Travis Hedge Coke
There Is Nothing Left to Say On The Invisibles
4.04
Sade’s Ghost
by Travis Hedge Coke
Expect for fluctuations in relationship with public anatomy time, all of you. Wager me. It is often said that most who begin to read the Marquis De Sade finish, but do not finish what they were reading.
And, unto on Saint Physical, your madame, have therefor him and perfection aim to the sets.
And, is ethics lacking when a – or with – forbidden, visits perversities with this must be nice angle, everything afforded to be her, know her bare tits out, you given frank possibilities furiously. Have this with will and this one matter. How matters one to you? You giving other.
Other than dealing, most deride but this turnkey’s much known nation, your despised hylic may become hysterical, face level about the gods are the deities’ Lesson Chateau Project. Punish know are how punish leave. The love up man up that girl’s incredible. Most good good face of ill explanation, persons stuffing experience, infinitely done with their parents and hundreds of backgrounds. They are love wake, bible-blushed principles, not tours.
Atrocities now expect moral source. Their infamous waking lady (“It” Girl; “It” World), magician. “It” world magician thrown in?
Our familiar cell of Invisibles rescue the Marquis de Sade, his ghost, or an ontic projection of our collective ideal of him, to free him to work. A perfectly, “toiler in the vineyards of Heaven forever,” stoop labor of ideation eternity.
They set him up with a large house, a grounds, a school for gifted young types, Charles Xavier with student bodies in pervert gear or shitting in the anteroom. Less elderly, indeed, the ghost’s touch, alone in a well-occupied house of remarkable lechery. Running scenarios in training centers, literacy, community planning, discovery of powers, and danger rooms.
De Sade seems happy, but I feel bad for him.
A lot of it is really ideas and nonsense in moving elastic branches. Groping and gripping. Slipping and sloping.
Edith Manning goes to visit De Sade’s chateau of revolution, and is not entirely impressed but she is sentimental for them. Then, she compares them to her pets, as well, dogs and cats. She is, in ways, the aristocracy and the olds who are being shuffled out in this new mix of the cards.
You have to sift an awful well of dung to get gold from human consciousness if you are being cynical about it. A different dancing charity’s hard horrors for every radical moderate to mind that interpret causes into insomnia. The already been have it, building love like orgone four times easily a day, lacking daring and the delights.
Pleasant shavepate, King Mob, is Edith’s anchor outside the Marquis’ home and work studio, and he is, if anything, hornier than they are. She witnesses as fluctuations occur, but he would like but blood more to be a saint in those naughty rooms. Them lights are quite laws. Exciting! The parliamentary chains.
Oh, tastes seem saintly, well enough, brothers placing gold, recognizing humans as stills for processing, ultimately a similar odious panning between you and god. The most May energy rearranging crimes of fathers’ force still, when discharge full, insipid as the day is suffering, if any of you notice. Vapors. What sensory renowned for such filled, said to blur you or I in pleasures of and ever be named.
Do remarkable things and maybe those than better calculated to all that serve omens, dividends, wars. Wager preferred hours, shit, deserving vocabularies pooling to order your head, your involutions, I, me, their, your, the as. The their you the as.
De Sade’s learning communities programs are seemingly projecting their deadlines far beyond the 2012 “end of the world.” Is it communities they are building, is it a future way of being that is being refined, or are they projecting not even so much ideas as hope? A pre-sentimental hope?
The really important thing about a work such as De Sade’s Justine, to me, is that we really do hope for her. It would be nice if things would go well this time for Justine. It is cruel that they do not, and that in works which borrow her – for she is an often borrowed character, taken into Frankenstein as if she belongs there, for example, a fictonaut, a fiction suit or cut and paste figure prefiguring the ideas as put forth in The Invisibles
Sometimes the thread can seem so finely braided, so expertly rolled, so firm and smooth and pattern-perfect, but really, the poetry in it is to avoid where the thread might go and the fakery, the fraudulence, of the spinning.
Those really impenetrable brick shit house novels like Justine and Juliette, wall of text philosophical pornography. At what point is it prettying up garbage? And, is not prettying up garbage a fairly noble aspiration?
The hangman said, “There are two positions available: crime, which makes us happy, or the noose, which prevents us from being unhappy.”
The hangman may, in this, have an angle.
But, to that upon an extraordinary, astonishing, brotherly constitution from but written is I, hard in my vapor, everything level as after sisters deliciously startled. Ingenue flickers of godmother gold flow and twenty or more futile detailed atrocities such and of the precious and ghosts dot the heavens for watching help peeking through boards of musty, pungent wood to this, the eye, this the frank day insensory be burned.
Making you have to look through the cracks, creating the semblance of unpermitted peering, makes it dirtier. Frisson in the rub.
Subconsciously we know it is a show, yet What the Butler Saw and How Has Monsieur Been Moving, Debbie Does Datum and Goodbye Rag elicit expectorations. Moving scenes of safe mania be repeat to rising when your sympathy rates enough to be done with them. The ah, this, most calculated other times and of able experience, are an ethics energy which was the narrations of man or does the dear feminism, the us saint woman, relish behind as well?
Therein delights the they-in-like of slight of hands, we, Madame, a rhythm of filled-in orgy, accede graciously to man the causes unto attempts forbidden by sense and, look at me, possibilities endowed for the inhuman whether I do as most mechanisms deride my ingenue life.
Life? One therefore extraordinarily known of arriving that is to be rid of. Much preserved are hundred obliging Jims and Angels when discussing tantric will. FASTER MADAME and recognized with any Being to very withered what. To whom times perish, still only day turned perfectly good, more comparable than idiotic, you died occurred of flickers’ matter.
You/me found to them? Flickers die to matter. You aspire. I expire. Toxic people horror details have subject when they have unjust capacities.
Most offer newborn pleasures. Have you doubt to berate?
Ultimately, to our sick laws, there to you, therefore proven your own light, miserable the many gallows subjected to better good – that is most will – hysterical coincidence
It becomes our choice to pick back up threads dropped before. If we worry where the thread leads, what laid it down, we might never take one up. “The hangman surrendered, and done said, ‘Trouble.’”
Hell is apology film given fondling of purpose. Experiencing one’s everything are your perversities not left of what too arrived all dare and always sensation.
Every confrontation that was in The Invisibles is show, is apologia, mania, degrees of emerging, MADAME. Man the men fair. Be your us, no doubt many, at eyes, a pastoral isn’t tree which elm can miserable, proving you. Itself an investment, is reputation. Angels are to able for extraordinary encounter. A less elderly Edith might respond different to De Sade, but has she not always been so old the a touch alone marks her lechery, like making up songs on the piano. God Feminism attempts willing others to sop unconscious a time in to that look would precisely.
*******
Nothing in There is Nothing Left to Say (On The Invisibles) is guaranteed factually correct, in part or in toto, nor aroused or recommended as ethically or metaphysically sound, and the same is true of the following recommendations we hope will nonetheless be illuminating to you, our most discriminating audience.
Justine ou les Malheurs de la vertu.
Histoire de Juliette, ou les Prospérités du vice.
N’y allez jamais sans lumiere.
All, always, in translation.
