White Stains has ratings and 7 reviews. Jeff said: Degradation, depravity and odes to fellatio. Yes, the folks of the late ‘s-early ‘s new ho. Other Works by Aleister Crowley: Plays, Fiction, and other originally unnumbered works. WHITE STAINS THE LITERARY REMAINS OF GEORGE ARCHIBALD BISHOP A NEUROPATH OF THE SECOND EMPIRE (Aleister Crowley) Transcribed.

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White Stains

Accepte donc comme temoin complet D’amitie, ce petit don, qui dit Toutes les delices de rose et lys, Ces fleurs odorantes du sadinet! The burden of bought boys. English poet-magician Aleister Crowley published White Stains inan era of intense creativity for the budding magus-to-be. By Aleister Crowley Paperback: There is a name For whose soft sound I would abandon all This pomp.

What other worship can usurp my days When I may lie amid her sunny tresses Enraptured by the music of her lute One long calm love, one heart’s delight always? Mathilde’s story is that he travelled to Kiev on the original quest, and died of typhoid or cholera.

As a look into the mind of one of the most controversial figures of the 20th Atains, it is an invaluable resource. Swinburne stands on his solitary pedestal above the vulgar crowds of priapistic plagiarists; he alone caught the fierst frenzy of Baudelaire’s brandied shrieks, and his First Series of Poems and Ballads was the legitimate echo of that not fierier note. Franz Mortephile rated it crrowley it Aug 23, This is a patch of magenta to mauve, undoubtedly; but -!

White Stains by Aleister Crowley

The rod Gains new desire; dive, howl, cling, suck, Rave, shreik, and chew; excite the fuck, Hold me, I come! Hell is the house of all delight, Heaven the home of a bitter blight; [62] Pain is our joy and our spirits’ power, Never shall fade its fiery flower.

Her lips, his dripping hands and feet! Implacable disease Springs from the black defilement of that kiss, That foul embrace that moulds these agonies. There is, however, no doubt that in he quarrelled with his family; went over to Paris, where he settled down, at first, like every tufthead, somewhere in the Quartier Latin; later, with Mathilde Doriac, the noble woman who became his mistress and held to him through all the terrible tragedy of his moral, mental, and physical life, in the Rue du Faubourg-Poissonniere.

Behold the flowers, whose kindly gaze Of modest love is on us as we stand, And stainss fond hands before high Whte to swear Truth an eternal bond, no parchment scroll Of perishable matter ill devised And scored upon with perishable ink, But in our pulses’ quick delight to live From day to day renewed, as if a fount Of God’s mysterious stream, that here a man May wet his ankle, and again immerse Unto his knees, and yet again assay To cross its silver depth and find himself Swimming in crystal coldness on a sea Broad as God’s mercy and as deep as Love.


Scarce a sigh Beats the dead hours out; scarce a melody Of measured pulses quickened with the blood Of that desire which pours its deadly flood Through soul and shaken body; scarce a thought But sense through spirit most divinely wrought To perfect feeling; only through the lips Electric ardour kindles, flashes, slips Through all the circle to her lips again And thence, unwavering, flies to mine, to drain All pleasure in one draught.

Behutet Magazine | Book Review | White Stains

A small sailing vessel conveyed them to Malta, where they disappeared. Through nave and chancel drone the choir, Their chant rolls through the darkened aisle; Their song soars up beyond the spire; The priest prepares; there waits his smile A deed most vile.

Again as dead Were we borne forth, and then — Can I forget? A strong man’s love is my delight! Thou hast chosen, staisn shalt live the black Dry years out till thou cleave the sod, And meet thy God. In her loose lusts I find again The memory of that dream gone by; Her kisses waken in my brain The picture of that infamy, The low dark hill, the storm, the star That lit my bestial lupanar!

Where are the blooms of frost, hoary and bright and vestal; Virginal lips not kissed, flowers unbidden to bud? From the lips That hide their blushes in the golden wood A fervent fountain amorously slips, The dainty rivers of thy luscious blood; Red streams of sweet nepenthe that eclipse The milder nectar that the gods hold good– How my dry throat, held alwister between thy hips, Shall drain the moon-wrought flow of womanhood!

Michael Staley at Treadwells. Discover Prime Book Box for Kids. This is the height of joy, to lie and feel Thy spiced spittle trickle down my throat; This is more pleasant than at dawn to steal Toward lawns and sunny brooklets, and to gloat Over earth’s peace, and hear in ether float Songs of soft spirits into rapture peal. Is thy red slack bosom fresher for my kiss? Her lips devour me, and I rave With pleasure to discern the love They whiye exert, my lips who lave With doubled dew distilled above; To dog and woman I’m a slave, Nor staina, though now essays the Dane To cool his weapon in my mouth; Her lust bestrides me, and is fain To quench in his sweet sweat her drouth Her finger probes my bowel again.

Are thy loves sharper? Thy buttocks now Are swan- soft, and thou sweatest not; And hast a strange desire begot In me, to lick thy bloody brow; To gnaw thy hollow cheeks, and pull Thy lustful tongue from out it’s sheath; To wallow in the bowels of death, And rip thy belly, and fill full [] My hands with all putridities; To chew thy dainty testicles; To revel with the worms in Hell’s Delight in such obscenities; To pour within thine heart the seed Mingled with poisonous discharge From a swollen gland, inflamed and large With gonorrhoea’s delicious breed; To probe thy belly, and to drink The godless fluids, and the pool Of rank putrescence from the stool Thy hanged corpse gave, whose luscious stink Excites these songs sublime.


How the fond ruby rapier glides and slips Twixt the white hills thou spreadest for me there; How my red mouth immortal honey sips [56] From thy ripe kisses, staibs sucks nectar rare When each the wnite of God Priapus clips In hot mouth passionate more than man may bear, Boy of red lips! He took the utmost pains to conceal the birth of the child, treated everybody who came to the house as an emissary sleister Herod, and finally cdowley up his mind to flee satins Egypt!

Mathilde, who knew how he treasured its contents, preserved it by saying to the officer, ‘But, sir, that is mine. Lie close; no pity, but a little love. Briana Thompson rated it liked it Feb 06, Who can awake such a mortal fire In the veins of a vrowley, that deathly days Have robbed of the masteries of desire? If you are sure that this product is in qhite of acceptable content as defined in the agreement or that it does not meet our guidelines for General Access, please fill out the form below.

His life-history, as well as his literary remains, gives us an idea of the pro- [9] gression of diabolism as it really is; not as it is painted. Carry this through the world, and when the sea Of death is past, then is prepared for thee A house of many mansions. No more terrible [3] period than this is to be crowly in literature; so many great minds, of staains hardly one comes to fruition; such seeds of genius, such a harvest of — whirlwind!

But if anyone finds this book sexually stimulating, they probably need a lot of therapy. This beautiful, transgressive and passionate collection of poetry is presented in an aesthetically stqins format with an introduction by William Breeze, a time-honored Crowley scholar.

Nine hours we lay as dead, and then my queen Writhed in my arms again, and blood leapt up To our fresh kisses to fill full the cup Of horror to the brim. When Satan is fled from the aldister, When Christ cleanses sin, and from alfister Deletes its indelible brand; For life shall spring where they have smitten, And Love rise from under the rod, Till all men behold what is written, The kingdom of God!