Tag Archives: Literature

Cunts and Roses

“Guns and Roses” by Shepard Fairey

I am a big fan of Shepard Fairey‘s art, not least this Guns and Roses piece.  I love the surreal idea that roses might be violent, or that guns might unexpectedly shoot out peace.  And of course, guns are often used in the name of “peace,” which is perhaps part of Fairey’s point in this pic.  That said, roses are also romantic.  Sexy, if you will.

But why?

Back in England, when I was studying Shakespeare for A-level, we were told that the red rose was common a symbol for the female genitals in Elizabethan times.  That’s why William Blake’s poem, The Sick Rose, in which an “invisible worm” infects such a flower, has been said to be about syphilis, a disease that was often spread via sex.  Of course, I could see other reasons why the rose might represent the cunt.  Those velvety folds of petals, their circular arrangement, the heady perfume they often give off…not to mention the way the flower seems to deepen at its core.

While we’re at it, A-level English Literature classes also taught me the origin of the word “cunt.”  If you don’t know this, you might be surprised to hear that the term derives from “quaint.”  Yes, that’s right.  Back in Medieval England, one did not wish to actually talk about vulvas, so instead of using a more clinical or rogue-ish term, people would instead refer to “her quaint” or “my quaint.”  How bizarre that this word should now be the subject of such political debate, when really it was a euphemism to start with!

And of course, back to Shepard Fairey, guns are often phallic symbols in our society, so we could say that beautiful piece of his is very, very sexual.  Perhaps it suggests “Make love, not war.”  If so, I couldn’t agree more.

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , ,

Georges Bataille’s “Story of the Eye”

Bataille’s Simone is right: Milk is for the pussy.

Georges Bataille

Suddenly, she got up, and I saw the milk dripping down her thighs to the stockings. She wiped herself evenly with a handkerchief as she stood over my head with one foot on the small bench, and I vigorously rubbed my cock through the trousers while writhing amorously on the floor. We reached orgasm at almost the same time without even touching one another.

More Georges here.

Tagged , , ,

Kevin Killian’s “Spurt” from Impossible Princess

Kevin, Kevin, oh Kevin. In this story, Killian provides a perfect landscape of nights frequently dreamt about.

City Lights Publishers (2009)

Ever been really drunk, in a room full of mirrors? Liquor, brown and warm, slops down the side of your mouth. You can’t swallow fast enough. Your kisses get sloppy, your vision too. All of a sudden, there’ s a little click in your head, and the first person turns into the second person. That’s you—Kevin. Have another drink. Don’t mind if I do. You stroke the warm cock in your hand, you can’t decide if it’s yours or another’s. Click. The second person slips into the third.

Visit Kevin at www.kevinkillian.com.

Tagged , , , ,

Henry Miller Goes Deeper

Anais Nin

This is the first in a series of posts in which the Go Deeper editors quote sensational erotic writers, past and present, who show sexual desire as beautiful, or messed up, or deep, or crazy, or addictive, or romantic…or just plain hot.

Here is Henry Miller, in a letter to his lover, Anais Nin:

Yes, Anais, I was thinking how I could betray you, but I can’t.  I want you.  I want to undress you, vulgarize you a bit—ah, I don’t know what I am saying.  I am a little drunk because you are not here.  I would like to clap my hands and, voila—Anais!  I want to own you, use you.  I want to fuck you, I want to teach you things.  No, I don’t appreciate you—God forbid!  Perhaps I even want to humiliate you a little—why, why?  Why don’t I get down on my knees and just worship you?  I can’t.  I love you laughingly. 

Do you like that?

From A Literate Passion: Letters of Anais Nin and Henry Miller 1932-1953

Tagged , , , ,
%d bloggers like this: