Prolapsed Uterus What Feel Like

Thoughts on the preservation of our gay culture

A recent message on the blog "Booksellers associated" is interesting on the interest of French academic and heritage institutions for a certain aspect of gay culture. Indeed, the list of French libraries with the catalog of this library:

ARCHIVES GAY, an anthology of homosexuality in the ancient book (2005)

is reduced to one, when many U.S. libraries own it.

I'll let you see this message:

http://chezleslibrairesassocies.blogspot.com/2010/11/nos-catalogues.html

This is a catalog published in 2005 by "associated Booksellers' offering for sale more than 1200 books. Unless I am mistaken, there is no equivalent and catalogs, in the absence of a bibliography in French homosexual is an irreplaceable source of information. There are many site Ars Jacques: http://www.bouquinerie.net/catalogue/ , but like all websites, it can only be ephemeral.

Read the introduction of Jacques Desse (click image):

course It may be objected that this catalog is first an object merchant. That may be what is most regrettable that this inability to imagine the world of learning and the world of commerce can enrich one another. Yet, if a homosexual culture has been passed through time and continues to live and grow rich (I only speak of writing), it is because there were booksellers who taken risks, who have contributed their knowledge, to live this culture and, on the other hand, collectors that maintain the production of this crop, which sometimes emphasize as I modestly try to do on this blog. If he had been expect that the institutions that provide backup information, I believe that much of our past have disappeared. When you know that a book as a major gay culture, the first work which shows that sexuality in all its rawness: Twenty lithographs for a book I read Roland Caillaux, 1945, is present in no public libraries in France, including the BNF which is the mission, we see that there is still some way to go to get to experience a true heritage of our history. That is why with all these "traders" of knowledge, there is still something that survives.

My message is probably unfair and in some ways, ignoring significant efforts to establish Gay Studies in France, but I remain convinced that more needs to be done to bring the university culture, sometimes a little elitist to another culture, often more personal, collectors, fans (what a horrible word!), booksellers and all those who also work to defend the homosexual culture that is our common heritage.

Note: these comments are those of me is reading the message above that I inspired them.

Verbiage Congratulations For Engagement

effort

Memories are frail
migratory birds that periodically revisit their nests,
Rising from somewhere else, our minds
overwhelming urge one that sometimes makes us afraid.

Some are loaded with sadness, darkness, remembering
In moments of pique,
Missing people, resentment or deceit, we
They undermine and sometimes destructive act.

Others are lighter, and even exciters.
Stealth, such fine elusive hummingbirds
They cheerfully remind us of life pleasures.
Laughter and joy, they become vectors.


Memories are frail
Who migratory birds each time, create our biography,
Until life is no longer our friend,
Yielding precedence to this vile Alzheimer's!

But whether permanent or just portable,
Memories help us to shape our lives
Because memory is the fuel of the mind.
This enables the design values.

So hurry up to enjoy these players
Before everything disappears, our joys, our desires, our sorrows and our
hopes, what defines us, fly in
smoke from an incinerator.


Memories are fragile migratory birds
who protect us on every trip to oblivion,
instilling in the minds of parents, friends, pictures
us they keep in their hearts.

In this month of November where we cover flower
The graves of these people we cherish,
Let us know that someday we will, we also
Single pile of dirt watching a visitor.

So make an effort, try this challenge
To think more often than those who left, To the memory
prolongs their lives, hoping
One day, our image remains!

November 2010

Best Blu Ray Players For Upconverting

"The Sorcerer's Apprentice" by Francis Augean, 1964

today I present a novel almost unknown to the general public, and even those more knowledgeable. And yet this is probably one of the great texts of the second half of the twentieth century e, a text underground, known to some insiders, but when it was discovered, we almost regret not being able to discover again and relive the enchantment it offers.

In 1964, a book appears at Juillard anonymous Sorcerer's Apprentice. The plot of this story is simple: a 16 year old is set to board with a priest, in the heart of black Perigord. Between them, a relationship is established where the sadistic priest beats and rapes the young person relationship of love and hatred between the executioner and his young victim. The teen meets another boy, a bread delivery man, with whom he is in a relationship of total love, sexual. The book advance in stages towards an end paroxysmal, in this nature and the wilderness. This short summary gives little idea of this novel which combines the wild, brutal instincts and feelings, magic, truth latest naked men and especially the profound agreement of man with the world without intercessor and godless.

Some passages, gleaned over the book:

The encounter with the young driver:

A large shelter dug by the torrential waters, where cool invincibly we drew, we saw enter a dark corridor at the end of which a small distant source echoed through the stone. Fault by fault, burning matches that distance to the open air whenever extinguished quickly, lost the last gleam of day, we proceeded on the ground a little damp in the cave. I took her hand. I love you, "I said. Me too, I love you, "he said. We fell into the arms of one another. Never hug was not softer, more passionate than ours. He had a taste of love and be loved. Her lips, at first hesitant in the silence of the rocks, and opened like a flower delicious, desired my longest kisses.

The savage brutality of the world:

summer we intoxicated. The child felt like me. Europe's harvest, caves and sod boys (...) threw me abominable thoughts in the blood.

with Love The young driver:

For some days our life was delicious. It was only me and the country did not suspect anything. In the cave I shaped like kneading clay, clay fresh and charming. What work in the full heat of summer! While they were returning a child I loved the hay in the ground. My voice with him, almost sung, his birth in my arms. At the end of a corridor I awakened to the knowledge of himself and his little lips heartfelt thanked me and stammered into the darkness of the cave where he gave free rein to his need of hugs and loving embrace. One day I rubbed a match to see him, he had undressed himself, his whole body was white. The clothes on the pegs, it was the most radiant appearance ever. The wellspring of life, the trampling of the cave floor, drunk, without a word, without haste, very far from the day he was dancing. I scratched one second match for the review that I put out almost immediately, praising the darkness that threw him into my arms.
We went out. We passed from darkness to the delicious hot air and the blinding mid-afternoon. I wanted never to return to that side of life and stay in the cave.

Celebrant:

whip in hand, he sat down beside me on another chair. My clothes pegs on, when I fought, I felt truly be devoured my flesh went in fragments, to be cooked, having done no good, he consumed me for supper. He laid the whip across his legs in the darkness I felt her hands against my bare flesh. It touched me as a woman caresses, broad, long under the thighs. For some time I became his servant, in the manner that I thought are the servants, and they do not perhaps, this that met my priest more and better than would have made a genuine servant; addition I needed to prepare our meals low, I had to clean the house, and some evenings, not only receive the whip, but still make a tender wife. This change of state appealed to me, not because of mistakes of my nature, nor a weaker sex, because I was virile and proud of it, but because I'm so acquire powers . Before I embraced me beat the size, he spoke in his ear, and I felt myself born in what was in me as a woman, in solitude, of course, I was sometimes my own wife, but without really believe, while in the arms of my priest I was glad to find someone at the cover of darkness, more or less roughly convinced of my dreams, and who, in turn, persuaded me . On this occasion I feel unless I give him to the discovery beneath the caresses of the second part of my being, my wife even for me. I kept thinking about having this whole life to the man at sixteen I had to see what a charming and vigorous servant of a priest would have done. None would be that one, smart in pleasure, sweet and strong, beaten, I pitied, I loved her in more; filled, I was amazed and I admired her strength she began to bear so much joy this dialogue with you was going to perfect happiness.

The priest again:

In this little room in the rectory, I was pleased to happiness is a perfect accessory with my priest that I guessed too occupied with his dreams. He loved me because of this complicity that united us without our fault we ever explain?

I went immediately to a total well-being and I made the loving and lovely wife. This camp covers disorder brought me back to the first nights of land, a state of nature, all the confusions paramount. Cons face jacket fur collar of my priest, as the coat of an animal, I was drunk with pleasure, I was hot. I liked this den. He caressed me with an accurate understanding of my flesh, bone-setters with a skill, without speaking to me, lest I make my drunkenness. His long hands seemed to know me well, from head to ankles, not a bone, not muscle it modelât with a subtlety that delighted me. He healed me from my solitude as it gives an sprain. What I am merely the most was his knowledge of I believe he wanted to please me infinitely divine, to hear me sing to her knees in her arms to believe he knew me from eternity.

A dive in Time:

The carved altar dating from the eighteenth century ^e ; Chair elegant pale blue and gold, with wood panels where we saw beautifully painted angels, XVII ^e ; roof and the nave of the fourteenth ^e . It was on this fragment of time that lay my love. I was convinced, in fact, have already lived in this country, my priest and child, I Review all ages, and myself with them.

An Encounter with the World:

Renewed there grew in abundance between cliffs dug shelters overrun with thick vegetation. The world was there before my eyes, the stars and leaves in the Great Time of the Night. The earth turned slowly into a clear sky streaked with pink clouds as sharp fronts boat. The rocks and woods lived in the moonlight their real life, far from men. And I also lived with them my real life, I was feeding my soul, I drink of happiness, I drank the strength of the World: that was the real, lasting, unforgettable. The unfathomable presence, living, charm of the area passed through the foliage. Eyes wide open, I had one wish: never back side of humans. In fact, I forgot them quickly, not a piece of my true self, my true character, which Participatory unreservedly to the eternal feast of the night sovereign. In this country

painted caves, the most approved my distant past. In my dealings with the tree that was in me came from the woman's first nights of the earth, that love leaves dated from the first night of the first Paradise, and I composed a curious character magician. Deep memory came back to me in a flood fun.

The work of writing:

So, this dark night springs a light. I tell myself that old phrase, the time of kings, crossed by rustic candor, and my madness woven skillfully compose an amazing fabric that deserves to survive. A small book, well and poorly written at once, like a rustic and beautiful stuff, that's what I could be capable. A kind of tapestry. He came to my mind the spinning of coarse wool mixed with fine silk. This idea led to a book like a curiously woven fabric I liked. My solitude once seemed interesting, my vices too. I saw clearly what I had in mind to do as soon as possible, I already had fun with tricks and finesse that I intend to cram this text would be done a thousand tricks and little weaknesses. I would put all my pleasure to live, love that burned my heart, my true character, and my soul, and the tireless river, and my priest, and the child.

I felt again the world, there beside me, as a reserve force intact delicious that I just had to draw from to write a book like no other. But what a strange book would it be done this way, by a boy like me who lived with a priest! A gallant little book, almost magical, like no one ever does consist of the kind.

comment as a warning

This novel may seem outrageous. This sadistic and masochistic relationship between a priest and a 16 year old, that love between the youth and a boy of 13 years may seem outrageous at the beginning of the century. In truth, the real scandal of this book is not there. It lies in the expression of this primitive sexuality, the middle a wilderness which is like a mirror that sensuality brings back the deep forces of life. By reading this book, we approach some truths about the strong link between man, nature, savagery, taken in the sense of a profound harmony between nature and man. The scandal of this book lies in this sexuality experienced as an inner adventure, almost an ascetic, a 16 year old. To read this, some might think we're in some incarnation of the New Age thinking or some offshoot of a follower of Paulo Coelho. No. This truth that we want to discover Augean, he himself has experienced. Just read Domme or occupation test to see that the Apprentice Wizard , like his other books, are a reflection of a very rich spiritual adventure, which departs from the beaten track, which explores new road, which goes to the limit of our consciousness, when she confronts the brutal existence of nature, our instincts. It shows the raw sexuality of a song: "everything said by the fierce determination to assert the view that man is scandalous that for humans, not for the woman, the woman is the enemy. I guessed the real mysteries, true joy. [...] The heat of summer, the cry of screaming insects swarming in the countryside exasperated my love for this child, the source himself, gave himself without a word.

A write and read these words, I do not know if I can share the power of this book and, for those who s 'book and there it drops, the driving force in the exploration of the dark forces and dark of our minds.

Some features of the author and the book

Augean Francis, born in Rochester in 1925, lived his youth in the Perigord. He is known for his novels Sahara: The Old Man and the Child and The Journey of the Dead . After a lifetime of misery He died at the Hospice of Montignac (Périgord) in 1971.

There is also a painter. These are some works from him, saved from the wreck of his life, which are reproduced here.

After two major books: The Old and Child, 1954 and The Journey of the Dead , 1958, this third book had trouble finding a publisher. It was Jacques Brenner who published at Juilliard, in the collection "Books of the seasons." He tells himself (or Francis Augean Spirits Theatre (p. 11): "This little masterpiece here and having been refused there, I had the chance to publish it in the collection of the Journal of the season I was running at Juillard. Augean would not sign his real name, but gave up the pseudonym Abdullah Chaamba that suited bad for a story set in the Perigord. The cover and title page presented the original does not give the name of the author. "

Chaamba Abdullah is the pseudonym of Francis Augier.

A personal note

I remain fascinated by the works Augean, especially the latter. After many years (too many years?), I read this little booklet for preparing this message. The magic remains intact. I discovered this book, and from there, the work of Francis Augean through a critique of BookWorld , with the release of a new edition in the collection "Les Cahiers Rouges" in 1995.

Then I gradually explored the various facets of the Augean world, ie his books. I think I read everything from him today. I'm still excited and hopefully make people want to discover the author, by the very large excerpts I reproduced.

Description Structure


Sorcerer's Apprentice
Paris, René Julliard, [1964], in-8 (180 x 114 mm), 121 - [5] pp.

The colophon is dated 6 January 1964 and the filing of a legal first quarter of 1964.

A bibliography of Francis Augean has just been published:
Bibliography of the writings of Francis Augean , established by Pierre E. Richard
Nimes, Editions Clam, 2010.

This brochure is now essential for those who want to unravel the tangled skein of successive editions of the first two books Augier.

Sorcerer's Apprentice has been reprinted several times. It is currently available by Grasset.

White Spots On Teeth After Whitening

Memory "Game Over - Try Again", Sir

My son at twenty five years, me I am fifty five,
And we're looking for both, any job.
My country, selfish, leaves us in the lurch. For some
grow, we need more toast!

I do not know why we're in luck,
Game over, try again.

He studied, an engineering school.
But the past two years, he squats home
Cumulant CSD and work opportunities.
He finally think that school is a sham! By depressing

and he wanders behind his quickdraw,
Game over, try again.

me, that's another story. I worked thirty-six years
In the same company, climbing the ladder,
Ending framing, when pension funds
A taken over our school.

They had nothing to do with human values,
Game over, try again.

was a good deal, and a refrain known:
We take the expertise and restructuring,
Relocation of the entire production,
And voila, with a gain!

Those dismissed could be counted in tens,
Game over, try again.

It's so easy in this society,
Where money is an end and not an instrument,
When greed creates disturbances,
That the state is complicit and finds his interest!

Because liberalism is a real gangrene,
Game over, try again.

All this to say, Mr. President,
What if people get off and walk the streets shouting
In their bitterness, sometimes raw,
This is not to play or to pass the time!

This is not a story of nefarious taradiddles,
Game over, try again.

Beyond pension, your whole work, always
Favoring the wealthy, your parents,
Typing each time, the little people,
a private citizen, and we condemn. After the laughter

yellow, now hate
Game over, try again. September

ten French wish your departure
Noting that since the last election,
Our country is sinking into recession
Who transforms life into a dark nightmare.

Frankly, this is too much, the cut is more than full,
Game over, try again.

Oh, how I would like, Mr. President, Let your spirit
, one day end up lighting,
Whether you touched him, finally the truth Whether you
resigning and leaving the field!

We sing then this funny old song:
Game over, try again!

October 2010

Medical Doctors In Nutrition Toronto

Despise Wisdom and Seasonal Depression

Well, as I have hardly had time to verse these days, I offer these two small candies:

Despise

"Sir, did you fire, s If you please? "
The young woman at passing the tip of his cigarette extinguished.
The man stops, looks at her and plunged his hand into the pocket of his coat. It
spring revolver he placed on the forehead of the young person, then pulls the trigger. The night really
tobacco to health, "he mutters in surrendered his weapon.


Wisdom

10 years is the age of recklessness.
20 years is the age of hope.
30 years is the age of ambition.
40 years is the age of enjoyment.
50 years is the age of certainty.
60 years is the age of regret.
70 years is the age of doubt.
80 years is the age of waiting.
And wisdom is at what age?
Wisdom?
Look what men make our world and see that it does not exist.

Catchy Birthday Invitation Phrases For Tween

Visit to the exhibition "Sea" at the gallery "Au bonheur du jour"

Saturday visit to the exhibition "Sea" at the gallery "Au bonheur du jour" in Paris (for more information, click here )

Painter to Honor is Narcissus Davim:

The poster is illustrated with a photo of Sebastian Paul Lucien.

This exhibition presents some drawings of sailors assigned to Roland Caillaux, an artist whom I had the opportunity to speak when I described his major work: "Twenty lithographs run book louse j have read. " Nicole Canet also publishes a small book on Roland Caillaux, with the drawings submitted. Welcome initiative to raise awareness of this unknown artist, with a foreword by Butterfly Site "Sicilian Dreams." We see that there is still some way to get to know Roland Caillaux and refine knowledge of his life and his work.

Gentle Lead Versus Halti For A Doberman

What else does the man fled when the dream? A big
bitterness, melancholy,
Printing abandonment that gently surrounds
The idea that there is no way out of its path. He joined
gradually, the world of zombies, soulless
Motorsports walking without envy.

As these leaves falling in the off season,
It withers and fades, and constantly running in circles.
Lesser is annoying, and it infuriates the. And
can not control his temper.
Feeling isolated, it borders on insanity, And
enters the world of misunderstanding.

At Work is hell. He feels isolated.
He sees that his colleagues are not friends.
He would explain, they come to his aid,
But they do not. No one heard his speech.
There are only indifference and contempt, he knows
And eventually fired without notice!

It feels like a stranger in her own home.
To his family, he becomes a bad companion,
His head is full of emptiness, his mind was empty.
It has nothing to say, his smiles are bitter.
Her husband, her children, lost his attention, The
family unit becomes a prison.

He wants to be told that all is not over, it
have to keep fighting, believing in his utopia.
But the future is no longer a black hole, without edge.
His star has been extinguished, he sees more love.
What else does the man fled when the dream?
The urge to no longer be alive.

September 2010

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Addiction (s)

I could have become polluter smoking, smoky
my neighbors or my quid chewing. Fearing
above all, lack of cigarettes
Or damn me up for nicorette! In
spitting my lungs, just woke up, I even forgot
use my nose.
Living without smell is the worst scourge
Because I would not know your scent on my skin.

I could have become a drinker, alcoholic, drunken
Whose words are punctuated with "hic".
A mug reddened and a snitch in whipping,
Intoxicated by the sight of a mere "girl".
Sick in the morning to the sight of a glass of water, my whole life
Walking on the deck of a boat! My throat burned as
can neither charm
Neither the joy of tasting the salt of your tears.

I could become addicted cocaine,
me drowning in the dope, mind by "heroic". The head
obsessed with strange adventures
And arms studded with pitting.
Tremblant with my whole being when the lack arrives, I let my body
adrift. Do
controlling anything, or my hands or my eyes, I could
then stroking your hair.

I could immerse myself fully into the music, all ears
filled with heavy rhythms. Obsessed
the Walkman, the headphones glued
My esgourdes traps only syncopated tunes. The saturated volume
causing gangrene,
I'd already deaf or suffering Tinnitus! My bones
hit by these shots of drums
I could not hear your tender words of love.

I could just dump a bulimic
want to play the globe-trotting, an epic approach.
Weaving through deserts, cities and regions
In trying to understand everything, experience everything, observe everything. But
believe the world is more beautiful also
We often miss the happiness.
My eyes in this mess, never could see,
curves of your body when you sleep at night.

I could have so many things I will not,
Full enjoyment of life with you near you.
I chose your love, the finest travel alone because
allowed me to write a few pages of a novel or
the dream gives way to life,
Where reality itself delights me.
And if I have cravings, calls, emotions,
My only addiction, can only be you.

September 2010

Layaway Stores, Toronto

The Hay


the early morning, I like to point the nose to fill my nostrils
this gentle acre
Who announces the summer, pleasure, warmth,
This the smell of just cut hay.

is the time when pearl dew on grass,
When the sun crawls, delaying his survey,
Wishing for any purpose, longer days,
Making of June, the longest of journeys. This odor

wilting tickles my memory.
And I think these boots he had picked up, transported and stored
to quickly protect
By praying all the saints, they are not rain.

At the time, they said: "We'll make hay."
Parents, friends, everyone was there because
to work quickly, we gathered up.
me during my vacation, I gave them the hand. The task

was hard. From morning till night,
Using a fork, we loaded the bales
Pyramid plant placed on trays,
precarious balance was a pebble fall!

Then the wheel mounted on a stable, agrarian
Architecture transmitted from father to son,
Cathedral plant temptress
promise for all the animals confined in the barn.

But now the wheels at home, no longer exist,
Replaced by "balls" thrown at random,
In the meadows, fields, alignment weird
Without harmony, incongruous Carnac !

No need accomplices for carting the bales.
A tractor, trailer, driver and voila.
one person where he had arms.
The work is performed at the radio.

The gigantic columns of stacked balls,
Fortresses of progress that can be seen from afar,
are also symbols of what humans can create for use
profitability.

course that machines have reduced the book
Paying more effective work in the fields.
But the idea of focusing performance
surely we forget the concept of sharing.

And we no longer see, leaving a pile of hay,
Young urchins and sweet damsels, dusting
nose, away from an umbrella,
After spending a sweet moment rascal!

And these wheels collapsed at the end of winter,
Were hiding places for kids dreamed.
turns castle or mountain collapsed
To be adventurers or play war games.

If there are street kids, I'm a kid from the fields.
And the technicality does not erase any odors
From working the land, nor especially the colors,
Evidence of eternal recurrence time.

And if I have the chance, I will scamper,
Maybe a fine deer or more simply,
A rabbit running zigzag,
Around these menhirs scattered plants!

September 2010

Scaly Scalp On A Two Year Old

"The Satyricon", illustrated by Georges Lepape (1941)

Further to the last post, today I present another edition of Ad Satyricon. George Lepape, fashion designer, poster designer and engraver of the 1930s, famous for its fashion designs and covers Vogue, has taken on the task of illustrating the Satyricon. That is a book published in 1941, containing 10 engraved plates, colored stencil.

I missed earlier that none of the illustrators Satyricon has, to my knowledge, highlighted the homosexual dimension of the book, sometimes even deny it. Recognize that George Lepape nevertheless we managed to eat some pretty boys. The frontispiece (above) is a good summary of love (a little possessive, shown) of Encolpius for Giton and struggle which is the object between Encolpius and Ascylte.

Of the 10 planks of the book, I selected a few:

I particularly like this style of drawing , line dry and nervous. The colors, sharp and jagged, give relief and strength to the drawings.

The book is illustrated with several ornamental engravings in the text (banner, sticker, drop cap). The drop cap, which introduces the text allows us to see (with good eyesight, even a magnifying glass) a naked young man. This is the only departure from the rule of decency of the work (rule editor? Of the time?).

Some extracts details of plates:

Encolpius

Giton

A servant of the banquet of Trimalchio

Thumbnail coverage

Description of structure

Petronius Satyricon The

translation of Laurent Tailhade with illustrations by Georges Lepape.

Paris, Emile Chamontin, Publisher, 1941, in-8 (190 x 132 mm), 285 - [2] pp., Numerous engraved vignettes in red text, banner, a reference letter and a cul-de- etched in red light, 10 engraved plates in color in the text, including a frontispiece, illustrated cover of a thumbnail.

Cover

The beginning of the text with the blindfold and the initial

Listing page with thumbnails

Some links

On Georges Lepape:
Biographical essay with a bibliography: Aurorae LIBRI. Record

quite complete in English (click here ) and the Wikipedia page (click here )

On the blog "Sicilian Dreams", these two messages reproduce illustrations much more explicit Satyricon, private use (click here ).

Life Expectancy With 15% Heart Muscle

Ingredients Father Soulé

admit that this summer, I was not a lover, leaving
You wait on tenterhooks.
What is not smart!

You waited, you've marinated
Without an answer to the game of Father Soulé.
This borders on contempt!

Before the angry alter the broth,
And our friendship turns into water pig
What would you moron!

I finally decided to get out of the bath
Mary, who is watching, will thus witness.
Sure, it has a grain!

So here, friends, in conclusion,
The sixteen items, the only solution.
But who said at last?

had to be found:
- Salt (1) and pepper (2) in: "More salt than pepper in ..." (There was too easy!)
- The garlic sausage (3) in: "Every day (...) like a fool, six blasts. A garlic-based ..." (OK, a bit far fetched!)
- Garlic (4) in: "Plays with Knives and sometimes, oh, cuts "
- The tomato paste (5) in:" It focuses and earlier, the result mate (no comment!)
- Sausage (6) in: "He admires, tastes and sauce, hoisted his trial "(obvious, right?)
- Goose fat (7) in:" It is acceptable, must still be ... "(more difficult and perhaps my favorite!)
- The bacon (8) in: "For him, it's art! Smoke neighbors say "(not that difficult!)
- Wine (9) to accompany the meal, in:" (...) It is true that he cooks in vain "
- Water (10) in: "He wanted offer them this gift "
- Thyme (11) in:" He has a sallow complexion ... "(the simplest are sometimes the hardest to find!)
- The pork belly (12) in:". .. and chest pain. Of porridges in lobster ... "(funny, that one, I love!)
- The beans (13) in:" He has more courage, sees his legs trembling "(too easy!)
- The bacon (14) in: "It feels small, dirty and would stop" (this one I like!)
- Laurel (15) in: "He never gird his crown of laurels "(It was a gift!)
- Onions (16) in:" And even if everything farts, it is not his onions! "

I have a thought for all those who have fallen into the trap of flour, in:" Achieving the Absolute, the lighthouse does not exist ".

And Veronique, who was the fastest (and only!) to give all the ingredients.
Finally, thank you all for your participation.

How Long Does It Take To Get Results For Stds

"Hey ho! Already three months that you have written anything!
Think you leave the bench and then your bed!
Do you know about your blog you have some friends
Who would, hopefully, share your writings?

- Who's "ki" is causing this? A ghost in livery
Or more simply awoke my conscience?
I hardly worked this summer, I admit
And I do not know why I stayed silent.
Am I suffered the spleen of the tormented poet
Watching, stupefied, his pen to dry out?

- Do not talk nonsense, stop this nonsense
Or your head will become a big pot of gelly!
Tape on your keyboard, click your mouse
Put yourself to the task, the holidays are over!

- No, but little voice, you annoy me nose.
was a metaphor, I think you know!
I write what I want, freely
While blackness disturb my thoughts.

- Ah! I think not! Here you go again:
You want us to believe that you are worried,
Fears about the future, a future prohibited.
What our society, playing our asphyxia
Makes the creation, too, ran away!

- Is that inspiration can also fly,
Like the swallows, once last summer?
is true that the cursor blinks constantly,
top of the blank page, starting to get tired.
It is time to get started, stop pondering,
To believe that my stories have no interest. In this
unruly world where some live land
Locked in their bubble, feeling abroad
Even their neighbors, even refusing to love
We owe it to everyone, try to bring
A little good mood or a discreet smile.
And even if my lyrics sometimes seem light
They have only one merit, simply exist.
So too bad for you, but I'll keep trying to lay
texts verse
Who will, I hope, please you, amaze you, and then move
You sometimes make you groan.
As for the small voice, she goes into hiding
Until next time, if I dragged their feet
To give you a word. Because you never know ....

September 2010

Persing En El Vajinas

"The Satyricon" by Petronius, translated by Lawrence and illustrated by Tailhade Rochegrosse, 1910

The Satyricon is deemed to be an early, if not the first novel homosexual. It is probably more widely read today, but it evokes in the minds of the sexual freedom or sexual innocence, which is associated to ancient times and known to be forever lost since the advent of Christian morality. It also floats a small perfume reading forbidden, certainly vented well today but we know that reputations are sometimes stronger than time.

Just a little history. This novel written Latin somewhere between the I st and II th century AD by an author named Petronius, we succeeded greatly mutilated. At best a quarter of the book would have been transmitted. What we read today are only fragments, not always assembled together, ending abruptly, sometimes in the middle of a sentence. This gives it a slightly disjointed, even a little surreal with pieces that are joined by [...], leaving the reader the pleasure and complete the missing links and pieces by his imagination. There are endless debates about the identity of the author and the date of composition. I will not go into this issue without much interest for us (but for my part, I appreciate very much). Those interested can go online to research the unlikely identity of Petronius (Wikipedia can be a gateway to multiple this debate, but as often, a little adamant in favor of a hypothesis)

There are probably many readings this novel, but I want to state the obvious: anything that can be read centers around love and sexual tribulations of a couple of men and Encolpius Giton. While we are in a relationship antique age difference, erotic relationship tinted protective or possession, asymmetry of gender roles, etc.. However, seeing it as a pederast relationship of Greek type, and between erastes eromene obscure the quality and strength of their love. Two quotes to illustrate this. Before, remember that the narrator, the "I" is Encolpius and the book is divided into 141 short chapters, which I used to reference citations.

The first quote at the reunion and Encolpius Giton (XCI):

"I kissed the chest full of wisdom. I would bury her in my arms and neck, for he heard that I was getting easy to thank you, that the best faith was reliving my love, long time, I hugged him to my heart. "

The second, when they are about to perish in a shipwreck (CXIV):

"stripping off his coat, wrapped my coat Giton, offers her lips to my mouth, and that the sea envious can not break a sweet embrace, it binds us to each other in the folds of a belt and: - That leaves us no hope! waves united we prevail forever. Perhaps mercifully, they drop me on the same shore. Perhaps one way we moved with compassion stealth throw some stones and finally, last hope, thanks to the insane waves, the arena [sand] we bury undulating.

But, richness and flavor of the evocation love of ancient, simple pleasures of love are not forgotten. From the beginning of the book (XI):

"Giton kissed me with all his heart. Me, linking the dear child in an embrace robust, I tasted the enjoyment of my wishes plenary and my transports were worthy of envy. Our delicacies were not yet exhausted, that income on tiptoe and breaking the door with fury, Ascyltos found me sporting my brother. Laughter, applause, it fills our galley, and lifting the carpet Balandras where we were: - What were you doing there, "he said, very prudish citizen? What! you're both under the same cover! "

This passage also helps to introduce one of the dominant themes of the book: the sexual rivalry, which Giton becomes the object but also the actor. Ascyltos," the indefatigable " Greek, will constantly want to rob Giton Enclope. By the way, we learn that Ascyltos says "had approvals of such weight that the whole man seemed addicted to her tiny Mentula [gender] prodigious" (XCII). It also earned him a "certain Roman knight, who is considered a distinguished fellow, covered him with his coat and took her home, apparently for the purpose only, to grab at him, a huge merit if ". These stories allow us to understand that this novel has been likened to a salacious book, and therefore prohibited. We recognize that this ban is a bit insipid. What is less clear that this "serenity in immodesty," ie, that simplicity in the evocation of sexual tribulations our heroes, their capabilities, beyond the strong homosexual relationship between them, to enjoy sexual adventures with this before them, men or women, all with a simplicity and naturalness remain disarming us.

I will not go today in a further analysis of this novel. Know that despite its very fragmentary, it is rich both in the romantic adventures as psychology and feelings of the characters. It offers several levels of reading, even for a modern reader. Even if I just focused on the gay and erotic dimensions of structure, it is especially important to reduce the that.

Today I just want to make a beautiful illustrated edition. Let me say straight away that, from my point of view and to my knowledge there is no illustrated edition of this novel that is at the height of the story and making it the strength for us. For those who discover the book by the illustrations, he does not even suspect that this is a gay novel. But before presenting this work, we must say a few words of the translation submitted.

In 1901, Laurent Tailhade, journalist and man of letters Libertarian, published an inflammatory article against the visit of Tsar Nicolas II in France, a real call to murder. That earned him a sentence of one year in prison. He uses this hobby forced to propose a new translation of the Satyricon, very personal, where he gives free rein to his taste for precious language, even a little abstruse. The excerpts quoted above may have surprised some strange turns of phrase, or hardly understandable. The translation is full of rare words and even invented: mérétrice, engeigner, subhaster, spatolocinède, vérécondie, etc.. Yet this translation was the most reproduced, probably because she stands by the living language, rich and abundant, unlike many translations a bit flat and cold. Moreover, it relies on a version of Satyricon was enriched in the seventeenth century by ^th fragments allegedly found a unit that bring the text. This scam, known as version Nodot, helped give a text more continuous and therefore more readable.

In 1910, the editor Louis Conard publishes short-run (171 copies) a new edition of this translation widely illustrated by Georges-Antoine Rochegrosse (1859-1938), a prolific illustrator and Orientalist painter. The book contains only four large compositions. The first, the frontispiece (see above), probably represents Giton a Giton very androgynous, in a lascivious pose.

The second episode shows the "wedding" with the young Pannychis Giton (XXV).

The third is a bit confused the banquet of Trimalchio.

The fourth recalls an episode from the end of the book, then is assigned a qu'Encolpe impotence tough (even Giton can no longer awaken his ardor). The scene depicted is the treatment of impotence by two old "witch Maupiti brush the inside of my thighs with the same linement. Then she made a juice of watercress and southernwood she sprinkles my penis, she seized a bundle of nettles and green flagellate myself gently from the umbilicus (CXXXVIII).

Rochegrossse declined to represent the pre-treatment: "At these words, she brings a phallus leather, the weight of a compound anointed with oil, cracked pepper, from seed to nettle powder and little by little, I inserted into the anus.

The rest of the artwork is composed of a multitude of small vignettes in the text (38 including 6 larger banded). Most are purely decorative. This image of a page will give an idea of the composition and richness of decoration that surrounds the text. This framework is reflected in all pages.

To those who would find this text, I advise to avoid the translation of Tailhade. It is more instructive on how to write some French in the late nineteenth century ^e on the development of an ancient text. There is an honest translation of Pierre Grimal (Paperback). In any case, I advise to skip the whole passage known as the feast of Trimalchio. Although one of the most famous pieces, he does not understand the profound unity of structure, built around the love between Encolpius and Giton. It may interest those that want to discover what a rich banquet in Rome. But this may annoy many readers, especially the need to refer to many notes, if we are to understand the text. For my part, I like the story that starts from Chapter 79, which then has a large unit and illustrates the importance of love between Encolpius Giton and with those struggles made of desires and jealousy about the "possession" of Giton.

A readable translation is that of Jean-Claude Feray, which has rightly chosen to delete this passage banquet (Edit Qunites-Sheets). For that, he renamed the book "Encolpius and Giton. This translation is complemented by a historical study that analyzes the book as a novel pederast, at the cost of fireworks over the age of Giton. This analysis does not convince me. Indeed, Giton has 16 years, as indicated in the text, which prevents to see the relationship Encolpius Giton and a pederast relationship in the strict sense, according to Greek mores. We're really in a Roman world and in a story of love between men (Encolpius must be much older. 20 years maybe?). Another attraction of this edition, a beautiful and unique anonymous translation of the late seventeenth century e, which allows you to enjoy the charm of this beautiful text in one language and subtle. There are many other translations, I'll let you discover.

For those interested in the history of this text and the many assumptions and discussions around it, I recommend reading the introduction Publishing in the collection of Satyricon Garnier Flammarion. François Desbordes takes the wise not to take sides, while presenting the various assumptions. Unfortunately, the translation is that of Tailhade, which risks alienating a few modern readers.

For the record, there is also the film Fellini Satyricon , released in 1969.

To finish this message, these few verses of Encolpius, after a night of love with Giton:

"What was that night, oh Lord, O Goddess!
How soft this bed! An embrace of fire!
And we transfusions, here and there in our lips ardent
Our souls wandering. Flee worries
Mortals! I am dying of fun! "

A small personal note

I found this text to 19 years by a paperback that I bought used in Lyon. Besides beautiful books I collect, I am pleased to maintain its modest copies that have opened the doors of gay culture:

Description of structure

The Satyricon Petronius

translation of Laurent Tailhade. Rochegrosse Illustrations.

Paris, Louis Conard, bookseller-publisher (Imprimerie Nationale), 1910, 4to (304 x 228 mm), [8] -296 - [1] pp., 4 large color illustrations in the text, including a frontispiece, 38 vignettes in the text, framing the text with a decorative color.

Rationale edition: 170 copies, which
- a copy of Imperial Japan
- 20 copies on Japan
- 150 copies on vellum stained.
This is No. 136. It is signed with the initials of the publisher.

The copy is bound in full parchment.

In French public libraries, there is only one copy in the reserve of rare books of the BNF (RES GZ-45).

Some links

On Wikipedia: The Satyricon

Lawrence Tailhade
Georges-Antoine Rochegrosse