books. In terms of risk and success, one cannot exist without the other. Numerous legal changes throughout the nineteenth century contributed to a transformation of their respective roles as well. Financial privileges began to favor the author over the editor and rules for intellectual property became standard. The Paris Convention of 1883 introduced intellectual property laws, for example, while the Berne Convention of 1886 officially protected literary and artistic works. Meanwhile, advancements in printing technology lowered book prices, while greater reading and writing populations increased demand. Thus as authors became materially and legally sacralized, they also became popular because they reached wider audiences. Editing as a profession likewise took shape over the course of the nineteenth century, when it separated from the combined role of libraire [bookseller] and imprimeur [printer].
As an autonomous and accountable figure, the editor became a literary personality in his own right. Often, the specialization of one editor resulted because of close, though not always friendly, relationships with authors: Pierre-Jules Hetzel and Jules Verne, Poulet-Malassis and Baudelaire, Alphonse Lemerre and the Parnassians, Léon Vanier and the Decadents, Michel Lévy and Gustave Flaubert, Edmond Deman and Verhaeren, and Georges Charpentier and Zola. Such pairings promoted social, economic, and cultural capital for both parties and proved that by working together, authors and editors could both respectively gain renown. Eventually literary reviews became publishing houses themselves, as in the case of the Mercure de France or the NRF, publishing their own contributors, combining creativity and commerce all under one roof. As Jean-Yves Mollier has observed, if the nineteenth century was the era of editors, freed from the business of printing and selling their wares, the twentieth century was the era of publishing houses.
The nineteenth-century editor’s role is less analyzed, however, when the role of the author himself is obscured, as in the case of Lautréamont. At a time when copyright privileges were still emerging, editions of a deceased author’s works were often considered open territory, motivated by socio-political and economic factors. Posthumous editions, for example, of works by great writers, and even fragments or unfinished pieces, could become a commodity in an author’s afterlife when they had been unprintable in his lifetime due to censorship, time constraints, or even pertinence of the work. Undertaking a posthumous edition was itself not devoid of risks, however. Questions of financial viability as well as copyright must still be taken into account. If the author no longer had rights, the editor himself had to take financial responsibility for the project. Added to the economic risk was the legal one, as is clear from the case of Lautréamont’s Chants de Maldoror . Accountable not only for copyright but also for censorship offences, the editor alone endured the impact of accrued penalties.
Although erotic and political books attempted to reach a public that was willing to pay for shock and scandal, it often goes unnoticed that most of these types of editions also put publishers in debt. A posthumous edition of Pierre-Joseph Proudhon’s work, for example, resulted in a fine and jail time for Albert Lacroix, the first editor of Les Chants de Maldoror, and Proudhon’s complete works did not sell out. Like many of the marginal authors of the period, marginal editors were often financially ruined by their publications. Lacroix also published Hugo’s Les Misérables and the first works of Zola, which today sounds like an honor but at the time was a risk. In this context, Lautréamont could be published neither as a contemporary nor as a predecessor. Albert Lacroix played an ambiguous role: he copied the work and bound about 20 copies with a cover page. The work was never completely paid for, however, nor was it sold. The title page declares “Tous droits de traduction et de reproduction réservés” [All translation and copy rights reserved], but there was no editor’s name mentioned. The first and last mention of Ducasse’s manuscript was in Genonceaux’s preface to his edition (1890).
No proof copies were ever found either. It is not therefore Ducasse’s intention on which subsequent editions are based, but rather the editor’s (first Lacroix, then Genonceaux). The editor determined which text the public would eventually read, and professional interests naturally determined the editor’s choices. Lautréamont’s early death necessarily changed the role of the publisher from diffuser of texts to critic and interpreter. The timing of Genonceaux’s edition is pertinent for several reasons. Given the recent death of Ducasse’s father in 1889, the material was unprotected by copyright laws or droits d’auteur. Ducasse’s mother, Jacquette Davezac, had died in his early childhood. Also, even though a new law in 1881 pronounced freedom of the press and book trade, censorship of works considered indecent did not end.
Furthermore, Genonceaux’s publishing history and tastes suggest that if the poem were harmless, he probably would not have chosen to edit it. His preface is a covert form of publicity, strategically crafted with realistic effects in order to both avoid charges of indecency and to solicit a readership.
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Book
Comte de Lautréamont Les Chants de Maldoror
New Directions
‘The macabre but beautiful work, Les Chants de Maldoror, has achieved a considerable reputation as one of the earliest and most extraordinary examples of Surrealist writing. It is a long narrative prose poem which celebrates the principle of Evil in an elaborate style and with a passion akin to religious fanaticism. The French poet-critic Georges Hugnet has written of Lautréamont: “He terrifies, stupefies, strikes dumb. He could look squarely at that which others had merely given a passing glance.”
‘Little is known of the author of Maldoror, Isidore Ducasse, self-styled Comte de Lautréamont, except that he was born in Montevideo, Uruguay in 1846 and died in Paris at the age of twenty-four. When first published in 1868-9, Maldoror went almost unnoticed. But in the nineties the book was rediscovered and hailed as a work of genius by such eminent writers as Huysmans, Léon Bloy, Maeterlinck, and Rémy de Gourmont. Later still, Lautréamont was to be canonized as one of their principal “ancestors” by the Paris Surrealists.
‘This edition, translated by Guy Wernham, includes also a long introduction to a never-written, or now lost, volume of poetry. Thus, except for a few letters, it gives all the surviving literary work of Lautréamont.’ — New Directions
Excerpt
Would to heaven that the reader, emboldened and momentarily ferocious as he reads, finds his wild and savage path through the desolate marshes of these dark and poisonous pages, without disorientation; for, unless he brings in his reading a rigorous logic and a tension of mind equal at least to his distrust, the mortal emanations of this book will soak his soul, as water sugar. It is not good for everybody to read the pages that follow; some alone will savor this bitter fruit without danger. Therefore, timid soul, before penetrating farther into such unexplored heaths, directs your heels back and not forward. Listen well to what I say to you: run your heels back and not forward, like the eyes of a son who, deviates respectfully from the august contemplation of the maternal side; or, rather, as an endless angle of chilly cranes of great meditation, which, during the winter, flies powerfully through the silence, with all sails stretched, towards a fixed point of the horizon, whence suddenly leaves a strange and strong wind, precursor of the storm. The oldest crane, which alone forms the vanguard, seeing this, shakes the head like a reasonable person, consequently its beak also that it makes slap, and is not content (I, too, I would not be in his place), while his old neck, stripped of feathers and the contemporary of three generations of cranes, stirs up in irritated undulations that presage the storm that is approaching more and more. After having looked in cold blood several times on all sides, with eyes which contain the experience, prudently, the first (for it is she who has the privilege of showing the feathers of her tail to the other inferior cranes in intelligence ), with its vigilant cry of melancholy sentinel, in order to repel the common enemy, it flexes the point of the geometrical figure flexibly (it is perhaps a triangle, but we do not see the third side which, or to starboard, as a skilful captain; and, maneuvering with wings which do not appear larger than those of a sparrow, because it is not stupid, it thus assumes another philosophical and surer path. (for it is she who has the privilege of showing the feathers of her tail to the other inferior cranes in intelligence), with her vigilant cry of melancholy sentinel, to repel the common enemy, she flexibly the point of the geometrical figure (it is perhaps a triangle, but we do not see the third side which these curious birds of passage form in space), either to port or starboard, like a skilful captain; and, maneuvering with wings which do not appear larger than those of a sparrow, because it is not stupid, it thus assumes another philosophical and surer path. (for it is she who has the privilege of showing the feathers of her tail to the other inferior cranes in intelligence), with her vigilant cry of melancholy sentinel, to repel the common enemy, she flexibly the point of the geometrical figure (it is perhaps a triangle, but we do not see the third side which these curious birds of passage form in space), either to port or starboard, like a skilful captain; and, maneuvering with wings which do not appear larger than those of a sparrow, because it is not stupid, it thus assumes another philosophical and surer path. with its vigilant cry of melancholy sentinel, to repel the common enemy, it flexes the point of the geometrical figure (it is perhaps a triangle, but we do not see the third side formed by space curious birds of passage), either to port or starboard, as a skilful captain; and, maneuvering with wings which do not appear larger than those of a sparrow, because it is not stupid, it thus assumes another philosophical and surer path. with its vigilant cry of melancholy sentinel, to repel the common enemy, it flexes the point of the geometrical figure (it is perhaps a triangle, but we do not see the third side formed by space curious birds of passage), either to port or starboard, as a skilful captain; and, maneuvering with wings which do not appear larger than those of a sparrow, because it is not stupid, it thus assumes another philosophical and surer path.
Reader, it is perhaps the hatred which you wish me to invoke in the beginning of this work! Who tells you that you will not sniff, bathed in innumerable voluptuousness, as long as you like, with your proud nostrils, wide and thin, throwing you from belly, like a shark, in beautiful black air , as if you understood the importance of this act and the not less importance of your legitimate appetite, slowly and majestically, the red emanations? I assure you, they will rejoice the two shapeless holes in your hideous muzzle, O monster, if you ever applied yourself to breathing three thousand times in succession the cursed conscience of the Lord! Your nostrils, which will be disproportionately dilated with ineffable contentment, immobile ecstasy, will not ask for something better, which had become embalmed like perfumes and incense; for they shall be satisfied with complete happiness, like the angels who dwell in the magnificence and peace of the pleasant heavens.
I will state in a few lines how Maldoror was good during his early years, where he lived happily; it is done. He then perceived that he was born wicked: extraordinary fatality! He hid his character as long as he could, for a great many years; but in the end, because of this concentration which was not natural to him, every day the blood rose to his head; until, unable to endure such a life, he threw himself resolutely into the career of evil-a gentle atmosphere!
Who would have said it! when he embraced a little child, with a pink face, he would have liked to take his cheeks with a razor, and he would have done so very often, if Justice, with his long train of punishments, had never prevented him . He was not a liar, he admitted the truth and said he was cruel. Humans, have you heard? he dares to repeat it with that trembling feather! So then, he is a power stronger than the will … Curse! The stone would want to escape the laws of gravity? Impossible. Impossible, if evil wished to ally itself with good. That is what I said above.
There are some who write to seek human applause, by means of noble qualities of the heart which the imagination invents or which they may have. I have my genius serve to paint the delights of cruelty! Delights not transient, artificial; but, who have begun with man, will end with him. Can not genius ally itself with cruelty in the secret resolutions of Providence? or, because one is cruel, can one not have genius? This will be proved in my words; it is up to you to listen to me, if you will. Pardon, it seemed to me that my hair had stood on my head; but it is nothing, for with my hand I have easily succeeded in restoring them to their first position. He who sings does not pretend that his cavatines are an unknown thing; on the contrary, he praises himself that the haughty and wicked thoughts of his hero are in all men.
I have seen, throughout my life, without excepting one, men, with narrow shoulders, doing stupid and numerous acts, stupefying their fellows, and perverting souls by all means. They call the motives of their actions: glory. When I saw these spectacles, I wanted to laugh like the others; but this strange imitation was impossible. I took a penknife whose blade had a sharp edge, and split the flesh at the places where the lips meet. For a moment I thought I had reached my goal. I looked in a mirror at my mouth, wounded by my own will! It was a mistake! The blood which flowed abundantly from the two wounds also made it impossible to distinguish whether it was really the laughter of the others. But after a few moments of comparison, I saw that my laughter did not resemble that of humans, that is, I did not laugh. I have seen men with ugly heads and terrible eyes sunk in the dark orbit, surpassing the hardness of the rock, the rigidity of molten steel, the cruelty of the shark, the insolence of youth, the fury the betrayals of the hypocrite, the most extraordinary comedians, the power of character of the priests, and the most hidden beings outside, the coldest of worlds and of heaven; weary the moralists to discover their hearts, and bring down upon them the implacable wrath from above. I saw them all at once, sometimes the strongest fist directed towards heaven, like that of a child already perverse to his mother, probably excited by some spirit of hell, with their eyes full of remorse, bitter and hateful, in a frigid silence, they dared not utter the vast and ungrateful meditations which their bosom contained, so full of injustice and horror, and saddened with compassion, God of mercy; sometimes, at every moment of the day, from the beginning of childhood to the end of old age, by spreading incredible anathemas, which had not common sense, against all that breathes, against themselves and against Providence, to prostitute women and children, and thus dishonor the parts of the body devoted to modesty. Then the seas lift up their waters, swallow up the planks in their abysses; hurricanes and earthquakes overturn the houses; the plague, various diseases decimate the praying families. But men do not realize it. I have also seen them blushing, pale with shame for their conduct on this earth; rarely. Storms, hurricane sisters; firmament bluish, whose beauty I do not admit; hypocritical sea, image of my heart; earth, in the mysterious bosom; inhabitants of the spheres; universe; God, who created it with magnificence, it is you whom I invoke: show me a man who is good! But let your grace multiply my natural strength; for at the spectacle of this monster, I may die of astonishment; in the mysterious bosom; inhabitants of the spheres; universe; God, who created it with magnificence, it is you whom I invoke: show me a man who is good! But let your grace multiply my natural strength; for at the spectacle of this monster, I may die of astonishment; in the mysterious bosom; inhabitants of the spheres; universe; God, who created it with magnificence, it is you whom I invoke: show me a man who is good! But let your grace multiply my natural strength; for at the spectacle of this monster, I may die of astonishment;
We must let our nails grow for a fortnight. Oh! how sweet it is to snatch a child from his bed, who has nothing on his upper lip, and, with his eyes open, pretend to pass his hand sweetly on his forehead, tilting his hands hair! Then, suddenly, at the moment when he least expected it, to push the long nails into his soft breast, so that he did not die; for if he died, one would not later have the appearance of his miseries. Then the blood is drunk by licking the wounds; and during this time, which should last as long as eternity lasts, the child weeps. Nothing is so good as his blood, extracted as I have just said, and still warm, if not his tears, bitter as salt. Male, Have you ever tasted your blood, when by chance you cut your finger? How good it is, is not it; for he has no taste. Besides, do not you remember one day, in your gloomy reflections, carried your hand, hollowed in the depths, on your diseased ligure wet by what was falling from your eyes; which then went fatally towards the mouth, which drew long lines in this cup, trembling like the teeth of the pupil who looks obliquely at the one who was born to oppress him, tears? How good they are, are they not? for they have the taste of vinegar. One would say the tears of the one who loves most; but the tears of the child are better on the palate. He does not betray, not yet knowing the evil: the one who loves most betrays sooner or later … I guess by analogy, though I do not know what friendship is, or love (it is probable that I will never accept them, at least on the part of the human race). So, since your blood and tears do not disgust you, feed, feed with confidence the tears and blood of the adolescent. Bend his eyes, while you tear his palpitating flesh; and after hearing long hours his sublime cries, like the piercing groaning in a battle the throats of the dying wounded, then, having thrown you as an avalanche, throw yourself into the next room, and you will pretend to to come to his rescue. You will untie his hands, with the nerves and the swollen veins, you will render the sight to his eyes lost, restoring you to lick his tears and his blood. As then repentance is true! The the divine spark which is in us, and appears so rarely, shows itself; too late! As the heart overflows with being able to console the innocent one who has been harmed: “Adolescent, who has just suffered cruel pains, who has been able to commit a crime on you which I know not what name to call! Unhappy that you are! How you must suffer! And if your mother knew this, she would not be nearer to death, so abhorred by the guilty than I am now. Alas! what is good and evil? Is it the same thing by which we rage our impotence, and the passion of reaching to infinity by even the most insane means? Or are they two different things? Yes … that it is rather the same thing … for, if not, what will become of me on the day of judgment? Teenager, forgive me; it is he who is before your noble and sacred face, who has broken your bones and torn the flesh that hangs in different parts of your body. Is it a delirium of my sick reason, is it a secret instinct that does not depend on my reasoning, like that of the eagle rending its prey, which prompted me to commit this crime; and yet, as much as my victim, I was suffering! Adolescent, forgive me. Once I have emerged from this passing life, I want to be interwoven for eternity; to form but one being, my mouth stuck to your mouth. Even so, my punishment will not be complete. Then you will tear me, without ever stopping, with teeth and nails at the same time. I shall wrap my body with balmy garlands for this atoning sacrifice; and we shall both suffer, to be torn, you, to tear me … my mouth glued to your mouth. O teenager, with fair hair and so sweet eyes, will you do what I advise you? In spite of you, I want you to do it, and you will make my conscience happy. “After speaking thus, at the same time you will have harmed a human being, and you will be loved by the same being: it is happiness greater than can be conceived. Later, you can put him in the hospital; for the perclus will not be able to make a living. You will be called good, and laurel wreaths and gold medals will hide your bare feet, scattered over the great tomb, with the old face, O you, whose name I do not want to write on this page which consecrates the sanctity of crime, I know that your forgiveness was immense as the universe. But I still exist! be torn, you, tear me … my mouth stuck to your mouth. O teenager, with fair hair and so sweet eyes, will you do what I advise you? In spite of you, I want you to do it, and you will make my conscience happy. “After speaking thus, at the same time you will have harmed a human being, and you will be loved by the same being: it is happiness greater than can be conceived. Later, you can put him in the hospital; for the perclus will not be able to make a living. You will be called good, and laurel wreaths and gold medals will hide your bare feet, scattered over the great tomb, with the old face, O you, whose name I do not want to write on this page which consecrates the sanctity of crime, I know that your forgiveness was immense as the universe. But I still exist! be torn, you, tear me … my mouth stuck to your mouth. O teenager, with fair hair and so sweet eyes, will you do what I advise you? In spite of you, I want you to do it, and you will make my conscience happy. “After speaking thus, at the same time you will have harmed a human being, and you will be loved by the same being: it is happiness greater than can be conceived. Later, you can put him in the hospital; for the perclus will not be able to make a living. You will be called good, and laurel wreaths and gold medals will hide your bare feet, scattered over the great tomb, with the old face, O you, whose name I do not want to write on this page which consecrates the sanctity of crime, I know that your forgiveness was immense as the universe. But I still exist! to tear me … my mouth stuck to your mouth. O teenager, with fair hair and so sweet eyes, will you do what I advise you? In spite of you, I want you to do it, and you will make my conscience happy. “After speaking thus, at the same time you will have harmed a human being, and you will be loved by the same being: it is happiness greater than can be conceived. Later, you can put him in the hospital; for the perclus will not be able to make a living. You will be called good, and laurel wreaths and gold medals will hide your bare feet, scattered over the great tomb, with the old face, O you, whose name I do not want to write on this page which consecrates the sanctity of crime, I know that your forgiveness was immense as the universe. But I still exist! to tear me … my mouth stuck to your mouth. O teenager, with fair hair and so sweet eyes, will you do what I advise you? In spite of you, I want you to do it, and you will make my conscience happy. “After speaking thus, at the same time you will have harmed a human being, and you will be loved by the same being: it is happiness greater than can be conceived. Later, you can put him in the hospital; for the perclus will not be able to make a living. You will be called good, and laurel wreaths and gold medals will hide your bare feet, scattered over the great tomb, with the old face, O you, whose name I do not want to write on this page which consecrates the sanctity of crime, I know that your forgiveness was immense as the universe. But I still exist! O teenager, with fair hair and so sweet eyes, will you do what I advise you? In spite of you, I want you to do it, and you will make my conscience happy. “After speaking thus, at the same time you will have harmed a human being, and you will be loved by the same being: it is happiness greater than can be conceived. Later, you can put him in the hospital; for the perclus will not be able to make a living. You will be called good, and laurel wreaths and gold medals will hide your bare feet, scattered over the great tomb, with the old face, O you, whose name I do not want to write on this page which consecrates the sanctity of crime, I know that your forgiveness was immense as the universe. But I still exist! O teenager, with fair hair and so sweet eyes, will you do what I advise you? In spite of you, I want you to do it, and you will make my conscience happy. “After speaking thus, at the same time you will have harmed a human being, and you will be loved by the same being: it is happiness greater than can be conceived. Later, you can put him in the hospital; for the perclus will not be able to make a living. You will be called good, and laurel wreaths and gold medals will hide your bare feet, scattered over the great tomb, with the old face, O you, whose name I do not want to write on this page which consecrates the sanctity of crime, I know that your forgiveness was immense as the universe. But I still exist! will you do what I advise you? In spite of you, I want you to do it, and you will make my conscience happy. “After speaking thus, at the same time you will have harmed a human being, and you will be loved by the same being: it is happiness greater than can be conceived. Later, you can put him in the hospital; for the perclus will not be able to make a living. You will be called good, and laurel wreaths and gold medals will hide your bare feet, scattered over the great tomb, with the old face, O you, whose name I do not want to write on this page which consecrates the sanctity of crime, I know that your forgiveness was immense as the universe. But I still exist! will you do what I advise you? In spite of you, I want you to do it, and you will make my conscience happy. “After speaking thus, at the same time you will have harmed a human being, and you will be loved by the same being: it is happiness greater than can be conceived. Later, you can put him in the hospital; for the perclus will not be able to make a living. You will be called good, and laurel wreaths and gold medals will hide your bare feet, scattered over the great tomb, with the old face, O you, whose name I do not want to write on this page which consecrates the sanctity of crime, I know that your forgiveness was immense as the universe. But I still exist! at the same time you will have harmed a human being, and you will be loved by the same being: it is the greatest happiness that can be conceived. Later, you can put him in the hospital; for the perclus will not be able to make a living. You will be called good, and laurel wreaths and gold medals will hide your bare feet, scattered over the great tomb, with the old face, O you, whose name I do not want to write on this page which consecrates the sanctity of crime, I know that your forgiveness was immense as the universe. But I still exist! at the same time you will have harmed a human being, and you will be loved by the same being: it is the greatest happiness that can be conceived. Later, you can put him in the hospital; for the perclus will not be able to make a living. You will be called good, and laurel wreaths and gold medals will hide your bare feet, scattered over the great tomb, with the old face, O you, whose name I do not want to write on this page which consecrates the sanctity of crime, I know that your forgiveness was immense as the universe. But I still exist! and the laurel wreaths and gold medals will hide your bare feet, scattered over the great tomb, with the old face, O thou, whose name I do not want to write on this page which consecrates the holiness of crime, I know that your forgiveness was as immense as the universe. But I still exist! and the laurel wreaths and gold medals will hide your bare feet, scattered over the great tomb, with the old face, O thou, whose name I do not want to write on this page which consecrates the holiness of crime, I know that your forgiveness was as immense as the universe. But I still exist!
*
p.s. Hey. ** David, Hi. I haven’t seen ‘Bereavement’. You recommend it, I’m supposing? ‘PGL’ is on DVD, yep. Ouch, tooth shit, ixnay. ** Dominik, Hi!!! Yes, I’m enjoying my junk food, especially the peanut butter. The French aren’t into peanut butter for some bizarre reason. You can barely find it, and it’s not good when you can. The French are so great, but there are certain things they just can’t do right like peanut butter, donuts, muffins. Weird. Yes, I don’t know why Saturday’s love was such a nervous ninny. But with the help of your weekend love, he feels much, much better. Love giving his reflection a very sloppy, lengthy French kiss whenever he passes by a mirror, even in public, the narcissistic weirdo, G. ** David Ehrenstein, Hooper did kind of blow his wad with the magnificent TCSM, but there are a couple or maybe a few really quite good films after that. ** l@rst, Yep, incredible soundtrack, that’s for sure. I think he should’ve stuck to making film with tiny budgets. Me too: silly. Shockingly so at times. What’s up with us? ** Maria, Isabella, Camila, Malaria, Gabriela, Hi. Oh my god, but … it was an honest mistake, so don’t feel too badly, but still, oh my, your poor husband. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger maybe? People say that. ** Verity Pawloski, Hi, ha ha, and thank you. ** _Black_Acrylic, Oh, Ben, I’m so extremely sorry and sad and heartbroken to hear that. I loved meeting him too, and he had such a really great, nice quality. And I know from everything you’ve written about him that he’s been a wonderful and very loving father to you in addition to seeming to be such an interesting person. I wish you so much strength, my dear friend. Lots of love from me, and, yes, let me know. xoxo. ** Bill, Hi. Nothing he made touches ‘TCSM’, but those two early shorts are quite good, and I would vouch for ‘Lifeforce’ and ‘The Fun House’ as good fun. ‘Let’s Love Hong Kong’ sounds like a definite go-to. Let me see if I can locate it with subtitles somehow. Thanks! And the rest of your weekend ponied up with something good or other, I hope? ** Steve Erickson, Agreed about ‘Lifeforce’. And a couple of others. But none touch ‘TCSM’. Again, I wonder what might have been different if he’d stayed in the low-end indie, small budgeted scene. I haven’t read that book, no, have you? We’re already starting spring over here. Total gyp on the winter front. ** Brian, Hey, Brian. One can’t expect his other films to compete with ‘TCSM’, or one will face disappointment. Like I said above, the two early shorts are very cool. ‘Lifeforce’ is maybe his best other film. I like ‘The Funhouse’. And there are things in some of the other ones that are pretty good. Even ‘TCSM 2’ is pretty fun. Obviously, I’m happy that you’re falling under Bresson’s spell. The shadow his stuff casts is pretty huge, if I’m any indication. Good, I was hoping that something — the technical stuff it turns out — makes the 4 hours impactful at least. I’m still waiting for ‘Jackass’ to either open here or show up on my go-to illegal sites, and neither has happened yet. My weekend was solid. Met and had a great coffee with the blog’s d.l. T. Got a smallish but welcome donation to the film. Dinner with an old friend. Bit of writing. Other stuff that was nice but doesn’t bear repeating. And now we both have a whole spanking new, virginal week to trounce! Trounce! ** Okay. Today the blog gives it up for the one and only co-father of surrealism and transgressive writing and word based visionary-ness, the mighty and honorable Comte de Lautréamont. See you tomorrow.
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