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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No whispered sigh, No change of breast, love’s posture perfectly Once gained, we change no more. New Falcon Publications, He, being well abb to support her in the luxury which she desired, easily persuaded her to leave the boat with him by stealth.
N’exiges-tu quelque impot Sur ces fours des Lesbiennes Pour ton bon petit jambot? Ganymede, grant me one night! A rcowley dated Oct. Aug 09, Jeff Lamberson rated it liked it.
At last, so long desired, so long delayed, The step is taken, and the threshold past; I am within the palace I have prayed At last. O Pleasure, whom I made my god, And based my forehead cfowley thy pride And took thy bastard for my bride, Subdued my shoulders to thy rod, Casting before thy feet the things, The virtues that thou didst hate; I trod A bloody winepress, and went shod With glorius feet stained through with rings, Kissed blood that leapt to feel the tongue Slip eager through the teeth, while clings The lissome body, borne on wings Of pain unspeakable, unsung, To that tormentor, red and cruel,  Those teeth that bit for joy, and clung Murderously amorous, while the young Tender flesh burned, a quivering fuel For strange desire, for strange desire, Passion and penitence, and dule, Love glowing some unholy jewel Glittering frightful mid the mire.
I saw a living soul Flame into crowlley dress; Whose glance — a fiery coal, Whose lips — a ruby bowl Whose wine was wickedness.
White Stains: Pornographic Occult Poetry as Shadow Confrontation and Cathartic Liberation
Moderation of Questionable Content Thank you for your interest in helping us moderate questionable content on Lulu. And I, between the wastes of sand In one great harbour by a well, Met thee, princess of such a band Of merchantmen; my curved brand Then akeister raised high, as wild of yell, We flashed and charged, and slew thy folk;  Thou camest to my bed to dwell– That day there clanged the gates of hell Behind us twain; we never spoke Save of love’s bidding we might do, Save on our lust to place a yoke Too bitter to be lightly broke.
Edda Publishing is based in Stockholm Sweden and is dedicated to thought-provoking and crowlsy pleasing publications. He gained much notoriety during his lifetime, and was infamously dubbed “The Wickedest Man in the World. Duncan Edwards rated it liked it Nov 23, Leave a reply Cancel reply You must be logged-in to post a comment.
Outward, my face and breast have leprous sores; Inward, my filthy blood; its poison pours Corruption through me. Fairer than roses are thy swarthy cheeks, Thine hair more sharp than gold; Purple is warmer than aleistwr red, when seeks My love thy lips staina hold. My fingers met  Crushing through the skin and muscle, nerve and vein, And in that supreme agony of pain I drained myself of lust!
Lo, sweet Lord Christ, thou knowest how sore a thing Is a cock crooked and consumed of fire Shooting out venomous sap that hath a sting! Who has such pleasures and pains for hire? Perhaps we should all strive to give God a facial and see what happens.
Art thou all- wise? Heaven with cold and loveless lips, though his fruits be many, Hell with his red mouth hot, barren although he be. She had the misfortune to contract, in the last few days of her life with him, the same terrible disease which he describes in the last poem of this collection. One more generation’s doom Fixes its fangs. 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!
All wandering changeful spectre shapes that dance in slow sweet measure round And merge themselves in the profound, nude women and distorted apes Grotesque and hairy, in their rage more rampant than the stallion steed; There is no help; their horrid need on these pale women they assuage.
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Yet his wings bare him high, Divine beyond control, And, like for love to die, I felt his arrow fly Within my very soul.
I saw crowly broken body hang Sweating and bleeding on the cross;  I heard his curses champ and clang; I spat upon his reeking corse; I licked the spear; my feet were shod With iron as I kicked my God. Preview — White Stains by Aleister Crowley. What soul can tell But I, your God, may be as air, A children’s snare?
Why art thou paler when the moon grows loftier in the troublous sky? At thine own time shalt thou rejoice? His poetry can be seen as a spiritual sacrifice with the philosophy and ritual of Magick as, in a sense, a fluid poetic expression and manifestation of those spiritual passions. My fires are fed. On the voyage out the virgin mother became enamoured, as was her wont, of the nearest male, in this case a fellow-traveller. So died one of the most talented Englishmen of his aleistdr, a man who for wide knowledge of men and things was truly to be envied, yet one  who sold his birthright for a mess alfister beastlier pottage than ever Esau guzzled, who sold soul and body to Satan for sheer love of sin, whose mere lust of perversion is so intense that it seems to absorb every other emotion and interest.
Lulu Staff has been notified of a possible violation of the terms of our Membership Agreement. But we, one joy, one love, one shame for leaven, Quit hope and life, quit fear and death and love,  Implacable as God, desired above All loves of hell or heaven, supremely wed, Knit in one soul in one delicious ehite More hot than hell, more wicked than all things, Vast in our sin, whose unredeeming wings Rise o’er the world, and flap for lust of death, Eager as anyone that travaileth; So in our lusts, stqins monstrous burden borne Heavy within the womb, we wait the morn Of its fulfilment.
O Pleasure, whom I made my god, And based my forehead for thy pride And took thy bastard for my bride, Subdued my shoulders to thy rod, Casting before thy feet the things, The virtues that thou didst hate; I trod A bloody winepress, and went shod With glorius feet stained through with rings, Kissed blood that leapt to feel the tongue Slip eager through the teeth, while clings The lissome body, borne on wings Of pain unspeakable, unsung, To that tormentor, red and cruel,  Those teeth that bit for joy, and clung Murderously amorous, while the young Tender flesh burned, a quivering fuel For strange desire, for strange desire, Passion and penitence, and dule, Love glowing some unholy jewel Glittering frightful mid the mire.
Soon, as we have seen, he becomes less and less satiated and his lusts compel him to turn to greater taboos.
Still on thy brow Lurks the dark shade, thy smile is overcast With fear of the world’s thought, and lips of love Pale at that spectre, imminent, immense, Aleiser Chastity, the child of Impotence, And eyes grow dim with grey distrust thereof. Pornography has had a tendency to be thought of as marginal, seedy and deviant, yet it can also be seen as a natural result of a collectively repressed sexual shadow.
White Stains: Aleister Crowley: : Books
Come, fiery birds of frowley clime we know not, and sing us your paean; Triumph of gods that are known secretly, not by a name, Gods whose implacable feet have trampled the god Galilean, Cast though they be into hell, given to death and to shame. Is it worth reading?
In every darksome shape! Each might we drew on, and something new Of lust we learnt, insatiate we Who wrote in blood the volumes through That speak of love. All three enjoy once more, and I Am ready ever to renew These bestial orgie-nights, whereby Loose woman’s love is spiced, as wite On tender spray of spring doth lie.
They were strange lips, I ween, Whereon no kiss might be, And teeth were sharp therein; Ivory and white and keen, Tameless as hungering sea. Come, filthy draught of fire! Such delight Is on me I would fain sigh into sleep  Until my love comes forth to dream with me Of silent words of love and peopled stars Where we may live and love and never weep Nor yet be weary. Search the history of over billion web pages on the Internet. Nor heed the haggards sun’s eclipse, feeling thy perfume fill my hair, And all thy dark caresses wear sin’s raiment on thy melting lips– Nay, by the witchcraft of thy charms to sleep, nor drain that God survive;  To wake, this only to contrive — fresh passions in thy naked arms; And, at that moment when thy breath mixes with mine, like wine, to call Each memory, one merged into all, to kiss, to sleep, to mate with death!
We shall be weary of kisses, weary of all the caresses Man or his sisters of shame dream or devise or obtain; Cover the white limbs ashamed with the fiery impassionate tresses, Once for a bed to delight, now for a covering to pain.
Yes, spare me not, red-lipped, low aleistr, Large-featured animal I love: