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GILLES de RAIS: THE BANNED LECTURE
by Aleister Crowley
Gilles de Rais was born sometime in 1404. He married Catherine de Thonars on the 30th of November 1420, arrest by the Church. He began alchemical studies under the instruction of Gilles de Sille, a priest of St. Malo. Montague Summers believes he sacrificed around eight hundred children and quotes the proceedings of ecclesiastical high court in which a Dominican priest named Jean Blouyn took over as the delegate of the Holy Inquisition for the city and diocese of Nantes. Needless to say, Gilles “confessed”, and was put on the stake and charcoaled on October 26th, 1440 leaving his estates and untold riches to Mother Church, who, wasting no time, added them to her list of material gains. Included in this particular catch were Gilles personal hand-painted manuscripts, which were eagerly welcomed into the Mother Lode’s vault where they sit to this day. Unfortunately, the Vatican’s library is inaccessible to “common folk”, and will probably remain so until the demise of Mother Church herself, at which time this author will assist other interested persons in converting it into a public library. (read the entirety)
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I'M YOUR NIGHT PROWLER
by Richard Ramirez
RICHARD RAMIREZ: Are you nervous?
FHF: A bit, but hardly. I did an interview with Manson not too long ago. I get a little uptight when I do interviews. You know, wondering if the questions will come out right or will they get angry at anything I might ask?
RR: Oh. Well, uh... go ahead and we'll see what happens. I don't mind any questions really.
FHF: Good. Let's start with the ladies. Why are some so attracted to you? Bernadette Brazal, not bad - pretty cute.
RR: I think the girls are attracted to me because they can relate to me. The girls are nice when you're in my situation, but since I'm in here I spend more time writing to them about the relationship, rather than living it, but there are good friendships formed never-the-less. A couple of them are religious, they come into my life to try and help me. (read the rest)
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The Manifesto of Futurism
by F.T. Marinetti
1. We intend to sing the love of danger, the habit of energy and fearlessness.
2. Courage, audacity, and revolt will be essential elements of our poetry.
3. Up to now, literature has exalted a pensive immobility, ecstasy, and sleep. We intend to exalt aggressive action, a feverish insomnia, the racer's stride, the mortal leap, the punch and the slap.
4. We affirm that the world's magnificence has been enriched by a new beauty: the beauty of speed. A racing car whose hood is adorned with great pipes, like serpents of explosive breath -a roaring car that seems to ride on grapeshot is more beautiful than the Victory of Samothrace.
5. We want to hymn the man at the wheel, who hurls the lance of his spirit across the Earth, along the circle of its orbit.
6. The poet must spend himself with ardor, splendor, and generosity, to swell the enthusiastic fervor of the primordial elements.
7. Except in struggle, there is no more beauty .No work without an aggressive character can be a masterpiece. Poetry must be conceived as a violent attack on unknown forces, to reduce and prostrate them before man.
8. We stand on the last promontory of the centuries! Why should we look back, when what we want is to break down the mysterious doors of the Impossible? Time and Space died yesterday. We already live in the absolute, because we have created eternal, omnipresent speed. (read more)
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The View from the Bandstand
by Lou Reed
Of course it had to happen, it really had to happen, it was the natural end to Beethoven's Ninth. Everyone was getting sicker and looking like a wolverine while the people pushed colleges. Dirty buildings with lawns for people to lie on blankets. Well-groomed wasps or purposefully disheveled sensitives reading Spengler. But meanwhile everything was dead. Writing was dead, movies were dead. Everybody sat like an unpeeled orange. But the music was so beautiful. All the bastards that you were supposed to feel sorry for and fight wars for were screaming, "Look at the freaks in Central Park with transistors up their heads. " Tom Wolfe drew clever cartoons and people admired his vocabulary, forgetting he was dead and sucking blood. (read the entirety)
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A Dog's Death
by Octave Mirbeau
His master called him Turk. He was thin, yellow, and sad, with a pointed snout, a small build, and short, badly cropped ears that were always bleeding. The tail he wore on his rump looked like a scabby question mark. In the summertime, Turk went into the fields to guard the cattle, and into the roads to chase passers-by who dealt him swift kicks and pelted him with stones. His great joy, out in a mowed field, embroidered with sprouting clover, was to come across a hare that would bolt in front of him and to pursue it across hedges, moats, and streams with long leaps and wild sprints, returning out of breath with his legs trembling and his tongue hanging out, dripping with sweat. (read the rest)
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THE CONQUEST OF THE IRRATIONAL
by Salvador Dali
We all know that the brilliant and sensational progress of the individual sciences, the glory and honor of the “space” and the era we live in, involves, on the one hand, the crisis and the overwhelming disrepute of “logical intuition,” and on the other hand, the respect for irrational factors and hierarchies as new positive and specifically productive values. We must bear in mind that pure and logical intuition, pure intuition, I repeat, a pure maid of all work, in the private homes of the particular sciences, had been carrying about in her womb an illegitimate child who was nothing less than the child of physics proper; and by the time Maxwell and Faraday were at work, this son was noticeably weighed down with an unequivocal persuasiveness and a personal force of gravity that left no doubt about the father of the child: Newton. Because of this downward pull and the force of gravity, pure intuition, after being booted out of the homes of all the particular sciences, has now turned into pure prostitution, for we see her offering her final charms and final turbulences in the brothel of the artistic and literary world. (read the entirety)
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The Last Words of Dutch Schultz
by Dutch Schultz
Has it been in any other papers? George, don't make no full moves. What have you done with him? Oh, mama, mama, mama. Oh stop it, stop it; eh, oh, oh. Sure, sure, mama. Now listen, Phil, fun is fun. Ah please, papa. What happened to the sixteen? Oh, oh, he done it, please. John, please, oh, did you buy the hotel? You promised a million sure. Get out. I wished I knew.
Please make it quick, fast and furious. Please. Fast and furious. Please help me get out; I am getting my wind back, thank God. Please, please, oh please. You will have to please tell him, you got no case. You get ahead with the dot dash system didn't I speak that time last night. Whose number is that in your pocket book, Phi1 13780. Who was it? Oh- please, please. Reserve decision. Police, police, Henry and Frankie. Oh, oh, dog biscuits and when he is happy he doesn't get happy please, please to do this. Then Henry, Henry, Frankie you didn't even meet me. The glove will fit what I say oh, Kayiyi, oh Kayiyi. Sure who cares when you are through? How do you know this? How do you know this? Well, then oh, Cocoa know thinks he is a grandpa again. He is jumping around. No Hobo and Poboe I think he means the same thing. (read the rest)
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VÅRGSMÅL
by Varg Vikernes
Today it's more important to die than to live. The "mother beast" shelters us all the time. It's punishable to expose yourself to danger, or others for that matter. To live over-protected is the same as to abandon your own ability to have resistance when danger appears. If I don't stimulate my human nature, my instincts, I will not die, but degenerate to death! We are already degenerated, after a thousand years under foreign tyranny! It is very easy to answer why you get more and more allergies, more and more criminals, more and more irritating, feeble and sick, as there are more people. More and more psychological suffering, or to put it bluntly more and more misery. We are a dying folk. We fight not only against nature instead of with, but we also fight against our own unique Germanic nature. (read the entirety)
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Pain Journal
by Bob Flanagan
4/26/95 - Itchy eyes. Can't focus. Tired... again. On the couch... again. Drugs... again. And I'm still into this alligator clip thing. Last night, after I finally went down to bed, I put seven of them on my dick - along the shaft, on the corona and the tip of the head - and I keep them there - and I came (well, it's a pathetic form of coming, but I came). Now I'm ready for Sheree ready to go at me with even more clips for a longer period of time, and then hot wax afterwards. We would have done it tonight but she had to go to school and I had to go to Debbie's, then there's the stupid drugs to do - we're exhausted, as usual. I'll probably dabble with a few of them again tonight, just to stay in shape: alligator clip training. (read the rest)
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RIOT GRRRL MANIFESTO
by Kathleen Hanna
BECAUSE us girls crave records and books and fanzines that speak to US that WE feel included in and can understand in our own ways.
BECAUSE we wanna make it easier for girls to see/hear each other's work so that we can share strategies and criticize-applaud each other.
BECAUSE we must take over the means of production in order to create our own moanings.
BECAUSE viewing our work as being connected to our girlfriends-politics-real lives is essential if we are gonna figure out how we are doing impacts, reflects, perpetuates, or DISRUPTS the status quo.
BECAUSE we recognize fantasies of Instant Macho Gun Revolution as impractical lies meant to keep us simply dreaming instead of becoming our dreams AND THUS seek to create revolution in our own lives every single day by envisioning and creating alternatives to the bullshit christian capitalist way of doing things. (read the entirety)
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TOOL: Part 1
by Peter Sotos
You're such a pretty girl. You shouldn't cry. Such a dear. Those tears aren't pretty, are they? Look at me, stupid. Now - Are... Those... Fucking... Tears... Pretty… Cunt?
Do you like making your mommy cry? Do you like that? Huh? The poor fucking woman. You selfish little brat; you cunt. How do you think she feels, huh? Huh, cunt? How terrible you are. How mean. How mean and cruel to your mother you are. Don't you feel horrible? Making her cry. Making her hurt so badly.
I think you're absolutely terrible. A fucking brat.
Fucking horrible cunt. Shame on you.
Now there, there. Crying won't help. You already made your mommy cry. Nothing can help your mom now. She feels very, very bad, and you did it. You can't change that...cunt. You're a cunt, and mama's gonna cry for-fucking-ever. Your mama's gonna miss you something awful. She will never get over you leaving her and never coming back. You're killing her. (the entirety)
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Anathema of Zos: The Sermon of the Hypocrite
by Austin Osman Spare
Hostile to self-torment, the vain excuses called devotion, Zos satisfied the habit by speaking loudly unto his Self and at one time, returning to familiar consciousness, he was vexed to notice interested hearers-a rabble of involuntary mendicants, pariahs, whoremongers, adulterers, distended bellies, and the prevalent sick-grotesques that obtain in civilizations. His irritation was much, yet still they pestered him, saying: MASTER, WE WOULD LEARN OF THESE THINGS! TEACH US RELIGION! And seeing, with chagrin, the hopeful multitude of Believers, he went down into the Valley of Stys, prejudiced against them as FOLLOWERS. And when he was ennui, he opened his mouth in derision, saying: (read on)
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How to Build a Universe That Doesn't Fall Apart Two Days Later
by Philip K. Dick
First, before I begin to bore you with the usual sort of things science fiction writers say in speeches, let me bring you official greetings from Disneyland. I consider myself a spokesperson for Disneyland because I live just a few miles from it -- and, as if that were not enough, I once had the honor of being interviewed there by Paris TV. For several weeks after the interview, I was really ill and confined to bed. I think it was the whirling teacups that did it. Elizabeth Antebi, who was the producer of the film, wanted to have me whirling around in one of the giant teacups while discussing the rise of fascism with Norman Spinrad... an old friend of mine who writes excellent science fiction. We also discussed Watergate, but we did that on the deck of Captain Hook's pirate ship. Little children wearing Mickey Mouse hats -- those black hats with the ears -- kept running up and bumping against us as the cameras whirred away, and Elizabeth asked unexpected questions. Norman and I, being preoccupied with tossing little children about, said some extraordinarly stupid things that day. Today, however, I will have to accept full blame for what I tell you, since none of you are wearing Mickey Mouse hats and trying to climb up on me under the impression that I am part of the rigging of a pirate ship. (the entirety)
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SOLITARY VICE
by John Harvey Kellogg
If illicit commerce of the sexes is a heinous sin, self-pollution, or masturbation, is a crime doubly abominable. As a sin against nature, it has no parallel except in sodomy (see Gen. 19:5; Judges 19:22). It is the most dangerous of all sexual abuses because the most extensively practiced. The vice consists in an excitement of the genital organs produced otherwise than in the natural way. It is known by the terms, self-pollution, self-abuse, masturbation, onanism, manustupration, voluntary pollution, and solitary or secret vice. The vice is the more extensive because there are almost no bounds to its indulgence. Its frequent repetition fastens it upon the victim with a fascination almost irresistible! It may be begun in earliest infancy, and may continue through life. Even though no warning may have been given, the transgressor seems to know, instinctively, that he is committing a great wrong, for he carefully hides his practice from observation. In solitude he pollutes himself, and with his own hand blights all his prospects for both this world and the next. Even after being solemnly warned, he will often continue this worse than beastly practice, deliberately forfeiting his right to health and happiness for a moment's mad sensuality. (read the rest)
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THEE GREY BOOK
AN INTRODUCTION INTO THE TEMPLE OV PSYCHICK YOUTH
by Genesis P-Orridge
WARNING
INVOLVEMENT WITH THE TEMPLE OV PSYCHICK YOUTH REQUIRES AN ACTIVE INDIVIDUAL DEDICATED TOWARDS THEE ESTABLISHMENT OF A FUNCTIONAL SYSTEM OF MAGICK AND A MODERN PAGAN PHILOSOPHY WITHOUT RECOURSE TO MYSTIFICATION, GODS OR DEMONS; BUT RECOGNIZING THEE IMPLICT POWERS OF THEE HUMAN BRAIN (NEUROMANCY) LINKED WITH GUILTLESS SEXUALITY FOCUSSED THROUGH WILL STRUCTURE (SIGILS). MAGICK EMPOWERS THEE INDIVIDUAL TO EMBRACE AND REALIZE THEIR DREAMS AND MAXIMIZE THEIR NATURAL POTENTIAL. IT IS FOR THOSE WITH THEE FIRST STEPS TOWARDS FINAL NEGATION OF CONTROL AND FEAR. (read more)
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Immediatism vs. Capitalism
by Hakim Bey
Many monsters stand between us, & the realization of Immediatist goals. For instance our own ingrained unconscious alienation might all too easily be mistaken for a virtue, especially when contrasted with crypto-authoritarian pap passed off as "community," or with various upscale versions of "leisure." Isn't it natural to take the dandyism noir of curmudgeonly hermits for some kind of heroic Individualism, when the only visible contrast is Club Med commodity socialism, or the gemutlich masochism of the Victim Cults? To be doomed & cool naturally appeals more to noble souls than to be saved & cozy. (the entirety)
more Feast of Hate and Fear
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p.s. Hey. I hope the site that I spotlit today still exists and that the links work. I didn't even think to check when I put this old post in the queue. How thoughtless of me. But hopefully it's still out there and taking visitors. As for me, this should be my last day in Kyoto. I wonder how I'm doing.