_____________

pieceofmind, 22
Wanting r a p e d
Wanting k I d n a p e d

Treat me like a mutt dog make me eat drink out of a food and water bowl
Collar me to a corner that I can be used as a public urinal and put a sign up that says free for use make me piss and shit outside like a dog
Video me being gangbanged and email it to my relatives

I live to be owned used we’re ever whenever
My limits are extreme pain and permanent damage but I can always work past em
I am very perverted pathetic piece of shit

Comments

Electro_Cute – June 20, 2019
Can you trolls, like, go talk about this somewhere else. Some of us are trying to jack off here.

Anonymous – June 20, 2019
ahhhh … the golden hour

Anonymous – June 20, 2019
Actually there’s an initial hour +/- depending on the conditions where the differences between dead and unconscious are almost indistinguishable. The dead can even “snore”.

Anonymous – June 20, 2019
how a guy looks asleep or passed out is nothing like how he’d look dead, i thought so too but it’s like the difference between a real baby and a doll.

pieceofmind (Owner) – June 17, 2019
Thats funny cuz a guy choked me unconscious once and after he brought me around he said I looked so hot unconscious he was sorry he did.

Electro_Cute – June 17, 2019
I’m sure you look great when you’re screaming or dead :O.

pieceofmind (Owner) – June 16, 2019
Cause I’m ugly

Electro_Cute – June 16, 2019
Maybe you were just in a bad mood that day why don’t you take new pics?

pieceofmind (Owner) – June 16, 2019
Possibly both but it’s about all I got lol

Electro_Cute – June 16, 2019
You look angry or constipated.

 

_______________

brianna, 22
I’m Bryan but I want to become a Brianna and used as a cumdump and go with the flow

Comments

brianna (Owner) – June 18, 2019
glad to be slave

MasterSilverWolf – June 16, 2019
19h36 26/05/19 Brianna needed to be fixed. I cut her nuts off. I will modify her in any other way I desire.

MasterSilverWolf – June 10, 2019
Brianna 04h18 23/05/19

Anonymous – May 17, 2019
“Only dead fish go with the flow”

 

_______________

procrasturbator, 22
I prefer to fix a problem if it’s in my capacity regardless of benefits. Some things are not in control of a single person unless you are omnipresent. You know nothing else in this world can make you feel better than being helpful. It gives you a sense of purpose. A single doctor cannot save thousand patients at once actively but if thousand patients listen to an advice doctor gave in some internet forum and applies in their life, chances are they can prevent an upcoming disease. But there is always both side of the coin. Sometimes I can be harsh and be irritating. I cannot stay for long. If I do, people tend to get used to me and try to take advantage. I do however believe if someone is so determined to use you, you are probably useful. Life is too short and in the end I will be eaten by maggots when I am a dead cold corpse laying around so hey in the end, good or bad, headaches or migraines I just… LIVE.

Comments

procrasturbator (Owner) – June 22, 2019
You already know, chicken!

KingWithBeard – June 22, 2019
I think you do so come on share with everyone. I’m curious is why.

procrasturbator (Owner) – June 22, 2019
I’m saying I have done so before, why?

KingWithBeard – June 22, 2019
Are you saying it’s not a secrete now?

procrasturbator (Owner) – June 22, 2019
I don’t want to secretly now but I have done so in the past though, why?

KingWithBeard – June 22, 2019
Do you secretely want to get snuffed but haven’t done anything about it?

 

_______________

LivingStatueObject, 19
Looking to be encased permanently inside wax as a wax figure or plaster and sculpted and kept as a living ornament, statue for a collection or sold to private buyer. Unable to move inside my prison for admirers or special collectors forever more.

Willing to travel.
5”11
Feet size 10
Cock size 7”
26 waist

 

_______________

slampunk, 19
Dirty pimply slam addicted junkie teen unwashed no limits looking for the same.

SPOILERS AHEAD. I’m no longer a prostitute. END OF THE SPOILERS.

Let’s speak now??? As I’ll surely not be here a very long time…

Comments

Anonymous – June 7, 2019
Other than “because all life is sacred”, I say no.

MrTeapott – June 5, 2019
Rehab?

Anonymous – June 3, 2019
If you remember him from his porns using and abusing him in this terrible state is very emotionally powerful

 

________________

blackholedown, 18
Me: I’m the boy you see skateboarding. Walking home from school down the street. The boy who notices you looking and wishes he was tied up at your feet. I’m the boy who has struggled his whole life accepting his submissive nature.

You: You live for the moment that You finally have me. Naked. Collared. Hands cuffed behind my back. Dirty sock in my mouth with about 5 wraps of tape around my head. Blindfolded. And as you gently graze your leather gloved hand along my body you remind me. “this is exactly where you belong.”

Drawback: You will need to be able to handle or ignore the splash of my disappearance trending heavily on the news for some weeks because my mother is very famous.

 

________________

i_did_something_bad, 21
Since our very birth we are violently indoctrinated in the damaging ideology that we all are –or SHOULD be- *equals*, and should relate to each other as such on a sexual, emotional and spiritual level. This authoritarian pedagogy negates the obvious fact that we all have different capacities, needs and desires, and forces us to spend most of our lives trying hard to adapt ourselves to those imposed egalitarian lifestyles, fighting permanently against our innermost feelings, thoughts and desires. And we do it because the social cost of defying the dictatorship of equality is too high: from losing friends and family to being bullied or ostracized, or even incarcerated.

I am a slave in the Roman sense of the word-with postmodern skills-; that is, an extremely docile sub-human creature whose only existential engine is to make His life better. I am a butler, a cook, a pet, a urinal, sometimes a piece of furniture, sometimes a lab rat or a burden beast; all in one. In an ideal world, my Owner would chose my clothes and my haircuts, He would determine my eating habits and training routines, He would manage my sexual, social and financial life. He would organize and rule my entire existence.

On a sexual level, I am psychologically castrated, I am 100% passive, an extremely docile living fleshlight for His enjoyment. My only sexual motivation is to satisfy Him in whatever way He wants. My cock and balls are His as He pleases, but I believe they exist only to be tortured, and to remind me of my place in the world through denial, pain and frustration.

Once a Contract has been signed, I -previously a fake “he” for social survival- becomes the “it” it has ALWAYS been secretly since it was born. By this act, it loses the provisory decision making and denial capabilities it developed throughout its life to preserve itself for its Owner.

Comments

TheContess – June 26, 2019
I have taken permanent ownership of it formerly him. It is undergoing extensive hypnosis, psychotropic medication and programming. In my opinion the start to any good slave’s journey is the destruction of its brain’s archive and capabilities, whereupon the body and mind mold themselves around the necessity of becoming a new it. A slave should learn to crave the state of being a figurative inspiration for sperm and dread the releases of its own orgasms. This slave’s high intelligence and verbal acuity have proved a great challenge, but through strict mental draining and sculpting the “he” is nearly gone now and the process has been immensely enlightening.

 

________________

Keith, 18
Been able to comfortably take a fist since I was 16 and getting bigger ones each time.

Had a very harsh breathplay harsh experience recently and I felt in love. Like I was expecting that since my childhood.

Pay for travel I’m yours.

 

_________________

disporecois, 20
Want to experience all their is to experience and have new existences. Don’t know what to expect.

Comments

MasterSamrat – June 11, 2019
Difficult to say with one photo. Let’s talk privately. Best guess … anywhere from 10k to 40k? If it can get to no limits, up to 50?

userunknown – June 11, 2019
Vietnamese, cute. How much?

MasterSamrat – June 11, 2019
Looks Asian, Spanish, Arab? If Asian with a cute face, very interested. If other, possibly.

userunknown – June 11, 2019
I wld love to disquisition my slave, 22, w/ a few usual limits. I attach sample pic. Are you interest to resale it?

MasterSamrat – June 8, 2019
Hi dears this is Master Samrat here.
I have acquired the rights to this slave as one of my turnaround flips. He is in the midst of 3 weeks training for no limits usage at my compound in Duisburg.
Visits, inspections and purchase offers begin on June 1.
If the slave is not acquired privately he will be auctioned on June 11 at the usual venue (ask if you don’t know) in Hamburg.
If anybdy has questions or a slave they wish to deacquisition than contact me.

TheWalkingDad – June 2, 2019
You’re not my type.

Master-NoLimit – May 29, 2019
Hello, thank you for reading carefully the following. I am Master Nolimit. I warn all fantasizers, especially you with your halloween makeup, thank you to take into account that if you tell me “I love it all”, I will make you see that the meaning of the words have a huge importance. That said, I am very respectful of the laws in force in France, so you will either save your death wish if you have one for another Master or you will need to do some traveling.

 

_____________

e$$ere, 18
Nice blond -> Daddys . I am spoiled all in a nice car or in a luxury home !!

Comments

e$$ere (Owner) – June 15, 2019
Now everything I have in my hand are cash !! It excites me !!!

Nipple99 – June 15, 2019
He has a daddy now. He’s mine. Completely. Avert eyes. Hands off.

 

_____________

dumbmedown, 19
Just want a bf as dark and creepy as I am sweet and innocent who is a teen like me who wants to break me mentally until I’m just dumb and dependent. If you’re into it and wanna make it happen that’s cool but I’m gonna warn you tho I’m not the most stable person.

Comments

metalX – June 9, 2019
I’m not teen, i’m 46 n i want to fuckin dumb u down bad and i CAN. I can do it fast, i can do it hard. Teens always want me, want me n they ‘ll keep wantin me, cuz i have my own style, my own personality n i really care about any word they say. Many people said 2 me that i can’t be as perfect as i seem. But i am, cuz i WANT 2 be perfect. The others care more about what they ‘ll get, than what they ‘ll give. So i’m not pedo. The teens r the ones who r tryin 2 make me their bf. I don’t try anythin cuz they’re not hot like u. N they r always happy. Cuz they know that there is someone who understands em n helps em. N it’s 2 difficult 2 find such a person. So i know who’s the pedo. U r the pedo, who is at the same age as ur bf n destroyed n will keep destroyin their lives with ur disgustin character.

mel_hrd – May 31, 2019
dumbing him down like taking someone already brain dead off life support

keenan435 – May 18, 2019
Already dumb gay mess who only likes Star Wars and vodka

 

_____________

pozboy06, 19
Let’s go to Slave ,, I am Slut, Cum is all around, Welcome to my world, Please torture my ass please please.

Just don’t waste my time .., you better be dirty enough so I don’g get bored

Eating disorder ,.,, dancer .,,, poz detect!!! ,… model

Comments

Waldeinsamkeit – June 20, 2019
You’re such a fuckin’ cutie, and I’m so vanilla, ugh it isn’t fair.

pozboy06 (owner) – June 9, 2019
Yes I do

teamdrizzy – June 9, 2019
He doesn’t mean torture in the way you think.

BiBoy502 – June 9, 2019
Dont torture his ass … my God are you crazy?!!!!!!

pozboy06 (owner) – June 6, 2019
Thomas , I am not Flori .., but my ass can be avialible for you 11:00 to 14:00 Sunday June 2

rockstar – June 6, 2019
Oh wow … I used to fuck him back when he charged for it.

Flori, respond if you read this. I’ve got so many toxic loads saved up for you, your ass is going to back up like a sewer.

Thomas (the one with the black Porsche 😘)

 

_____________

HappyBlondBoy, 18
Was straight a month ago but I partied really hard about a month ago woke up to some older guy I didn’t know fucking me. Lol told him he just turned me gay and don’t stop. I ended up finding a couple chat rooms and have met a few weirdos’ I have been fucked by 4 of my friends now. I haven’t worn a condom once and don’t plan to. I like tying a fishnet around an onion and beating myself senselessly with it, as another boy watches. I always eat the onion afterwords. The only thing that scares me is being tied up and helpless (but maybe that’s because I’m only 13 haha.) For all I know, they’re going to murder me or some shit.

 

_______________

trueskinnylegend, 21
Make me a pooper scooper for your yard
Thanks for reading and get in touch

 

_______________

Eatmeplease, 25
Pig for the dinner table. Cook me and eat me. 73kg. 7” cock medium balls. Size 10 feet. Eat them, Remove them for display, Stuff them as taxidermy. Sell them to a far away land.

Comments

Anonymous – June 14, 2019
togerther………………………………………………………………

 

_______________

rasta_baby420, 19
stoner fucks only stoners (ages 45 – 70) connect!! i love you xoxo

Comments

losingame – June 3, 2019
one had the impression that were one not required to be stoned oneself one could go fairly nutso with this baked, complacent beauty.

 

_______________

FullOfJuices, 20
Some things about me I play most games on xbox live I watch any movies except comedy
I listen to good music no jazz or heavy metal or stuff like that
I am very highly sexed
I like to make desserts
I live with family cause I take care of my grandma with my mom and I have a Part time job at night while mom is home my main goal is get my life together get a car and help get the house fixed up and looking good
I like to sing but can”t unless I have the music in my ears so I can”t hear myself
What makes me unique I care about every person until u respect me too much then ur done with talking to me
It bears repeating that I am very highly sexed
I never imagined that I would post in this “KIND OF STUFF” but sometimes UNFORTUNATE things happen.
I love u more than anything in the world
We will be fine

Comments

FullOfJuices (Owner) – June 10, 2019
U are given to hyperbole, sir

DeathBreeder – June 10, 2019
he wants a lot of “getting to know him” and friendship grooming but once overpowered very horny, so horny you get everything you want, the whole night he does everything and by everything i really mean everything.

FullOfJuices (Owner) – June 7, 2019
I get that a lot

Matino0 – June 7, 2019
Hey I’m only commenting because I really want to put my hand in you.

treeman5 – June 4, 2019
I am looking for a hot sex, and I am horny been horny all my life I don’t like women

FullOfJuices (Owner) – May 27, 2019
Nah

RapeFaggots – May 27, 2019
In a relationship but hes not into my kink, so after a year I get to play outside and, lucky you, I really really fucking like you.

Things I will do to you: Fuck your mouth and ass, I do not “start slow” or “ease it in” I fuck how I want from the first thrust. I’ll throat fuck you as you wretch and spit up bile all over my cock. I will slap you very hard, punch you, give you two black eyes and choke you until you turn dark red. Spit on you, step on you, kick you, stomp your head until it cracks. I cum where I want when I want. I’ll cum in your blacked fag eyes so they burn. Over and over. Always consensual, always a safe word although your mouth will be gagged shut or so wrecked to shit and broken that I’ll probably never hear it.

 

________________

Treatmelikeshit, 18
Only time we don’t speak is during “Sex and the City”
I gets Carrie fever, but soon as the show is over
I’m right back to being your soldier
The few guys I’ve been with say I’m good
My penis has been described as “impressively small”
I am below the knee amputee, one leg
No one is cut like me, the fabric is different

Comments

Treatmelikeshit (Owner) – June 23, 2019
Fuck you. Shut yo… I do not give a fuck.

alexnew – June 22, 2019
I like the color of the new hair color

 

________________

DEXTER, 22
Nothing excites me like being whipped and flogged until I’m shredded and bloodied; looking for a serious player who knows how to get the job done. Due to my insatiability I will only accept a weekend experience at the very minimum; no sleeping but a few shorts naps are acceptable

 

______________

D00MED, 23
₦Ø₮ ₥Ʉ₵Ⱨ ₮Ø ₭₦Ø₩

Comments

Anonymous – June 19, 2019
@drugsfordinner no allen was murdered by his “drug dealer” in november. bashed his head in with a sledgehammer. they had to use dental records to identify him. if you knew him you can guess the real story i’m sure.

Extrovert05 – June 16, 2019
if you look at the stats he hasn’t logged in here in 8 months.

drugsfordinner – June 16, 2019
Christ Allen you’re still alive??!!!

 

______________

Leviathan, 20
Please follow the socially accepted rules of engagement (face, dick, no harassment, money offer, more than three words)

Me: perfectionist, Jew

Shalom

Comments

ihavehugecock – June 13, 2019
Kind of lethargic. Maybe ill or something. That ass tho. A+

GODSTEFF – June 5, 2019
I’m a fuckin SSuperSSexy, dropdead gorgeouSS, horny, 18 yo SSatanic NAZI bull SStud addicted to hard raw fuckin SSex with jews: the more fuckin depraved and fuckin twiSSted it gets, the fuckin better! No fuckin bloody morals here! Morals are for that fuckin shit xrist of nazareth and its fuckin filthy whore mother torah!

 

______________

Twinsbrothers, 19
In Berlin for 1 month. Show us that the crazy stuff that we have heard is true.
👬

 

______________

Patient-4-Doctor, 20
Name says it all

Comments

DoctorGoodglove – June 20, 2019
Doctor will see you now

Surgeon – June 18, 2019
I will be capped, masked, gloved and gowned and entering the operating theatre with my latex clad hands raised in front of me, anticipating the stainless steel to be passed to my skilled fingers when I command it.

DrCherno83 – June 16, 2019
You need chemo stat

Medicalextreme – June 14, 2019
* Exams/dental/surgical/catheters/stethoscope/ECG/blood pressure monitoring
* Anesthesia/KO (meds,gas,chocking,rebreather,forced nitrous )
* Forced sedation and nipples and boner pierced
* Extreme clinic scene IV/IO line, NG/ breathing tubes

DoctorProstate – June 5, 2019
I’ll tie you down to the hospital bed where will take my sweet time in anally extracting ALL of your milk – If I don’t feel I’ve extracted every drop of semen then the electro plugs will be used and I’ll pound the last drops of cum out of you through hard anal electro.

doctorbear – June 5, 2019
Can not wait to get my professionally trained gloved hands on the outside & on the inside of you.

DoctorJordy – June 3, 2019
When I play doctor, I play to win.

 

______________

SnuffLad, 21
Served men since a young age and I’m now looking for my” final” sadistic Alpha.

The more twisted and sadistic the snuff the better.

Prefer to travel for it, the further the better, think it’s best for everyone that I am unknown and undetectable when it happens just to be realistic.

100000000000000000% anorexic (I don’t eat).

Serious beyond belief and looking for a murderer.

Turned on by all aspects of kink sex, violence, suffering, horror and I’m completely open to extended, insane use of my body before the snuff – nothing bothers me.

I consider myself more as a useless object with accidentally attractive aspects to be used, destroyed, murdered and discarded, rather than anything else

Further pictures available on request, as are references from others who can vouch.

Comments

Anonymous – June 7, 2019
I can vouch that this lad has been obsessed with getting snuffed since he was quite young and I am among the many who have had sane snuff play sessions with him. What he doesn’t mention is -and I think anyone considering this commitment should know- the compulsion to die for real is because his wife just had triplets and then died during child birth.

 

______________

SlaveForLifetime00, 21
I am a completely broken straight slave fresh from 8 months in prison where I was trained to suffer. I was trained in prison by the white gang members who bought me. But I’m currently homeless and willing to let you do anything to me in exchange for a place to stay. I’m looking for a very cruel and violent sadist who wants a slave to be kept completely naked and barefoot in a dark freezing cold basement in heavy chains and isolation. I am also available for no limits overnight sessions from men who are from the local area. Like I am currently available for the whole day today.

Comments

TheBoundCollective – May 22, 2019
We are TheBoundCollective – an international art collaboration of rugged guys who love to publicly display their passion for boys, bondage and objectification.

We’re not talking about a quick fuck in the park. We’re talking about the dehumanization of the human being! We’ll transform you into nothing but a faceless object. That’s why we love tape. It covers up your individuality until nothing remains. With each layer, you feel your humanity disappear: stiffened joints, useless hands, blind eyes… You’ll be objectified into perfect insignificance.

It’s about art. We focus on situations of everyday life that we attack with the complete dismantling of human self-determination.

TheBoundCollective made their debut at Folsom Europe 2016 with the installation “Tape Mummies @ Victoria Luise” inside a Berlin subway station.

 

 

*

p.s. Hey. ** David Ehrenstein, Ah, very interesting, yes, thank you. ** Keatonkini, That happened to me two days ago. I was in my local Monop, which is kind of the classier French equivalent of a 7-11, as I think you know, and I saw this guy, and I was like, That guy looks insanely like what Mike Love from the Beach Boys must look like now that he’s 70 years old or something. Uncanny. Then I walk out the door and up the street, and, sure enough, on the marquee of the legendary Olympia venue, which is two blocks from where I live, who’s playing that night? Yep, The Beach Boys. Or rather Mike Love and a bunch of musician toadies milking the brand name. ‘Works but it’s boring’ … hm, that’s not such a lure. I think I’ll save it for a plane. Whitehead directed the vid for my all-time favorite Stones song, ‘We Love You’. That’s their ‘Citizen Kane’ if you ask me, and it’s also the all-time greatest use of mellotron, if you ask me. I’m with the Stones up through ‘Exile’ and then barely for a couple of subsequent albums and then not at all, which I guess most people who are discerning are. I think ‘Some Girls’ is insanely overrated. Anyway, … Today is supposed to be most horrifying and peak heatwave day, and since I was already sweating in my apartment at 7:15 am, I think that’s right. Supposed to fade down a bit tomorrow. God, Jesus. Hm, if I were to record a ‘rock’ record … Well, you know I was in a rock band in high school. Lead singer/rhythm guitar. George Miles was the keyboardist in the band. And that band sounded like a cross between Syd Barrett-era Pink Floyd, early Alice Cooper, and the first couple of Love albums. And even though we were terrible, I still think what we were trying to do in our pathetic way was pretty fucking hot, so maybe I’d go back to that sound and try to do it right? Characterise your record in progress please. ** Steve Erickson, Hi. No, no air-conditioning in my apartment. I honestly don’t think a single person I know in Paris has air-conditioning. I’d take the high 80s right now in a heartbeat. I think an embed of ‘Charlie Is My Darling’ was available in full in the post if you want to see it? ** Misanthrope, Hi. Oh, okay, thanks about the crash pad offer. I think I’m going to go to London, but I think in September most likely. What’s up with LPS? You’ve been quiet about him, so I assume things are on an even keel? Own stuff sounds good. To me too. I’d probably be digging away at my own stuff if it wasn’t too boiling here to think. ** _Black_Acrylic, Hey, Ben. Cool, I hope that works out with the Finlay project if it continues to interest you. Oh, wow, his dad is Ian Hamilton Finlay? That’s wild. I like his work, and his poetry is excellent too. I haven’t heard people talk about his work that much recently. I should do a post. Like Lene Lovitch! Fantastic, yeah, when a long term gap in contact with a friend disappears in a second, that is the total best. Wonderful! ** Okay. End of the month always means a bevy of slaves, and there you go. See you on Monday when I hope I will writing to you from a comfortable and liveable place.

* all texts, except where indicated: from Henry Miller’s The Books in My Life

 

‘I have tried to make a story of adventure in which there should be absolutely nothing ‘timely.’ The present time disgusts me, even to describe. It is sufficient merely to endure it. I wanted to make a book with new mountains, a new river, a country, forest, snow and men all new. The most consoling thing is that I have not had to invent anything at all, not even the people. They all exist. That is what I want to say here. At this very time when Paris flourishes – and that is nothing to be proud of – there are people in the world who know nothing of the horrible mediocrity into which civilization, philosophers, public speakers and gossips have plunged the human race. They think only of adding to their comfort, heedless that one day true men will come up from the river and down from the mountain, more implacable and more bitter than the grass of the apocalypse.’ — Jean Giono, 1937

It was in one of those humble stationery stores which sell books, that I first came across Jean Giono’s work. It was the daughter of the proprietor — bless her soul! — who literally thrust upon me the book called Que majoie demeure (The Joy of Man’s Desiring). In 1939, after making a pilgrimage to Manosque with Giono’s boyhood friend, Henri Fluchre, the latter bought for me Jean le Bleu (Blue Boy), which I read on the boat going to Greece. Both these French editions I lost in my wanderings. On returning to America, however, I soon made the acquaintance of Pascal Covici, one of the editors of the Viking Press, and through him I got acquainted with all that has been translated of Giono — not very much, I sadly confess.

Between times I have maintained a random correspondence with Giono, who continues to live in the place of his birth, Manosque. How often I have regretted that I did not meet him on the occasion of my visit to his home — he was off then on a walking expedition through the countryside he describes with such deep poetic imagination in his books. But if I never meet him in the flesh I can certainly say that I have met him in the spirit. And so have many others throughout this wide world. Some, I find, know him only through the screen versions of his books — Harvest and The Baker’s Wife. No one ever leaves the theatre, after a performance of these films, with a dry eye. No one ever looks upon a loaf of bread, after seeing Harvest, in quite the same way as he used to; nor, after seeing The Baker’s Wife, does one think of the cuckold with the same raucous levity.

But these are trifling observations . . . A few moments ago, tenderly flipping the pages of his books, I was saying to myself: “Tenderize your finger tips! Make yourself ready for the great task!”

For several years now I have been preaching the gospel — of Jean Giono. I do not say that my words have fallen upon deaf ears, I merely complain that my audience has been restricted. I do not doubt that I have made myself a nuisance at the Viking Press in New York, for I keep pestering them intermittently to speed up the translations of Giono’s works. Fortunately I am able to read Giono in his own tongue and, at the risk of sounding immodest, in his own idiom. But, as ever, I continue to think of the countless thousands in England and America who must wait until his books are translated. I feel that I could convert to the ranks of his ever-growing admirers innumerable readers whom his American publishers despair of reaching. I think I could even sway the hearts of those who have never heard of him — in England, Australia, New Zealand and other places where the English language is spoken. But I seem incapable of moving those few pivotal beings who hold, in a manner of speaking, his destiny in their hands. Neither with logic nor passion, neither with statistics nor examples, can I budge the position of editors and publishers in this, my native land. I shall probably succeed in getting Giono translated into Arabic, Turkish and Chinese before I convince his American publishers to go forward with the task they so sincerely began.

A friend of mine said the other day that practically everyone he had met knew Jean Giono. “You mean his books ?” I asked. “At least some of them,” he said. “At any rate, they certainly know what he stands for.” “That’s another story,” I replied. “You’re lucky to move in such circles. I have quite another story to tell about Giono. I doubt sometimes that even his editors have read him. How to read, that’s the question.”

That evening, glancing through a book by Holbrook Jackson, I stumbled on Coleridge’s four classes of readers. Let me cite them :

1. Sponges, who absorb all they read, and return it nearly in the same state, only a little dirtied.

2. Sand-glasses, who retain nothing, and are content to get through a book for the sake of getting through the time.

3. Strain-bags, who retain merely the dregs of what they read.

4. Mogul diamonds, equally rare and valuable, who profit by what they read, and enable others to profit by it also.

Most of us belong in the third category, if not also in one of the first two. Rare indeed are the mogul diamonds! And now I wish to make an observation connected with the lending of Giono’s books. The few I possess — among them The Song of the World and Lovers are never Losers, which I see I have not mentioned — have been loaned over and over again to all who expressed a desire to become acquainted with Jean Giono. This means that I have not only handed them to a considerable number of visitors but that I have wrapped and mailed the books to numerous others, to some in foreign lands as well. To no author I have recommended has there been a response such as hailed the reading of Giono. The reactions have been virtually unanimous. “Magnificent! Thank you, thank you!” That is the usual return. Only one person disapproved, said flatly that he could make nothing of Giono, and that was a man dying of cancer. I had lent him The Joy of Mans Desiring. He was one of those “successful” business men who had achieved everything and found nothing to sustain him. I think we may regard his verdict as exceptional. The others, and they include men and women of all ages, all walks of Ufe, men and women of the most diverse views, the most conflicting aims and tendencies, all proclaimed their love, admiration and gratitude for Jean Giono. They do not represent a “select” audience, they were chosen at random. The one qualification which they had in common was a thirst for good books . . .

These are my private statistics, which I maintain are as valid as the publisher’s. It is the hungry and thirsty who will eventually decide the future of Giono’s works.

There is another man, a tragic figure, whose book I often thrust upon friends and acquaintances: Vaslav Nijinsky. His Diary is in some strange way connected with Jean Giono’s novel Blue Boy. It tells me something about writing. It is the writing of a man who is part lucid, part mad. It is a communication so naked, so desperate, that it breaks the mold. We are face to face with reality, and it is almost unbearable. The technique, so utterly personal, is one from which every writer can learn. Had he not gone to the asylum, had this been merely his baptismal work, we would have had in Nijinsky a writer equal to the dancer.

I mention this book because I have scanned it closely. Though it may sound presumptuous to say so, it is a book for writers. I cannot limit Giono in this way, but I must say that he, too, feeds the writer, instructs the writer, inspires the writer. In Blue Boy he gives us the genesis of a writer, telling it with the consummate art of a practiced writer. One feels that he is a ” bom writer.” One feels that he might also be a painter, a musician (despite what he says). It is the “Storyteller’s Story,” I’histoire de I’histoire. It peels away the wrappings in which we mummify writers and reveals the embryonic being. It gives us the physiology, the chemistry, the physics, the biology of that curious animal, the writer. It is a textbook dipped in the magic fluid of the medium it expouncts. It connects us with the source of all creative activity. It breathes, it palpitates, it renews the blood stream. It is the kind of book which every man who thinks he has at least one story to tell could write but which he never does, alas. It is the story which authors are telling over and over again in myriad disguises. Seldom does it come straight from the delivery room. Usually it is washed and dressed first. Usually it is given a name which is not the true name.

His sensuousness, the development of which Giono attributes to his father’s dehcate nurturing, is without question one of the cardinal features of his art. It invests his characters, his landscapes, his whole narrative. “Let us refine our finger tips, our points of contact with the world …” Giono has done just this. The result is that we detect in his music the use of an instrument which has undergone the same ripening process as the player. In Giono the music and the instrument are one. That is his special gift. If he did not become a musician because, as he says, he thought it more important to be a good listener, he has become a writer who has raised Hstening to such an art that we follow his melodies as if we had written them ourselves. We no longer know, in reading his books, whether we are listening to Giono or to ourselves. We are not even aware that we are Hstening. We Hve through his words and in them, as naturally as if we were respiring at a comfortable altitude or floating on the bosom of the deep or swooping like a hawk with the down-draught of a canyon. The actions of his narratives are cushioned in this terrestrial effluvium; the machinery never grinds because it is perpetually laved by cosmic lubricants. Giono gives us men, beasts and gods — in their molecular constituency.* He has seen no need to descend to the atomic arena. He deals in galaxies and constellations, in troupes, herds, and flocks, in biological plasm as well as primal magma and plasma. The names of his characters, as well as the hills and streams which surround them, have the tang, the aroma, the vigor and the spice of string herbs. They are autochthonous names, redolent of the Midi. When we pronounce them we revive the memory of other times ; unknowingly we inhale a whifl” of the African shore. We suspect that Atlantis was not so distant either in time or space.

“Each day,” says Miguel de Unamuno,” I believe less and less in the social question, and in the political question, and in the moral question, and in all the other questions that people have invented in order that they shall not have to face resolutely the only real question that exists — the human question. So long as we are not facing this question, all that we are now doing is simply making a noise so that we shall not hear it.”

Giono is one of the writers of our time who faces this human question squarely. It accounts for much of the disrepute in which he has found himself. Those who are active on the periphery regard him as a renegade. In their view he is not playing the game. Some refuse to take him seriously because he is ” only a poet.” Some admit that he has a marvellous gift for narrative but no sense of reality. Some believe that he is writing a legend of his region and not the story of our time. Some wish us to beheve that he is only a dreamer. He is all these things and more. He is a man who never detaches himself from the world, even when he is dreaming. Particularly the world of human beings. In his books he speaks as father, mother, brother, sister, son and daughter. He does not depict the human family against the background of nature, he makes the human family a part of nature. If there is suffering and punishment, it is because of the operation of divine law through nature. The cosmos which Giono’s figures inhabit is strictly ordered. There is room in it for all the irrational elements. It does not give, break or weaken because the fictive characters who compose it sometimes move in contradiction of or defiance to the laws which govern our everyday world. Giono’s world possesses a reality far more understandable, far more durable than the one we accept as world reality.

Giono gives us the world he lives in, a world of dream, passion and reality. It is French, yes but that would hardly suffice to describe it. It is of a certain region of France, yes, but that does not define it. It is distinaly Jean Giono’s world and none other. If you are a kindred spirit you recognize it inmiediately, no matter where you were bom or raised, what language you speak, what customs you have adopted, what tradition you follow. A man does not have to be Chinese, nor even a poet, to recognize immediately such spirits as Lao-tse and Li Po. In Giono’s work what every sensitive, full-blooded individual ought to be able to recognize at once is “the song of the world.” For me this song, of which each new book gives endless refrains and variations, is far more precious, far more stirring, far more poetic, than the “Song of Songs.” It is intimate, personal, cosmic, untrammeled — and ceaseless. It contains the notes of the lark, the nightingale, the thrush; it contains the whir of the planets and the almost inaudible wheeling of the constellations ; it contains the sobs, cries, shrieks and wails of wounded mortal souls as well as the laughter and ululations of the blessed; it contains the seraphic music of the angelic hosts and the howls of the damned. In addition to this pandemic music Giono gives the whole gamut of color, taste, smell and feel. The most inanimate objects yield their mysterious vibrations. The philosophy behind this symphonic production has no name; its function is to liberate, to keep open all the sluices of the soul, to encourage speculation, adventure and passionate worship.

“Be what thou art, only be it to the utmost!” That is what it whispers.

Is this French?

 

____
Media

Jean Giono : Le hussard sur le toit (1953 / France Culture)

La Provence de Jean Giono

Frederic Back’s 1985 film based on Giono’s ‘The Man Who Planted Trees’

Maison de Jean Giono

 

______
Excerpts

The Man Who Planted Trees

For a human character to reveal truly exceptional qualities, one must have the good fortune to be able to observe its performance over many years. If this performance is devoid of all egoism, if its guiding motive is unparalleled ge- nerosity, if it is absolutely certain that there is no thought of recompense and that, in addition, it has left its visible mark upon the earth, then there can be no mistake.

About forty years ago I was taking a long trip on foot over mountain heights quite unknown to tourists, in that ancient region where the Alps thrust down into Provence. All this, at the time I embarked upon my long walk through these deserted regions, was barren and colorless land. Nothing grew there but wild lavender.
I was crossing the area at its widest point, and after three days’ walking, found myself in the midst of unparalleled desolation. I camped near the vestiges of an abandoned village. I had run out of water the day before, and had to find some. These clustered houses, although in ruins, like an old wasps’ nest, suggested that there must once have been a spring or well here. There was indeed a spring, but it was dry. The five or six houses, roofless, gnawed by wind and rain, the tiny chapel with its crumbling steeple, stood about like the houses and chapels in living villages, but all life had vanished.

It was a fine June day, brilliant with sunlight, but over this unsheltered land high in the sky, the wind blew with unendurable ferocity. It growled over the carcasses of the houses like a lion disturbed at its meal. I had to move my camp.

After five hours’ walking I had still not found water and there was nothing to give me any hope of finding any. All about me was the same dryness, the same coarse grasses. I thought I glimpsed in the distance a small black silhouette, upright, and took it for the trunk of a solitary tree. In any case I started toward it. It was a shepherd. Thirty sheep were lying about him on the baking earth.

He gave me a drink from his water gourd and, a little later, took me to his cottage in a fold of the plain. He drew his water–excellent water–from a very deep natural well above which he had constructed a primitive winch.

The man spoke little. This is the way of those who live alone, but one felt that he was sure of himself, and confident in his assurance. That was unexpected in this barren country. He lived, not in a cabin, but in a real house built of stone that bore plain evidence of how his own efforts had reclaimed the ruin he had found there on his arrival. His roof was strong and sound. The wind on its tiles made the sound of the sea upon its shore.

The place was in order, the dishes washed, the floor swept, his rifle oiled; his soup was boiling over the fire. I noticed then that he was cleanly shaved, that all his buttons were firmly sewed on, that his clothing had been mended with the meticulous care that makes the mending invisible.

He shared his soup with me and afterwards, when I offered my tobacco pouch, he told me that he did not smoke. His dog, as silent as himself, was friendly without being servile.

 

To the Slaughterhouse

“That’s enough,” the father said, “that’s enough. Don’t make yourself hoarse. I understand, I understand only too well. The war! But me, I’m telling you no, and no it is! All right, they need men for the war, and corn, and sheep, and horses, and goats. They need everything, everything! And why do you always go looking in the same places? And you, what are you doing here? There’s a lot of flesh on you, you know.” He turned to the policeman. “What’s this fellow doing here? There must be a place for him up there. Somebody’s surely been killed today, that makes an empty place. You think it can go on like this? Our son, our horse, our corn, and now our goats. Do you intend to leave us our eyes for weeping? You better had, we’re going to need them. Anyway, who’s the madman in charge of all this? Who’s the madman who gives the orders?”

***

Joseph ran up the slope of the path. He held on to his right arm. With his wide open left hand he tried stuffing the hole in the other elbow. It was a mess of bone and flesh. A fountain of blood squirted through his fingers. He wanted to stuff that hole. He ran two or three steps, then he walked two or three, breathing heavily, then he started running again. He couldn’t stuff the hole. He grasped it tightly with his left hand, but the blood kept on flowing. As the blood flowed away, he felt air enter through the hole. He no longer felt that he was in one piece and insulated from the world. The broken-up ground, the fire, the powder and the blood of other men, they started flowing into him, and very soon, if it lasted, he would become part of it himself. He, Joseph, his flesh, he’d melt into it all like sugar in water. The black corpse that had its teeth planted into the bark of the willow tree was still there, crouched at the edge of the canal…

***

The liaison agent went out every day, turning right toward the Seventh. Then they heard the noise of his gas mask-case knocking against the logs. He had come back. “Come and take a look,” he called one evening.

They had to walk the length of the Zouaves’ trench, and follow the blue zigzagging across the quarry. The ramp had just been wrecked. Scraps of cloth were mixed with the mud. A kind of air-hole had opened as a result in the side of the quarry. A man’s arm stuck out from it. The hand was black and shaped like a hook. They drew near. There was a big ditch full of corpses; a sound of chopping water came from inside.

 

Joy of Man’s Desiring

The grains had been colourless when he had heaped them in the middle of the dazzling threshing floor. Now, brilliant s rice, the wheat flew in the beating of the golden wings. He remembered that a moment ago he had seen the green finch take a grain in his bill, tilt his head, swallow it. He thought no farther along that line. In reality, it was not a thought but a secret leaven in his body. He was obliged to swallow often. He was drunk. He had just lost the poorly human sense of the useful. No longer could he lean to that side. He could not yet lean toward the useless, but he heard the swelling song of the flute that sings for the lepers.

“I have always been alone,” Bobi said, “and it has always been I who have looked out for others…But you have just said some words and made a little gesture, the movement of your hands toward my hair, as if to dry it yourself. And that, no one has ever done. And here I am facing a new thing…Do you understand, Mademoiselle, that if I have asked for nothing, it is not because I have not needed it? Do you understand, too, that if I have always given, it is precisely because I was so in need myself?”

 

Blue Boy

Sometimes in our morning class, when, withdrawn from the noisy world of the street and the town, we could hear the convent quiet flowing in upon us with its cooing of pigeons and the brushing of the lilacs against the walls, Sister Clementine would begin to walk. At this moment as I write, here with my strong cigarette in the corner of my mouth, my eyes smarting, my lighted lamp, and the night in the valley pressing against the window with its phosphorescent trails of peasants’ carts, I have just put down my pen to think over all my experiences as a man. Certainly, to the secret eyes of my senses, there has come the dance of almost every seductive serpent in the world.

I have never experienced a joy more pure, more musical, more complete, more surely born of equilibrium than the joy of watching Sister Clementine walk.

It began like the rising of a curving wind. The boards of the platform uttered a magnetic little cry. She was walking. She wore felt sandals, the soles of her feet made a gentle padding sound. Along the column rose an undulation that recalled waves, the neck of a swan, a moan. It was so ample and so firm, it came so directly from the depths of the earth that if the undulation had mounted to ‘Sister Clementine’s neck it would have broken it like an iris stem. But she received it on the fine springs of her hips, she transformed it into the rolling of an outbound ship, and the whole upper part of her body, breast, shoulders, neck, head, and cornet, shuddered as when a sail swells to a puff of wind.

Stretched out on the table, Paul was bleeding without touching his nose. He was as still and pale as a corpse. The blood formed a great clot on his nostril. Then it stopped flowing. Paul blew hard and the loosened clot slid down his cheek like a little flower at the end of a shining stem of fresh blood. The blood-stained handkerchiefs had been spread over the back of a chair by the window. It was like a slaughtering of the innocents. Presently the lay sister rapped and entered with her odor of herbs and onions.

“He’s been stuffing that thief-weed up his nose again,” she said. “You are a fine sight, Monsieur Paul!”

Sister Clementine picked up the invalid. He lay limply in her amis. He looked up at her with big ox eyes. Down in his throat he was mumbling some indistinct plaint.

“Yes, my sweet,” she would say as she wiped his face.

She moistened a corner of her handkerchief with her saliva and wiped Paul’s blood-stained mouth with the tips of her fingers.

“Take him away,” she said to the converse. “Go along, my dear.”

And she ran her hands through his hair.

(read the entire novel online)

 

_____
Gallery

 

_____
Further

Jean Giono @ Wikipedia
Centre Jean Giono
Jean Giono Website (in French)
Jean Giono @ IMDb
Jean Giono @ goodreads
About the Prix Jean Giono
‘Entretien avec Jean Giono un an avant sa mort’
‘Jean Giono, the literary giant who never left Manosque’
Book Report: ‘The Song of the World’ by Jean Giono
‘2012, The Year of Giono’
‘Jean Giono: War! Who’s the madman in charge of all this?’
‘Jean Giono: From Pacifism to Collaboration’
Descriptedlines: Jan Giono’s ‘Blue Boy’
‘French Literature And Jean Giono’
‘Reforesting the Soul – The Ecological Vision of Jean Giono’
Video: ‘L’album de l’écrivain : Jean Giono’
Association des amis de Jean Giono
Maison de Jean Giono
Buy Jean Giono’s books

 

 

*

p.s. Hey. FYI, if you a member of Kanopy, you can now watch ‘Permanent Green Light’ for absolutely free right here! ** Shane Christmass, Hi, Shane. Yeah, I’m def. gonna get/read ‘Gut Text’. No, I don’t know that Duke Haney book, but, again, sounds like I need it. Thanks a lot for the tips, man. Great, I look forward to getting the book! Thanks a lot for that too! ** David Ehrenstein, Hi. Ah, the sale continues. Everyone, that big sale of cool stuff from David Ehrenstein is still in progress if you need something cool. David: ‘My Big Emergency Sale is still going on. Besides DVDs, CDs and books it includes a beautiful gold-plate framed mirror going for $100.00 (a steal!) Contact me via cllrdr@ehrensteinland.com’ ** Keatholm, Oh, man, gimme rain. Gimme so much rain. I’m scared of the new Weezer as a huge fan of early Weezer (Blue Album -> Maladroit) who stopped short after the next couple. I’ve got lots of water in my fridge so it’s not quite ice cold but it’s a necessary simulation. Brain dead. Use yours while you have it. Take it from me. ** Steve Erickson, It’s weird, just in the last few days suddenly tons of people in my FB feed are throwing ‘cancel culture’ around at everything left and right. People sure do love taking the easy way out through buzz terms. Yikes, man, about that incident. Sounds like mental disturbance, if I had a to guess. But, yeah, it’s scary out there. Our horrible heatwave is turning normally mild mannered weirdos into scenery chewers too. ** KK, Hi, Kyle. Yeah, I mean, I think maybe I was like you to some degree at university because your professor’s assessment rings an awfully familiar old bell. Sounds to me like you’re working it correctly, but I quit u. after one year, so don’t listen to me. I don’t remember CC being all that exciting, but, yeah, it was in the 60s when I was there, and I don’t think I ever even saw the ocean. Alain Tanner, how interesting. I think you’re right; I haven’t heard people talk about his films in ages, whereas he was oft discussed and respected at one point. Curious. I see that his last film was from 2004. I know I saw ‘Jonah …’, and also ‘The Salamander’ and ‘Charles, Dead or Alive’, all of which I remember liking a lot, and I probably saw others I’m not remembering. Huh. Well, now I’m definitely going to make a post about him. He’s custom made. Thanks for bringing him up. That’s so interesting. I used to really love putting together books of my poems. I remembering learning a lot about them that way. Enjoy that. Looking forward to the fruits. ** Misanthrope, ‘The Sluts’ won the Lammy, but I’ve always thought that was some kind of fluke or that they were in some weird, extremely brief ‘let’s be controversial’ moment. Yury basically has control of our TV unless it’s some random thing I feel a need to watch like, uh, the Cannes closing ceremony or Eurovision or some shit. I like suspense. Or for 24 hours anyway. So, pony up. ** Bill, Hi. Word is that Paris will be a roasting, muggy hell, increasingly so each day, at least through Saturday, so … help! Cool that you’ve gotten to see so much. The heat is hampering my doings at the moment. I did go to a VIP opening of a Tracey Emin show at the d’Orsay. The show was weak, but I did get to meet Philippe Grandrieux and talk to him, and that was worth it. Unless I wilt I’ll see the avant-premiere of this gay film from the early 90s, ‘Together Alone’ that has been restored and is being re-released here tonight ‘cos PGL’s distributor is handling it. There was something else, I don’t remember. I do not know ‘This is Not Berlin’, but you had me in a tight grip at the words ‘Lukas Haas from the Johns period’, so I will find it by hook or crook. Man, SF is really happening right now. Envy. ** _Black_Acrylic, Oh, god, torrential rain … what I wouldn’t give. I think this fucking heatwave slid over Europe straight from Spain and the UK got bypassed you lucky, lucky dogs. How totally sweet and nice about the imminent in-person reconnect with Lena. Have the biggest enjoyment! ** Okay. Today I’m spotlighting an interesting French writer who seems have almost totally fallen off the radar in recent years. I know that whenever I’ve mentioned him, everything thinks I’m just pronouncing ‘John Giorno’ weirdly. Anyway, today is your chance to check out Mr. Giono and see if his stuff’s of interest. See you tomorrow.