saansaturday: (further back and faster)
( Tuesday, 18 October 2005 12:34)
by Harry Crosby

            I am the criminal whose chest is tattooed with a poinard above which are graven the words "mort aux bourgeois." Let us each tattoo this on his heart.
            I am the soldier with a red mark on my nakedness -- when in a frenzy of love the mark expands to spell Mad Queen. Let us each tattoo our Mad Queen on his heart.
            I am the prophet from the land of the Sun whose back is tattooed in the design of a sun rising. Let us each tattoo a rising sun on his heart.
saansaturday: (madness)
( Tuesday, 18 October 2005 12:24)
Illustrations of Madness
by Harry Crosby


As boys lift a kite in the air so there is lifted into my brain the word Explosion which explodes and explodes in the intellect for hours at a time and no matter how much I wish to direct my mind to other objects and banish the explosions I find myself unable to do so because the word keeps exploding in my mind to the exclusion of all other thoughts. I am during the entire time aware that the explosion is subconscious and does not belong to the train of my own cognitions.


I can cause good sense to appear as insanity, distort the wisest institutions of civilized society into the practices of barbarians and strain Christianity into a jest book.


My heart is a madhouse for the twin lunatics of her eyes.


I rejoice in that dangerous automatic liberty which deprives man of the volition which constitutes him a being responsible for his actions.


I continuously feel hurricanes of magic storming into me as wild and as insane as eagles catapulting themselves into the Sun.


I have heard for days and nights on end the reverberations crashing in my head of all the skyscrapers and buildings of the world, the reverberation of the crashing of ships in the fog at sea, the reverberation of the crashing of iron thoughts on the cold floor of the brain.


There is in me the infernal fury of the Sun by means of which I practice atrocities on the Philistines. The operation of my fury is instantaneous and I leave them to the malignity of my scorn and ridicule.


All compromise with me is impossible.


The inward nerves of my vision are beyond the sentiments of my heart and have no communication with the operations of my intellect. I boast of having effected this in a very complete manner by having caught and distilled certain rays of light from the Sun.


Because of a machine of light in my brain, because of the interpretation of a wall of words ( amor   fire   velocity   invulnerability ). Because of the spells and incantations of a sorceress, I am beyond the force of assailment. In order to ascertain whether this be true or not let them decapitate me. They will find a hollow shell where once the arrow burned. It will have gone to Ra.


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Saan Saturday


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