“Here I would suggest that Crowley’s sexual magick is a striking illustration of what Georges Bataille calls the power of transgression, which is a central aspect of eroticism, religious ritual and mystical experience alike. Transgression, Bataille argues, is not simple hedonism or unrestrained sexual license; rather, its power lies in the dialectic or “play” (le jeu) between taboo and transgression, through which one systematically constructs and then oversteps all laws. Perhaps nowhere is this more apparent than in the case of eroticism. Not a matter of simple nudity, eroticism arises in the dialectic of veiling and revealing, clothing and striptease, between the creation of sexual taboos and the exhilarating experience of overstepping them. So too, in ecstatic mystical experience or religious rites (such as blood sacrifices, carnivals, etc.), one must first create an aura of purity and sanctity before one can defile it with violence, transgression or the overturning of law. “The prohibition is there to be violated;” rules are made to be broken, for it is the experience of over-stepping limits that brings the blissful sense of continuity and communion with the Other.”—Hugh Urban, Unleashing the Beast: Aleister Crowley, Tantra and Sex Magic in Late Victorian England (via iopanosiris)
“You aren’t your body, you aren’t your race, you aren’t your gender you aren’t your nationality, you aren’t your clothes, job, education or relationships. You are the still silent awareness that watches , you are the kindness you express, you are the love you give.”—Gregory Foster - (godindrag)
Hey Guys! I’m in Toronto as you may or may not know, working for an artist residency here in the city for the Luminato Festival. I”m having a great time, learning lots and falling more in love with Toronto everyday.
I’ve been going to a ton of meetings every day, running errands and even had a…
“I think a huge mistake we make is not allowing ourselves to feel. Whenever I’m driving in my car and a memory pops into my head that forms a lump in my throat my first instinct is to immediately shut it away. But I try to force myself to feel it, the loss. I let myself cry and slam my fists into the steering wheel because I know my mind needs my body. Sometimes the spaces in our head aren’t big enough for the pain we feel and it’s our bodies job to set it free.”—Jenna Anne. (via escapetosunsets)
It’s beautiful how Allah uses the word flee. It’s so much more urgent then “come” or “return”. But in a way it’s also reassuring because Allah literally is telling us He is the escape. To flee is to leave your comfort zone into safety, and that’s literally what Islam is to us in this dunya.
“Only American audiences ask me, “What should I do?” I’m never asked this in third world. When you go to Turkey or Colombia or Brazil, they don’t ask you, “What should I do?” They tell you what they’re doing… These are poor, oppressed people, living under horrendous condition, and they would never dream of asking you what they should do. It’s only in high privileged cultures like ours that people ask this question… We can do anything. But people here are trained to believe that there are easy answers, and it doesn’t work that way. If you want to do something, you have to be dedicated and committed to it day after day. Educational programs, organizing, activism. That’s the way things change. You want a magic key, so you can go back to watching television tomorrow? It doesn’t exist.”—Noam Chomsky, Imperial Ambitions, p. 39-40 (via androphilia)
The angels kiss our souls in bliss Measure the extent of a dizzying descent Down the anal staircase Down the anal staircase Put just one foot on the staircase And the next step you’re down here on this face Down the anal staircase
And the rapids of my heart Will tear your ship of love apart And we’ll end up wrecked We’ll end up at the start Of the anal staircase And the angels kiss our souls in bliss Measure the extent of a dizzying descent Down the anal staircase Down the anal staircase
Take a hollowpoint revolver Right down the rapids of your heart Blow the fucking thing apart Blow the fucking thing apart
“If, until now we have looked at the text as a species of fruit with a kernel (an apricot, for example), the flesh being the form and the pit being the content, it would be better to see it as an onion, a construction of layers (or levels, or systems) whose body contains, finally, no heart, no kernel, no secret, no irreducible principle,
nothing except the infinity of its own envelopes-which envelop nothing other than the unity of its own surfaces.”—Roland Barthes, “Style and its Image” (via polyeucte-de-melitena)