@DerHasisttot

In response to your final question (about the education of firearm owners), it varies depending on the state. Some states require training in firearms safety when you make a legal purchase (of course, some people choose to buy illegally or through unlicensed vendors, but that's a different issue). Other states require a child-lock on the gun at all times when you're not using it. The NRA (National Rifle Association) in the US, which obviously is pretty pro-gun, are huge advocates of training all kids (whether their families are gun owners or not) about how to safely handle firearms. My family never owned a gun, but our neighbors did and they showed me how to treat a rifle with respect.

I've seen in the U.S. hidden camera video of kindergartners playing with an (unloaded) firearm that was left unsecured in a room with them and clearly they didn't understand the danger it presented--they aimed at other children in the room and pulled the trigger laughing. But I'm guessing this is because they assumed it wouldn't fire.

When interviewed afterwards, they all looked horrified and uncomfortable when the reporter doing the hidden camera story asked them what they would have done if the gun had accidentally gone off for real. They clearly understood it could seriously hurt another child. They just didn't think the gun they had found would actually go off. That's why I'm a bit suspicious when you say it takes from 8-10 years of age to understand the concept of death. Those kids were kindergartners (around 6 years old) and they clearly got the idea, although they hadn't thought far enough ahead to realize that would be the consequences of their actions at the time.

I agree with you partially about the glorification of violence in society--particularly U.S. society. I feel that all too often violence is portrayed in the media as an acceptable solution to problems that really could have been solved non-violently. In the U.S. we seem to take perverse pride in people who are behaving badly "getting what's coming to them" (i.e. violence). But I don't think this particular video glorifies that aspect of violence.

On the other hand, violence is a part of life. Violence and the threat of violence is necessary to maintain a stable society. For example, police need to be able to use violence to stop criminals who are actively attempting to hurt others and/or the officers. There are certainly times (self-defense) where individual violence is necessary. I don't think it does anyone--particularly children--any good to stick our heads in the sand and hide from that fact that violence is a part of human nature. As long as we are educating children about the moral and ethical implications of violence, I have no trouble with them viewing it.

And that includes videos like this which include imaginary violence. Let's face it, imaginary violence is fun! The reason is that it is free from the horrible consequences that accompany real violence. When we play cops 'n robbers as kids, we pretend to shoot each other. But part of the fun is that when everyone is "dead" we can all get back up and play again. And most kids (unless they've had some kind of psychotic break with reality) "get" the fact that this is because there is a difference between imaginary violence (the kind they see on TV or in video games) and real violence.

Like I said before, that's why I find this video to be one of the most artful music videos I've ever seen. It gets us to look at that imaginary violence of play in a new way. It is much more "realistic" than we expect. At the same time we realize it is still imaginary violence. Yet, though we realize it is imaginary it still makes us feel uncomfortable! Artistic brilliance, in my opinion.

To be honest, I'd love to see one of those "Kids watch..." videos that have been floating around the Sift tackle this video and get real children's ideas about the violence portrayed in this vid. I think it would be really illuminating.

This short exposé (with graphs!) should be able to put the definition of atheism, theism, agnosticism and gnosticism to rest.

As for atheists not knowing the Bible...

BULLSHIT.

In fact, many, MANY atheists express that it was reading the Bible that brought them to discarding religion.


>> ^shinyblurry:


Now, atheism has always been the explicit denial that a God exists. Claiming atheism is a lack of belief as a premise is plainly just a device for argument, to shift the burden of proof on the theist. If you lack belief either way, you're an agnostic not an atheist. If lack belief in a God(s) but then on the other side believe there are no Gods, that's just the same as denying that any Gods exist.
Also, it's never useless to quote the Word of God..I've found that most atheists really have no idea what is in the bible, and are often surprised when I show them verses which illuminate something that they misunderstood, or assumed.

>> ^shinyblurry:

I was agnostic and to me the definition was simply, I didn't know. Not that I couldn't know, that I just didn't have enough information to make a determination. For instance, the size of the Universe vs the fact we've never even left our backyard. So in that way I lacked a belief, because I couldn't believe either way without enough informaiton. I was open to the possibility of a God (with proof) or no God and just death.
Now, atheism has always been the explicit denial that a God exists. Claiming atheism is a lack of belief as a premise is plainly just a device for argument, to shift the burden of proof on the theist. If you lack belief either way, you're an agnostic not an atheist. If lack belief in a God(s) but then on the other side believe there are no Gods, that's just the same as denying that any Gods exist.
Also, it's never useless to quote the Word of God..I've found that most atheists really have no idea what is in the bible, and are often surprised when I show them verses which illuminate something that they misunderstood, or assumed.

The letter A prefixing both atheism and agnosticism is known as a privative A. It's from ancient Greek and either negates the base term or denotes an absence. Hence, an atheist is not theistic or lacks theism. "Does not believe in God" is not synonymous with "Believes there is no God". The only reason both are considered valid definitions is because of centuries of misuse.

Gnostic refers to possession of knowledge and so agnostic refers to not possessing knowledge. When you study the concept of agnosticism in philosophy, it's proposed that we can't have knowledge of much of anything, because we can only rely on our highly flawed senses. Pertaining to God, specifically; God would be too complex for us to hold any absolute knowledge. As an example, you have made repeated references to personal revelation (yay, alliteration!) as the source of your faith, but you can only interpret what you experienced through your limited senses with your limited (ie human) mental capacity. This concept applies to all human knowledge across the board, to some extent, though the term is usually associated with knowledge about or of God.

I do not believe a god exists but I also do not have absolute knowledge so I am an agnostic atheist. You, if you are honest with yourself, are an agnostic theist. I am not convinced by the evidence I have seen whereas you are convinced by the evidence you have seen but neither of us truly knows.

I said it was useless to quote the "Word of God" in this context, meaning it's useless as evidence. As I do not believe the "Word of God" actually came from God, those words will do nothing to convince me of his existence. That's not to say they can't be interesting or informative from, for example, a cultural standpoint, but they are not evidence of God unless you already believe in him. The only thing that gives them any validity or weight is the belief that He said them in the first place.

I was agnostic and to me the definition was simply, I didn't know. Not that I couldn't know, that I just didn't have enough information to make a determination. For instance, the size of the Universe vs the fact we've never even left our backyard. So in that way I lacked a belief, because I couldn't believe either way without enough informaiton. I was open to the possibility of a God (with proof) or no God and just death.

Now, atheism has always been the explicit denial that a God exists. Claiming atheism is a lack of belief as a premise is plainly just a device for argument, to shift the burden of proof on the theist. If you lack belief either way, you're an agnostic not an atheist. If lack belief in a God(s) but then on the other side believe there are no Gods, that's just the same as denying that any Gods exist.

Also, it's never useless to quote the Word of God..I've found that most atheists really have no idea what is in the bible, and are often surprised when I show them verses which illuminate something that they misunderstood, or assumed.



>> ^xxovercastxx:
>> ^shinyblurry:
Actually, atheism is the belief that God doesn't exist. Look it up in a dictionary sometime. A lack of belief, ie, you don't know, would be agnosticism.
Both are valid definitions for atheism, as indicated by every definition you yourself linked to. Theism is the belief in a god or gods. Atheism is anything else, whether it be a lack of belief or an active disbelief.
Agnosticism is the position that we can't know. You can be an agnostic atheist or an agnostic theist.
I prefer to avoid such terms whenever possible. I'd rather just explain what I believe if someone wants to know than give a one-word (maybe two) blanket answer.
I'd also like to make a suggestion. You quote the Bible a lot but it's pretty useless in this context. The words of the Bible have power to you because you believe they are God's words, are divinely inspired, or something of the such. To those of us who do not believe in God, the words of the Bible are no more proof of anything than the words of Moby Dick. Know your audience, my friend. If you want to convince us, you're going to need to present evidence that we find compelling, not just you.

ok.
i shall attempt to answer your questions to the best of my ability.due to the length and breadth of your questions i shall tackle them on a singular basis.
welcome to part one:
@IAmTheBlurr
Let me ask you a question. Why do you trust your personal revelation?

I ask this because I used to be very “spiritual” and I’ve even had out-of-body experiences, experiences that I can only call past life regressions. I grew up in a practicing Christian family and I have memories of experience that I can only call “personal revelation”. I’ve come to a lot of reasons why I shouldn’t trust those personal revelations; I want to know if you’ve come to understand how the human brain is very easily tricked into irrational behaviors and beliefs (not just religious)

You say that this has been an ongoing revelation since you were 14. If you had not had this history of personal revelation at all and it came to you suddenly today, would you find it believable? I imagine that you’re beliefs have been challenged many times. Are you certain that the strengthening effect of the challenges aren’t just from the boomerang effect, caused by a need to justify something that you feel committed to?

@enoch
this is a multi-faceted question.
i think the best approach would be to outline my faith in order to give you a decent starting point and will hopefully add context to any further discussions.:

"god" is a only a term i use to represent a creator.
there is no gender bias when i use this term.
now let me define my usage of "creator".
with the stipulation that i believe reality is the illusion and thought is real.
because what is "reality"?
what is "consciousness"?
and how do we measure these things?based on what scale?
we have five senses in which to articulate the "real" world.
and it is our "consciousness" which discerns this reality through first the five senses and then processing through said consciousness.
while over-simplified..we can agree on the basic mechanics of what i say?

now here is where you and i will have divergence.
for i believe (have faith) that we are a composite of mind.body and spirit.
you stop at mind .body.
you may view your ego as an accurate representation of who you are while i believe that your ego is only who you THINK you are based on those who influence your own self-identity but not who you ACTUALLY are.
this is a wholly different discussion but in so many ways extremely pertinent to our discussion.
a topic i will visit in the later parts of our conversation.

now on to my personal revelation.
while i will not share the particulars (for no other reason than it will take up too much space and time) i will share what was shown to me at 14 yrs old.
i was shown that:
god is not separate.
god is a consciousness and not one that we have any capabilities to understand at this point in our evolution and on this physical plane of existence.
god is literally everything.every molecule..every atom or quark.gas-solid-microbe.
god resides outside time/space but also within.
god did NOT create us specifically but we are rather a by-product of his (not saying god is a dude here btw) creation.
as a species god is indifferent if we succeed or fail (let the religious folk have fits over THAT statement).

let me attempt a different approach,not to convince of you of anything but rather to illuminate my position in a clearer light.
1.when this universe came in to existence what was the ONE thing that also came in to existence?(besides the obvious).
time.
and what does this fourth dimension give us?
things become relative.
2.so being relative what do you find in the most basic and simplest of terms?
positive-negative
good-bad
god-devil
a really ancient story but appropriate.
of course humanity anthropamophizes this basic construct but what else does this universal creation put out there?
evidenced over and over again.
the desire to live...life..to create.
the entire universe follows this edict.
religious people will point and say "look at that! there is your evidence!"
i disagree..because that implies intent and god did not intentionally create any of it.
the ONLY intent god put forth was to push forward...to strive..to be.
to a religious person this is blasphemy incarnate because the ideas i am putting forth basically say that god did not intentionally create us as we are..and he didnt..we are a by product of the first intent billions of years ago.

now here is where it gets really cool in my opinion.
jesus stated "i am you..you are me".
correctamundo.
IF you follow my understanding of the universe as i have stated then you must also see where i am going with this.
god is consciousness who created the universe from itself.
we are part of this universe.
so hence WE are a part of god and god is literally a part of us.
think "we were created in his image"
yep..just not in the way religious folk may have ever imagined.

now..lets put the conversation of "consciousness" away for a minute (because that ..in itself is another entirely different..and long..conversation).
and let me ask that you withold disbelief for a moment and consider the possibility of a spirit/soul.
consider that the spirit is the divine spark.the part of us that is connected to this god consciousness.
or..as you would most likely do...dismiss the idea of a spirit.
would you agree that we experience this reality through our senses?
that we love.cry.play and indulge on this physical plane?
and that if my understanding that god is literally everything..would that not correspond to our experiencing this physical reality is actually experiencing creation itself?
and if that makes sense to you would it be too huge a leap to realize that while we experience god subjectively through our experiences that god experiences itself through us?
"i am you..you are me".

pretty cool huh?
the creator resides outside of time/space but experiences its own creation through us and conversely we experience god just by breathing and interacting with creation.
this means that god gets to experience linear existence through us and we through it.

god does not judge because all creation is experiencing itself in a linear fashion.
good and evil are just arbitrary term based on subjective understandings.
god does not discern from either.
so you experiencing love and joy..or the best sex you have ever had in your life.
god experiences also.
just as god will experience the violated and the violator.
both equally.
it is WE who deem acts either good or evil.
because it is WE who have the divine within us.
we make moral distinctions predicated on our own subjective understanding at that moment in time and respond according to those understandings.
god does not distinguish such things.
WE judge ourselves and each other..god does not.

the arrogance and hubris of religion to even postulate that we were somehow this "special creation" to me is just a reaction to just how small and insignificant we are....as a species.
it is the spirit which holds the key to understanding because that is the part of us connected to the divine.so while the flesh will decay,die and rot..the spirit will be consumed back in to the source.
how that will translate i have no idea but i was shown that creation is infinite.
infinite universes and dimension.
life creation in ways that are unimaginable to us.
all of it up/down and sideways.
myriads of lifeforms so strange and alien according to our current understandings.

as a lifeform we are really..at the heart..a complicated amalgamation of co-operative bacteria which strove billions of years ago to be more than the single sum and in doing so became self-aware.
and IN that self awareness came curiosity.
all following that first intent..strive...push forward..be more.
and since the advent of our self-awareness that is exactly what we have been doing,and our understanding is growing exponentially.
everything has a consciousness but we are the most self aware on this planet but consciousness has been evident in other animals (of varying degrees).consciousness can even be attributed to plants.
i propose that the universe has a consciousness.one we cannot comprehend or fathom at this juncture in our evolution.

and NO..i am not speaking of the "good of gaps".
and also a very strong reason why i have no urge to defend my position because that implies that somehow my understanding is somehow more "right" than somebody elses.
just as in saying i am "committed" to one ideology implies that i am somehow a messenger with a strict theocratic way of thinking,or an absolutist way of thinking and both would be inaccurate.every new piece of information changes the paradigm..how can it not?
the only constant i have experienced is how these new pieces of information confirm that very first revelation shown to me.
love creates something more than when it first came into being while negative destroys and gives back nothing.
god is indifferent to both.
and everything is connected.


now.
let me respond to your query "why do you trust your personal revelation"?
i shall answer in bullet point outline:
1.i knew my grandfather had died.though nobody had been called about it yet.
2.i knew..to the day..when my father was going to die and why.
3.i knew my aunt had colon cancer though she showed no signs of having any problems.thank god she believed me at 15 years of age and went to the doctor. consequently lived for another 18 years (died at 84).
4.while i will not post every particular occurance over the span of my life,suffice to say i have learned to trust my inuition because it has been spot on..
every..
single..
time.

now is this due to my brain attempting to find patterns and a certain congruence?
perhaps..but how do i just know some things?
when there is no possible way to even suspect?
my father was the pinnacle of health.
my grandmother was in terrible health and everybody was certain she had only days left.
i knew she would live another year and five months because she was afraid of dying.
i was right on both accounts.

i could go on,but understand i post these events not to convince you of anything other than to explain them is no easy task.
we just dont understand how these things happen but happen they do,
and i have all confidence that one day we will understand.
it just wont be today.
because science..in its most base definition..is obeying the first intent.
to strive..to push.

we are trying to understand creation.
religion does not attempt that.religion only seeks to quantify god into terms that we can understand and accept and in that respect,religion will always fail.
science fails also but recognizes failure and moves forward.
religion stagnates and suppresses.

well,
thats it for this chapter.
am i delusional for having faith in spirit?
possible.being a rational and reasonable human being i have to accept that possibility.
but everything i have experienced has just revealed the exact opposite.
we are more than the sum of our parts.
there is a part of us which is divine and seeks out that divinity in everything we touch/see/hear.
though we may not even be aware of it.
the spiritual person is VERY aware of this though.
the religious person is not.
till next time my friend.
namaste.

As you may have notice, this message is very long. Please take a while and read it a few times, in chunks, before you respond. I ask a lot of questions here so I’d like it you pretended as if you were asking the questions to yourself.

I should have qualified my statement about religions. I meant to clarify that in the Persian and Pre-Rome regions of the world, which were primarily Pagan, a huge majority of the religions didn’t have religious structures that were based around fear, for the most part. Yes, I admit that there was the concept of retribution from the gods but it wasn’t anything to the degree of everlasting punishment. I currently don’t know anything about the religions of the very early Americas (Mayans, etc). It wasn’t until the god concepts became more personalized and more humans that it became more about fear. There is a natural progression in the ideological development in religions that goes from being nothing about humans to being all about humans. Eternal suffering or anything resembling a “hell” is relatively new and came about around the time of monotheistic religions.

Let me ask you a question. Why do you trust your personal revelation?

I ask this because I used to be very “spiritual” and I’ve even had out-of-body experiences, experiences that I can only call past life regressions. I grew up in a practicing Christian family and I have memories of experience that I can only call “personal revelation”. I’ve come to a lot of reasons why I shouldn’t trust those personal revelations; I want to know if you’ve come to understand how the human brain is very easily tricked into irrational behaviors and beliefs (not just religious)

You say that this has been an ongoing revelation since you were 14. If you had not had this history of personal revelation at all and it came to you suddenly today, would you find it believable? I imagine that you’re beliefs have been challenged many times. Are you certain that the strengthening effect of the challenges aren’t just from the boomerang effect, caused by a need to justify something that you feel committed to?

Here is another great question. How much of your belief system is tied to your identity; how much do you identify with it, personally or socially? Meaning, if you came to disbelieve what you now believe, would you know who you are or would you have a sort of identity crisis? If you stopped believing as you do now, do you feel that you would you lose a part of who you are?

You ask a good question in “Maybe it is you who is delusion and I see things as they actually are.” Yes, perhaps I am and perhaps you are and perhaps we both are. So how can we know, how would we find out, what kinds of tests and experiments could we do to illuminate the answer. It isn’t good enough to simply say that we both might be delusional; therefore our views are equally valid. Either one of us is correct and the other is not, or we are both incorrect.
You know, I used to have a dualistic view on the nature of humans. I used to believe in the soul or the spirit as something separate from the body. I used to resonate heavily with the lyrics of Tool and the ideas behind the art of Alex Grey.

I guess my biggest question would stem from this statement that you made
“My faith is that i have a spirit, a soul, a divine spark that is connected to the ALL, the ONE, also known as "the source".”
What makes you think that there is an “ALL”, a “ONE” or “the source” and how do you know that you’re not just fooling yourself? What would it mean if you discovered that it’s probably not true, and that the real explanation for the subjective experiences that you’ve had are far more elegant and interesting than the ideas of spirituality that you currently hold?

To be blunt, I don’t think that you’re thinking this whole notion of an ego through far enough. It sounds like you’re just accepting the ideas as being true without going through the motions of analyzing what the concept implies. The notion of an ego implies several things; one of which is that we as humans are special to the degree that we have egos when, either, other animals don’t, or, other animals are better than us in controlling it. The questions then become, do other animals have egos? If so, how does the ego operate in them? Do other life forms, such as plants or bacteria, also have egos, or does the ego require a certain degree of cognitive function? If the ego does require certain cognitive functions to be noticeable, and since we are extremely closely related to other apes such as chimpanzees, do they also exhibit features of having egos? If they don’t and having an ego is strictly a human feature, what happened during the development of the brain that allowed for the access to what we might call the ego and at this point, do we really believe that the “ego” is actually something that exists outside of the brain? If it doesn’t exist outside of the brain than how can we separate who you perceive as yourself and what you perceive as the “ego”? Are all “ego’s” the same or is it brain dependent with variations depending on brain structure and chemistry? Can you see why I would say that the notion of the ego as something outside of or separate from oneself is inherently egotistical.

The way that you talk about the ego makes it seem mystical and somehow separate from “self”. To me, that sounds like someone trying to escape responsibility. Why not just cut out the middle man and admit that you, not your ego, has the tendency to be possessive, needy, insecure, wishes for self-aggrandizement, etc. The notion that “negative” qualities are part and partial of some sort of external thing that is separate from “you” just seems childish to me, not to mention, completely unsupported by research.

For myself, I suppose that I recoil at the idea of an “ALL”, or “ONE”, or “the source” because it doesn’t really answer any questions. If someone were presenting these ideas to me for the first time, I would immediately start asking questions like “What is it made out of, what kind(s) of particles?” “How does it perpetuate?” “What is the physics of this thing?” “By what mechanism does it connect to everything?” “How does a source not also have its own source?” “What tests and experiments can we do to learn more about this thing?” “What objective information do we have about it?” “Does this thing operate differently between animate and inanimate objects?” “If spirit or soul is inherent in the system, do animals and plants also have a spirit or soul?” “What exactly constitutes as a spirit or soul, what can it be defined by?” “Did “the source” have a beginning or a history?”

I think you understand my point. My problem with subjectively believing something is true is that it’s more susceptible to not going far enough in scrutiny. It is much easier to subjectively believe something that feels good or feels right and not go any further than that. Very few subjective beliefs translate into objective or rational understandings of nature; it’s very easy to get it wrong. Subjective beliefs are as prone to fallibility as humans are to irrational thinking.


In reply to this comment by enoch:
hmmmm..
i disagree with your statement that only the monotheistic religion control by fear.
buddhism (yes..buddhism) shinto,mayan,toltec,arminianism,zoroastriasm..the list is legion and they ALL have punishment/reward doctrine.each at varying degrees but its in there.

i do enjoy hearing an atheists perspective on how my faith translates.
very..analytical of you my friend.
suffice to say my faith is born from personal revelation and has been an ongoing revelation since i was 14.
nothing i have encountered or experienced has taken away from this revelation,in fact it has strengthened it.
could i be delusional?
i guess its possible.
or maybe it is you who are delusional and i see things as they actually are.
not trying to be an ass,just pointing out the subjective nature of this particular polemic.

i guess..in its most simplest of terms.
my faith is that i have a spirit,a soul,a divine spark that is connected to the ALL,the ONE,also known as "the source".
freud believed that the ego WAS who you were.i could not disagree with that more.
the ego is who you THINK you are.predicated and perpetrated by those who are close to you.
we cant help that.it is very human.
so around 12 yrs old we start to have a sense of self.this self understands the world and how he/she interacts with it by rules set by his/her parents.
as we grow older so does the circle of influence i.e:friends,lovers,teachers etc etc.
think about this for a second because i am expressing a very huge idea in a very short amount of time and glossing over all the implications of said idea.

my philosophy..or my faith if you will,views the ego as my "false" self.
the ego wishes only to validate itself (thats why mass marketing is very VERY effective).
the ego wishes to perpetuate its own existence by way of constant feed-back.
the ego gets jealous and possesive.
the ego gets insecure and needy.
the ego has demands...and desires...which seek only for self aggrandizement.
now societal roles consisting of compassion and empathy will,and can,curb the destructive nature of the ego (think your teenage years and just how self centered you were to give you an idea of ego gone wild)

through my faith and discipline i am quite aware of my ego and have suppressed it to the point where it no longer manipulates my thinking nor my emotions.
so i have no urge nor a desire to be perceived as "correct" because to me that is irrelevant.
(though i do prefer to be "corrected" if i misstate something).
i do not experience jealousy,nor envy.
but i do experience pride.
i do not allow anothers limited perception of me based on their own subjective reasoning influence how i feel about who i am.
i am open and honest because my faith is that we are all connected with the divine and to lie,steal or cheat you is to be doing to myself also.
i do not judge anothers faith or lack of it because that is THEIR path and the only time i ever feel the need to intercede is when it flows into my domain and affects me in some way.

even as i write these words,which to me seem pretty articulate and clear,i know that you will understand them based solely on..well..your understanding.
i do not say that as a slight but rather a statement.
trying to convey complex thought patterns by way of text can be so..limiting.

everything i do or say i do so with spirit in mind.
sometimes i fail..sometimes i succeed.
i am human.
with a spirit! ziiiiing!
anyways..
i really do enjoy our conversations.
you are a pleasure my friend.
namaste.
(look that word up btw..its a great word)

sighs..
/doublefacepalm
this is becoming....tiresome.
i came to the decision to stop being a snark towards shinyblurry because his tone had softened a bit and he appeared more willing to interact in a more human and engaging way.
since he stated he had been studying for years (specifically what he never states) i put forth a few questions.
i put a lot of thought in to those questions.
not to be an ass,or pull a gotcha nor even to be "right" but rather to hear his response.
the questions were really not that important but his answers would reveal much on how he viewed certain dilemmas facing todays evangelical christian.
and since he says he has studied for years i framed the questions with tidbits and items a first year seminarian would know and would have already dealt with.
i now suspect that when shinyblurry says he "has studied for years" he means personal study.
nothing wrong with that.
thats how i did it too for many years and then was blessed to meet one of the most amazing people who decided to mentor and teach me..dr paul.

@smooman
you totally missed the point of my post.
i was not attempting to prove the existence of these resurrection deities and by proxy disprove jesus.nor did i gank that from zeitgeist..so lets not get derailed.
the question was how does shinyblurry resolve this issue?
his answer was "satan did it".
now that answer from an evangelical perspective is expected but from an intellectual one it is weak.
i am NOT being an ass here,just pointing out what should be obvious.
"satan did it" is a cheap and lazy way out.

@shinyblurry
the questions i asked were conundrums.
you have to think your way through them...not dismiss out of hand.
you have focused on zoraorastrian.
posted links to pages.
may i just say up front that i am not interested in someones elses research nor their conclusions but rather very interested in yours.
my point bringing up zoraorastrian was to illuminate the fact that the bible has been influenced by MANY different and sometimes conflicting theologies,and written by many different authors.
thats why i mentioned gilgamesh.
does the fact that so many authored the bible take away from the its beauty?literature? wisdom?
not at all,but it does paint a picture that is far more human and i was curious how you resolved that issue being an evangelical.
you did answer.."satan"..(i really find that answer unsatisfactory btw)...but you did not say how you resolved that issue.unless "satan" is your true answer and in that case.ok..fair enough.

you never answered which school of theological thought you adhered to (you made me guess).
nor did you answer if you were a preterist.
which is just somebody who believes that messianic prophecy has already been fulfilled.(you wont find any these days.2000 yrs ago you would have though).
this question was in relation to how christianity has evolved over the centuries.
now my question concerning the nicean creed is actually a trick question because it has never been resolved.
325 a.d and the nicean creed was the third attempt and the council decided to stick with it but it never really resolves the trinity.because of this theological failure of the elder council millions over the years have perished and not a small reason chirtianity began to fracture in to smaller subsets...all gaining (and losing ) and gaining again prominence in the christian world.

the questions i asked would reveal if shinyblurry has limited his studies to the 66 books of the KJV or if he has expanded his studies.
again..not for a gotcha moment nor to belittle him, but rather so i would have an idea the parameters in our discussion.

i read the gospels far different than mainstream christianity.
i study origins.
i study the socio-economic and education of that period of time.
the cultural practices and institutions.
when you put all these factors together you gain a much more insightful and complete picture.
i guess i dont understand when someone ignores that very vital part of the equation.
hence my questions.
i wanted to know how shinyblurry dealt with these dilemmas or if he thought of them at all.

living in the bible belt i deal with evangelicals all the time.
in fact i spoke at a local baptist church a few weeks ago.
my sermon was "the mechanics of prayer".they were welcoming and responsive,conversely i have also been told by another group of evangelicals that i will burn in the pit of fire because my idea and understanding of scripture happened to be different from theirs.

i do not understand how some people conflate their religion as themselves.
as somehow they ARE their religion and if their religion comes under any criticism or scrutiny they react like it is THEY who are being personally attacked and lash out with violent intentions (disguised as righteousness).
religion is a system of doctrine and dogma with written scripture as a vehicle.
since scripture is the written word, it is tangible and therefore subject to scrutiny and/or criticism.
and thats how it SHOULD be.i do not know ONE theologian who would disagree with that statement but i have encountered hundreds who feel that ANY scrutiny of their holy text is tantamount to a personal attack upon them.

i was unsure if blurry was a troll or if he was even aware that he was coming across like one.
i am still not sure.
i was ok with making snarky remarks and match blurry tone for tone.until i realized i was behaving poorly and nothing positive would really come out of that form of interaction...maybe amusement for a time.
so i decided to take a different approach and all i got was more of the same.
sad..really.
what a wasted opportunity.
my expectations for this discussion have dwindled considerably.
religion is communal..
faith is personal.
i guess mine is so far removed from shinyblurry's that we are incapable of having a decent discussion with each other.

so there it is folks.as openly and as honestly as i am able.
with sincerity and humility i say this to you shinyblurry.
namaste.

Ryjkyj..that's not what I said, or meant. Created from nothing, meaning there was no material that was used. Ie, it was willed into existence.

and it's not that physics breaks down..time and space had a beginning there..without them you don't have any physics. It all goes back to a singularity. I didn't know that a catholic priest proposed the theory, but I don't really see why that's relevant. It points to a beginning, that is what is important. >> ^Ryjkyj:
>> ^shinyblurry:
>> ^Ryjkyj:
Shiny,
The universe can be eternal without there being a God.

This is actually what science used to think. It's called the steady state theory, in which the Universe has no beginning or end. Scientists and other skeptics used to point to this theory as ruling out the possibility of a Creator. After Edwin Hubble discovered the Universe is expanding scientists realized the Universe did have a beginning and thus is not eternal. Now this is what is interesting.
In the entire recorded history of humanity, the judeo-christian belief alone is unique in proposing a creation from nothing. One of the discoverers of the cosmic microwave background radiation (which is evidence for the big bang) said this..
"Certainly, if you are religious, I can't think of a better theory of the origin of the universe to match with Genesis"
Just as the bible says, and science confirms thousands of years later, the Universe was created from nothing. Makes you think, doesn't it?

If the universe came from god, then it didn't come from nothing as the bible says, it came from god. It's interesting to me that you would prove the bible wrong yourself and not notice that. Unless god is nothing?
Either way (and completely separate), the big bang theory only states that the current shape of the universe was caused by a particular formation or event. It does not purport to know anything about the universe before a certain point where physics break down. And it certainly does not say that the universe popped into existence from nothing.
It just means that we cannot say, scientifically, what happened in our observable universe before a certain point. But since the Big Bang theory was first proposed by a Catholic priest, I'm surprised you would use it in conjunction with your beliefs to help illuminate the existence of a creator.

>> ^shinyblurry:

>> ^Ryjkyj:
Shiny,
The universe can be eternal without there being a God.

This is actually what science used to think. It's called the steady state theory, in which the Universe has no beginning or end. Scientists and other skeptics used to point to this theory as ruling out the possibility of a Creator. After Edwin Hubble discovered the Universe is expanding scientists realized the Universe did have a beginning and thus is not eternal. Now this is what is interesting.
In the entire recorded history of humanity, the judeo-christian belief alone is unique in proposing a creation from nothing. One of the discoverers of the cosmic microwave background radiation (which is evidence for the big bang) said this..
"Certainly, if you are religious, I can't think of a better theory of the origin of the universe to match with Genesis"
Just as the bible says, and science confirms thousands of years later, the Universe was created from nothing. Makes you think, doesn't it?


If the universe came from god, then it didn't come from nothing as the bible says, it came from god. It's interesting to me that you would prove the bible wrong yourself and not notice that. Unless god is nothing?

Either way (and completely separate), the big bang theory only states that the current shape of the universe was caused by a particular formation or event. It does not purport to know anything about the universe before a certain point where physics break down. And it certainly does not say that the universe popped into existence from nothing.

It just means that we cannot say, scientifically, what happened in our observable universe before a certain point. But since the Big Bang theory was first proposed by a Catholic priest, I'm surprised you would use it in conjunction with your beliefs to help illuminate the existence of a creator.

Precedent...an interpretive error repeated, popular or otherwise? Nothing but slippery slopes here.

Plenty of precedents on this matter...and a plethora of interpretive variance by very experienced and intelligent individuals and groups alike.

A dupe is a dupe is a dupe(.)(?)(!)

An excerpt is not a dupe? So, let's see now. Someone posts an hour and a half video. One hundred Sifters divvy it up with little to no overlap and the resultant flood of videos are viable for submission? A line or a paragraph out of a speech or a dissertation is illumination of a specific point, contextual coloring by isolation from the whole makes it a viable and independent submission? Every video sifted is ripe for dissection and resubmission?

How about spatial variation on the same incident? Two vantage points represented by two recorders of the said incident that are spatially side by side separated by inches is or is not a dupe? Yeeha! What degree(s) of separation of vantage therefore might be considered variant enough? Certainly ninety degrees or more in any plane, right or not? That can get interesting.

What about footnotes, subtitles, added music, added commentary in what language(s) or the lack thereof, color added or subtracted, graphic artifices added or subtracted, different playback speeds resultant in different timestampings or video lengths, or additional dubious footage before, during, or after an incident of note? When do these variances qualify for independent submission and *nondupe/*notadupe status? The initial citing and often repeated criteria by the implementors of the dupe invocation of adding substantive comment at once a blessing and bane due to the inevitable interpretive dance that ensues.

The points regarding ownership, identification, current or active status or lack thereof of submitters, and competition are salient and contributory to the exacerbation of the problems.

The issues can be more simply laid out and have been innumerably. The first submission is sacrosanct whether submitted one second ago or five years ago and the submitter active, inactive, alive.... Submissions are not the submitters' property or they would/should be banned for selflinking. Votes, rankings, comments and such accolades are desirable for most here but are they or should they be the only reason to be present and contributing here? Not providing substantial additional content, what is hard or hard to take about that? Is the meaningful content of the video represented on the Sift already in another's submission?

Dupes take up Sifters' queue space and detract from the site. New Sifter's have not seen a video? So what? I have been to every PQ under the 500 mark save certain new arrivals having moved up quickly. If a noob or otherwise is so inclined, there is the archived videos of the Sift to by enjoyed, appreciated, worshipped...but not served up again by another submitter intentionally or unintentionally.

I do not believe I have added anything new to the tableau of discussion. It has all been said here before somewhere sometime. Better perhaps...certainly more succinctly. It is fairly simple to implement using the guidelines originally cited. Personal interests and desires serve and do so quite capably to obfuscate. Significant additional content, present or no, dupe or not.

Change...acceptable...inevitable. Have at it and good luck. Truly. The above cited proposal of promoting and transferring promotion to the original of a dupe is interesting. The specter of abuse is always lurking, however. Grace periods and fanciful or imaginative interpretations serving to hold onto votes or position are problematic.

Mistakes...I've made them. Fortunately they were minor except to the submitter at times and easily rectifiable. I have seen one dupe that was consummated, deemed erroneous and caught by the invokers themselves, and fixed by lucky760. Hard feelings, hurt feelings, disagreements, outrage, and more over duping(s). Yes. Actionable? How many so far and how often? That may be telling. If there were more wrongful dupes, truly wrongful, there would be more attention from on high I think.

Is there a real or perceived lack of original videos to submit or must the bones of successful or unsung videos be picked over imaginatively in order to derive some benefit of participating?

Yes, as well, the system of checks is imperfect. Some dupes are inevitable. However, I submit the are a few here that seem to manage finding dupes on a regular and consistent basis. Ant, pardon me sir, I have seen dupe his queue's capacity and otherwise one or two daily for good periods. He unfailingly was and is a gentleman about it when a dupe occurs often upvoting the dupage comments. He almost never dupes for an extended period of time now. Others are ongoing, some struggling some gracefully confronting the phenomenon. I duped once and only once. Granted, I am possibly to probably the least of those represented here but diligent titling and tagging has proven an antidote to the plague. I have seen cases that I felt almost certain dupes were intentional using imaginative titles and tagging or a lack thereof.

Too long...I'm sorry.

Georges Bataille
STORY OF THE EYE by Lord Auch Translated by Joachim Neugroschel
CITY LIGHTS BOOKS San Francisco
Originally published in France in 1928 as Histoire de l'oeil
© 1967 by Jean Jacques Pauvert, Paris © This translation Urizen Books, 1977 First City Lights Edition 1987
Cover photograph and design by Gent Sturgeon and Rex Ray
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Bataille, Georges, 1897-1962. Story of the eye.
Translation of: Histoire de l'oeil. I. Title.
PQ2603 .A695H4813 1987 843'.912 87-9242 ISBN: 0-87286-209-7
City Lights Books are available to bookstores through our primary distributor: Subterranean Company.P.O. Box 160,265 S. 5th St., Monroe, OR 97456.541-847-5274. Toll-free orders 800-274-7826. FAX 541-847-6018. Our books are also available through library
jobbers and regional distributors. For personal orders and catalogs, please write to City Lights Books, 261 Columbus Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94133.
CITY LIGHTS BOOKS are edited by Lawrence Ferlinghetti and Nancy J.Peters and published at the City Lights Bookstore, 261 Columbus Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94133.
� Contents
Translator'snote .......................... vii Part One: THE TALE ....................... 1 Part Two: COINCIDENCES. . ................ 87 WC.-Preface to Story of the Eye
from Le Petit: 1943 . ..................... 97 Outline of a sequel ....................... 102
I Translator's Note
Story of the Eye was George Bataille's first novel, and there were four editions, the first in 1928. The other three, known as the "new version," came out in 1940, 1941, and 1967. The "new ver­ sion" differs so thoroughly in all details from the first edition that one can justifiably speak of two distinct books. Indeed, the Gallimard publication of the complete works includes both versions in its opening volume.
This American translation is based on the
vii
original version, but the "Outline for a Sequel" comes from the fourth edition.
Of all the editions, only the final, posthum- 0us one bore the author's name. The other three were credited to Lord Auch, a pseudonym ex­
plained in Bataille's short prose piece Le Petit (1943). (This section from Le Petit is included at the end of this volume.)
J.N.
� Part One THE TALE
viii
I CHAPTER ONE The Cat's Eye
I grew up very much alone, and as far back as I recall I was frightened of anything sexual. I was nearly sixteen when I met Simone, a girl my own age, at the beach in X. Our families being distantly related, we quickly grew intimate. Three days after our first meeting, Simone and I were alone in her villa. She was wearing a black pinafore with a starched white collar. I began realizing that she shared my anxiety at seeing her, and I felt even more anxious that day because I hoped she would be stark naked under the pinafore.
3
GEORGES BATAILLE
Story of the Eye
without even touching one another. But when her mother came home, I was sitting in a low armchair, and I took advantage of the moment when the girl tenderly snuggled in her mother's arms: I lifted the back of her pinafore, unseen, and thrust my hand under her cunt between her two burning legs.
I dashed home, eager to jerk off some more, and the next day there were such dark rings around my eyes that Simone, after peering at me for a while, buried her head in my shoulder and said earnestly: "I don't want you to jerk off any­
more without me."
Thus a love life started between the girl and myself, and it was so intimate and so driven that we could hardly let a week go by without meeting. And yet we virtually never talked about it. I realized that her feelings at seeing me were the same as mine at seeing her, but I found it difficult to have things
out. I remember that one day, when we were in a car tooling along at top speed, we crashed into a cyclist, an apparently very young and very pretty girl. Her head was almost totally ripped off by the wheels. For a long time , we were parked a few yards beyond without getting out, fully absorbed in the
sight of the corpse. The horror and despair at so much bloody flesh, nauseating in part, and in part very beautiful, was fairly equivalent to our usual impression upon seeing one another. Simone was tall and lovely. She was usually very natural; there
She had black silk stockings on covering her knees, but I was unable to see as far up as the cunt (this name, which I always used with Simone, is, I think, by far the loveliest of the names for the va­ gina). It merely struck me that by slightly lifting the pinafore from behind, I might see her private parts unveiled.
Now in the corner of a hallway there was a saucer of milk for the cat. "Milk is for the pussy, isn't it?" said Simone. "Do you dare me to sit in the saucer?"
"I dare you," I answered, almost breathless.
The day was extremely hot. Simone put the saucer on a small bench, planted herself before me, and, with her eyes fixed on me, she sat down without my being able to see her burning buttocks under the skirt, dipping into the cool milk. The blood shot to Ply head, and I stood before her awhile, immobile and trembling, as she eyed my stiff cock bulging in my pants. Then I lay down at her feet without her stirring, and for the first time, I saw her "pink and dark" flesh cooling in the white milk. We remained motionless, on and on, both of us equally overwhelmed . . . .
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 pants while writhing amorously on the floor. We reached orgasm at almost the same instant
4
5
GEORGES BATAILLE
Story of the Eye
was nothing heartbreaking in her eyes or her voice. But on a sensual level, she so bluntly craved any upheaval that the faintest call from the senses gave her a look directly suggestive of all things linked to
deep sexuality, such as blood, suffocation, sudden terror, crime; things indefinitely destroying human bliss and honesty. I first saw her mute and absolute spasm (which I shared) the day she sat down in the saucer of milk. True, we only exchanged fixed stares at analogous moments. But we never calmed down or played except in the brief relaxed minutes
after an orgasm. I ought to say, nevertheless, that we waited a
long time before copulating. We merely took any opportunity to indulge in unusual acts. We did not lack modesty-on the contrary-but something urgently drove us to defy modesty together as immodestly as possible. Thus, no sooner had she asked me never to jerk off again by myself (we had met on top of a cliff), than she pulled down my
pants and had me stretch out on the ground. She tucked her dress up, mounted my belly with her back towards my face, and let herself go, while I thrust my finger, lubricated with my young jizm, into her cunt. Next, she lay down with her head under my cock between my legs, and thrusting her cunt in the air, she brought her body down towards me, while I raised my head to the level of that cunt:
her knees found support on my shoulders.
"Yes," I answered, "but with you like this, it'll get on your dress and your face."
, again, this time with fine white come.
Meanwhile, the smell of the sea mixed with the smell of wet linen, our naked bodies, and the come. Evening was gathering, and we stayed in that extraordinary position, tranquil and motion­ less, when all at once we heard steps crumpling the grass.
"Please don't move, please," Simone begged.
The steps halted, but it was impossible to see who was approaching. Our breathing had stopped together. Simone's ass, raised aloft, did strike me as an all-powerful entreaty, perfect as it was, with its two narrow, delicate buttocks and its deep crevice; and I never doubted for an instant that the unknown man or woman would soon give
in and feel compelled to jerk off endlessly while watching that ass. Now the steps resumed, faster this time, almost running, and suddenly a ravish­ ing blond girl loomed into view: Marcelle, the pur­ est and most poignant of our friends. But we were too strongly contracted in our dreadful positions to move even a hair's breadth, and it was our un­
happy friend who suddenly collapsed and huddled in the grass amid sobs. Only now did we tear loose from our extravagant embrace to hurl ourselves upon a self-abandoned body. Simone hiked up the
6
7
"ean't you pee up to my cunt?" she said.
"So what," she concluded. And I did as she said but no sooner was I done than I flooded her
I
GEORGES BATAILLE
Story of the Eye
skirt, ripped off the panties, and drunkenly showed me a new cunt, as lovely and pure as her own: I kissed it furiously while jerking off Simone, whose legs closed around the hips of that strange Mar­ celle, who no longer hid anything but her sobs.
"Marcelle," I exclaimed, "please, please don't cry. I want you to kiss me on the mouth . . . ." Simone, for her part, stroked the girl's lovely smooth hair, covering her body with fond
kisses.
Meanwhile the sky had turned quite thun­ dery, and with nightfall, huge raindrops began plopping down, bringing relief from the harshness of a torrid, airless day. The sea was loudly raging, outroared by long rumbles of thunder, while flashes of lightning, bright as day, kept brusquely revealing the two pleasured cunts of the now silent girls. A brutal frenzy drove our three bodies. Two young mouths fought over my ass, my balls, and my cock, but I still kept pushing apart female legs wet with saliva and come, splaying them as if writhing out of a monster's grip, and yet that monster was nothing but the utter violence of my movements. The hot rain was finally pouring down and streaming over our fully exposed bodies. Huge booms of thunder shook us, heightening our fury, wresting forth our cries of rage, which each flash accompanied with a glimpse of our sexual parts. Simone had found a mud puddle, and was smear­ ing herself wildly: she wasjerking off with the earth
and coming violently, whipped by the downpour, my head locked in her soil-covered legs, her face wallowing in the puddle, where she was brutally churning Marcelle's cunt, one arm around Mar­ celle's hips, the hand yanking the thigh, forcing
8
9
it open.
� CHAPTER TWO The Antique
Wardrobe
That was the period when Simone devel­ oped a mania for breaking eggs with her ass. She would do a headstand on an armchair in the par­ lor, her back against the chair's back, her legs bent
towards me, while I jerked off in order to come in her face. I would put the egg right on the hole in her ass, and she would skillfully amuse herself by shaking it in the deep crack of her buttocks. The moment my jizm shot out and trickled down her
eyes, her buttocks would squeeze together and she
would come while I smeared my face abundantly in her ass.
Very soon, of course, her mother, who might enter the villa parlor at any moment, did catch us in our unusual act. But still, the first time this fine woman stumbled upon us, she was con­ tent, despite having led an exemplary life, to gape wordlessly, so that we did not notice a thing. I sup­ pose she was too flabbergasted to speak. But when we were done and trying to clean up the mess, we noticed her standing in the doorway.
"Pretend there's no one there," Simone told me, and she went on wiping her ass.
And indeed, we blithely strolled out as though the woman had been reduced to a family portrait.
A few days later, however, when Simone was doing gymnastics with me in the rafters of a gar­ age, she pissed on her mother, who had the misfor­ tune to stop underneath without seeing her. The sad widow got out of the way and gaped at us with such dismal eyes and such a desperate expression that she egged us on, that is to say, simply with Simone bursting into laughter, crouching on all fours on the beams and exposing her cunt to my face, I uncovered that cunt completely and jerked off while looking at it.
More than a week had passed without our seeing Marcelle, when we ran into her on the street one day. The blonde girl, timid and naively pious,
10
11
Story of the Eye
GEORGES BATAILLE
Story of the Eye
blushed so deeply at seeing us, that Simone embraced her with uncommon tenderness.
"Please forgive me, Marcelle," she mur­ mured. "What happened the other day was absurd, but that doesn't mean we can't be friends now. I promise we'll never lay a hand on you again."
Marcelle, who had an unusual lack of will­ power, agreed to join us for tea with some friends at our place. But instead of tea, we drank quanti­ tites of chilled champagne.
The sight of Marcelle blushing had com­ pletely overwhelmed us. We understood one an­ other, Simone and I, and we were certain that from now on nothing would make us shrink from achiev­ ing our ends. Besides Marcelle, there were three other pretty girls and two boys here. The oldest of the eight being not quite seventeen, the beverage soon took effect; but aside from Simone and myself, they were not as excited as we wanted them to be. A phonograph rescued us from our predica­ ment. Simone, dancing a frenzied Charleston by
herself, showed everyone her legs up to her cunt, and when the other girls were asked to dance a solo in the same way, they were in too good a mood to require coaxing. They did have panties on, but the panties bound the cunt laxly without hiding much. Only Marcelle, intoxicated and silent, refused to dance.
Finally, Simone, pretending to be dead drunk, crumbled a tablecloth and, lifting it up, she offered to make a bet.
"I bet," she said, "that I can pee into the tablecloth in front of everyone."
It was basically a ridiculous party of mostly turbulent and boastful youngsters. One of the boys challenged her, and it was agreed that the winner would fix the penalty . . . . Naturally, Simone did not waver for an instant, she richly soaked the
tablecloth. But this stunning act visibly rattled her to the quick, so that all the young fools started gasping.
"Since the winner decides the penalty," said Simone to the loser, "I am now going to pull down your pants in front of everyone."
Which happened without a hitch. When his pants were off, his shirt was likewise removed (to keep him from looking ridiculous). All the same, nothing serious had occurred yet: Simone had scarcely run a light hand over her young friend, who was dazzled, drunk, and naked, yet all she
could think of was Marcelle, who for several mo­ ments now had been begging me to let her leave.
"We promised we wouldn't touch you, Mar­ celle. Why do you want to leave?"
"Just because," she replied stubbornly, a violent rage gradually coming over her.
All at once, to everyone's horror, Simone fell upon the floor. A convulsion shook her harder and harder, her clothes were in disarray, her ass stuck in the air, as though she were having an epi­ lectic fit. But rolling about at the foot of the boy she
12
13
GEORGES BATAILLE
Story of the Eye
had undressed, she mumbled almost inarticulately: "Piss on me . . . Piss on my cunt . . ." she
repeated, with a kind of thirst. Marcelle gaped at this spectacle: she blushed
again, her face was blood-red. But then she said to me, without even seeing me, that she wanted to take off her dress. I half tore it off, and hard upon it, her underwear. All she had left was her stockings and belt, and after I fingered her cunt a bit and kissed her on the mouth, she glided across the room to a large antique bridal wardrobe, where she shut herself in after whispering a few words to Simone .
She wanted to j erk off in the wardrobe and was pleading to be left in peace.
I ought to say that we were all very drunk and completely bowled over by what had been going on. The naked boy was being sucked by a girl. Simone, standing with her dress tucked up, was rubbing her bare cunt against the wardrobe, in wh ich a girl was audibly j e rking off with b rutal gasps. All at once, something incredible happened, a strange swish of water, followed by a trickle and a stream from under the wardrobe door: poor Mar­ celle was pissing in her wardrobe while jerking off. But the explosion of totally drunken guffaws that ensued rapidly degenerated into a debauche of tumbling bodies, lofty legs and asses, wet skirts and come. Guffaws emerged like foolish and involun-
tary hiccups but scarcely managed to interrupt a brutal onslaught on cunts and cocks. And yet soon we could hear Marcelle dismally sobbing alone, louder and louder, in the makeshift pissoir that was
now her prison.
Half an hour later, when I was less drunk, it dawned on me that I ought to let Marcelle out of her wardrobe: the unhappy girl, naked now, was in a dreadful state. She was trembling and shivering feverishly. Upon seeing me, she displayed a sickly but violent terror. After all, I was pale, smeared with blood, my clothes askew. Behind me, in
unspeakable disorder, ill bodies, brazenly stripped, were sprawled about. During the orgy, shards of glass had left deep bleeding cuts in two of us. A young girl was throwing up, and all of us had exploded in such wild fits of laughter at some point or other that we had wet our clothes, an armchair, or the floor. The resulting stench of blood, sperm, urine, and vomit made me almost recoil in horror,
but the inhuman shriek from Marcelle's throat was far more terrifying. I must say, however, that Simone was sleeping tranquilly by now, her belly up, her hand still on her beaver, her pacified face almost smiling.
Marcelle, staggering wildly across the room with shrieks and snarls, looked at me again. She flinched back as though I were a hideous ghost in a
14
15
GEORGES BATAILLE
nightmare, and she collapsed in a jeremiad of howls that grew more and more inhuman.
Astonishingly, this litany brought me to my I senses. People were running up, it was inevitable. But I never for an instant dreamt of fleeing or les­ sening the scandal. On the contrary, I resolutely strode to the door and flung it open. What a spec­ tacle, whatjoy! One can readily picture the cries of dismay, the desperate shrieks, the exaggerated threats of the parents entering the room! Criminal
court, prison , the guillotine were evoked with fiery yells and spasmodic curses. Our friends themselves began howling and sobbing in a delirium of tearful screams; they sounded as if they had been set afire as live torches. Simone exulted with me!
And yet, what an atrocity! It seemed as if nothing could terminate the tragicomical frenzy of these lunatics, for Marcelle, still naked, kept ges­ ticulating, and her agonizing shrieks of pain expressed unbearable terror and moral suffering; we watched her bite her mother's face amid arms vainly trying to subdue her.
Indeed, by bursting in, the parents man­ aged to wipe out the last shreds of reason, and in the end, the police had to be called, with all the neighbors witnessing the outrageous scandal.
16
CHAPTER THREE
Marcelle's Smell
My own parents had not turned up that evening with the pack. Nevertheless, I judged it prudent to decamp and elude the wrath of an awful father the epitome of a senile Catholic general. I
enter�d our villa by the back door and filched a certain amount of money. Next, quite convinced they would look for me everywhere but there, I took a bath in my father's bedroom. Finally, by around ten o'clock, I was out in the open countr�,
having left the following note on my mothers night table: "I beseech you not to send the pol�ce after me for I am carrying a gun, and the fIrst
17
GEORGES BATAILLE
StoryoftheEye
bullet will be for the policeman, the second for myself. "
I have never had any aptitude for what is known as striking a pose, and in this circumstance in particular, I only wished to keep my family at bay, for they relentlessly hated scandal. Still, hav­ ing written the note with the greatest levity and not without laughing, I thought it might not be such a bad idea to pocket my father's revolver.
I walked along the seashore most of the night, but without getting very far from X because of all the windings of the coast. I was merely trying to soothe a violent agitation, a strange, spectral delirium in which, Willy-nilly, phantasms of Simone and Marcelle took shape with gruesome expres­ sions. Little by little, I even thought I might kill myself, and, taking the revolver in hand, I man­ aged to lose any sense of words like hope or des­ pair. But in my weariness, I realized that my life had to have some meaning all the same, and would have one if only certain events, defined as desirable, were to occur. I finally accepted being so extraordinarily haunted by the names Simone and Marcelle. Since it was no use laughing, I could keep going only by accepting or feigning to imagine a phantastic compromise that would confusedly link my most disconcerting moves to theirs.
I slept in a wood during the day, and at nightfall I went to Simone's place: I passed through
the garden by climbing over the wall. My friend's bedroom was lit, and so I cast some pebbles through the window. A few seconds later she came down and almost wordlessly we headed towards
the beach. We were delighted to see one another again. It was dark out, and from time to time I lifted her dress and took hold of her cunt, but it didn't make me come-quite the opposite. She sat down and I stretched out at her feet. I soon felt that
I could not keep back my sobs, and I really cried for a long time on the sand.
"What's wrong?" asked Simone.
And she gave me a playful kick. Her foot struck the gun in my pocket and a fearful bang made us shriek at the same time. I wasn't wounded but I was up on my feet as though in a different world. Simone stood before me, frighteningly pale.
That evening we didn't even think ofjerking each other off, but we remained in an endless embrace, mouth to mouth, something we had never done before.
This is how I lived for several days: Simone and I would come home late at night and sleep in her room, where I would stay locked in until the following night. Simone would bring me food. Her mother, having no authority over her (the day of
the scandal, she had gone for a walk the instant she heard the shrieks), accepted the situation without even trying to fathom the mystery. As for the ser­ vants, money had for some time been ensuring
18
19
GEORGES BATAILLE
Story of the Eye
their devotion to Simone. In fact,
cumstances of Marcelle's confinement and even the name of the sanitarium. From the very first day, ness,
getting to her, day, brusquely slipped away:
taken with a violent desire to fuck. But we no longer thought it could be done without Marcelle, whose piercing cries kept grating our ears, were linked to our most violent desires. Thus it was that our sexual dream kept changing into a night­ mare. Marcelle's smile,
sense of shame that made her redden and, fully red, lovely blond buttocks to impure hands, mouths,
made her lock herself in the wardrobe to jerk off with such abandon that she could not help pissing-all these things warped our desires, that they endlessly racked us. Simone,
duct during the scandal had been more obscene than ever (sprawled out, herself, Simone could not forget that the unforeseen orgasm provoked by her own brazenness,
celle's howls and the nakedness of her writhing limbs, had ever managed to picture before. And her cunt would not open to me unless Marcelle's ghost,
ing, zenness overwhelming and far-reaching, sacrilege were to render everything generally dreadful and infamous.
At any rate, (nothing resembles them more than the days of flood and storm or even the suffocating gaseous
all we wo the lonel
when I tr
but dreamy
"
, '
Marcelle!" "What are you talking about?" I asked,
appOinted, She came back affectionately and said in a
gentle, when she sees us . . . making it."
,
Obviously Simone and I were sometimes
"Listen,
20
21
"You're totally insane, I m not interested-here,
a housewife and mother! I'll only do it with
legs, watered her body, to the unchaste and faintly murmuring spurt on her skin. After thus flooding her cunt,
jizm all over her face. Full of muck, in a liberating frenzy. She deeply inhaled our pun­ gent and happy odor: "You smell like Marcelle " she buoyantly confided after a hefty climax, nose under my wet ass.
and when
I felt a hot,
GEORGES BATAILLE
eruptions of volcanoes, and they never turn active except, like storms or volcanoes, with something of catastrophe or disaster)-those hearbreaking re­ gions, like Simone, in an abandon presaging only violence, allowed me to stare hypnotically, were I nothing for me now but the profound, subterra­
CHAPTER FOUR
nean empire of a Marcelle who was tormented in prison and at the mercy of nightmares. There was only one thing I understood: how utterly the orgasms ravaged the girl's face with sobs inter­ rupted by horrible shrieks.
And Simone, for her part, no longer viewed the hot, acrid come that she caused to spurt from my cock without seeing it muck up Marcelle's mouth and cunt.
"You could smack her face with your come," she confided to me, while smearing her cunt-"till it Sizzles," as she put it.
A Sunspot
Other girls and boys no longer interested us. All we could think of was Marcelle, and already we childishly imagined her hanging herself, the
secret burial, the funeral apparitions. Finally, one evening, after getting the precise information, we took our bicycles and pedaled off to the sanitarium where our friend was confined. In less than an hour, we had ridden the twenty kilometers separat­
ing us from a sort of castle within a walled park on an isolated cliff overlooking the sea. We had learned that Marcelle was in Room 8, but obviously
22
23
.:
1
we would have to get inside the building to find her. Now all we could hope for was to climb in her window after sawing through the bars, and we were at a loss how to identify her window among thirty others, when our attention was drawn to a strange apparition. We had scaled the wall and were now in the park, among trees buffeted by a violent gust, when we spied a second-story window opening and a shadow holding a sheet and fastening it to one of the bars. The sheet promptly smacked in the gusts, and the window was shut before we could recog­ nize the shadow.
It is hard to imagine the harrowing racket of that vast white sheet caught in the squall. It greatly outroared the fury of the sea or the wind in the trees. That was the first time I saw Simone racked by anything but her own lewdness: she huddled against me with a beating heart and gaped at the huge phantom raging in the night as though dementia itself had hoisted its colors on this lugu­ brious chateau.
We were motionless, Simone cowering in my arms and I half-haggard, when all at once the wind seemed to tatter the clouds, and the moon, with a revealing clarity, poured sudden light on something so bizarre and so excruciating for us that an abrupt, violent sob choked up in Simone's throat: at the center of the sheet flapping and banging in the wind, a broad wet stain glowed in the translucent moonlight . . .
A few seconds later, new black clouds plunged everything into darkness again, but I stayed on my feet, suffocating, feeling my hair in the wind, and weeping wretchedly, like Simone herself, who had collapsed in the grass, and for the first time, her body was quaking with huge, child­ like sobs.
It was our unfortunate friend, no doubt about it, it was Marcelle who had opened that light­ less window, Marcelle who had tied that stunning signal of distress to the bars of her prison. She had obviouslyjerked off in bed with such a disorder of her senses that she had entirely inundated herself, and it was then that we saw her hang the sheet from the window to let it dry.
As for myself, I was at a loss about what to do in such a park, with that bogus chateau de plaisance and its repulsively barred windows. I walked around the building, leaving Simone upset and sprawling on the grass. I had no practical goal, I just wanted to take a breath of air by myself. But then, on the side of the chateau, I stumbled upon an unbarred open window on the ground floor; I felt for the gun in my pocket and I entered cau­ tiously: it was a very ordinary parlor. An electric flashlight helped me to reach an antechamber; then a stairway. I could not distinguish anything, I did not get anywhere, the rooms were not num­ bered. Besides, I was incapable of understanding
anything, as though I were hexed: at that moment,
GEORGES BATAILLE
Story of the Eye
24
2S
_
I i
,,
'I
I could not even understand why I had the idea of removing my pants and continuing that anguish­ ing exploration only in my shirt. And yet I stripped off my clothes, piece by piece, leaving them on a chair, keeping only my shoes on. With a flashlight in my left hand and the revolver in my right hand, I wandered aimlessly, haphazardly. A rustle made me switch off my lamp quickly. I stood motionless, whiling away the time by listening to my erratic breath. Long, anxious minutes wore by without my hearing any more noise, and so I flashed my light back on, but a faint cry sent me fleeing so swiftly that I forgot my clothes on the chair.
I sensed I was being followed: so I hurriedly climbed out through the window and hid in a garden lane: but no sooner had I turned to observe what might be happening in the chateau than I spied a naked woman in the window frame; she
jumped into the park as I had done and ran off towards a thorn bush.
Nothing was more bizarre for me in those utterly thrilling moments than my nudity against the wind on the path of that unknown garden. It was as if I had left the earth, especially because the squall was as violent as ever, but warm enough to suggest a brutal entreaty. I did not know what to do with the gun which I still held in my hand, for I had no pockets left; by charging after the woman who had run past me unrecognized, I would obviously be hunting her down to kill her. The roar of the wrathful elements, the raging of the trees and the
26
sheet, also helped to prevent me from discerning anything distinct in my will or in my gestures.
All at once, I halted, out of breath: I had reached the bushes where the shadow had disap­ peared. Inflamed by my revolver, I began looking about, when suddenly it seemed as if all reality were tearing apart: a hand, moistened by saliva, had grabbed my cock and wasjerking it, a slobber­ ing, burning kiss was planted on the root of my ass,
the naked chest and legs of a woman pressed against my legs with an orgasmic jolt. I scarcely had time to spin around when come burst in the face of my wonderful Simone: clutching my revolver, I was swept up by a thrill as violent as the storm, my teeth chattered and my lips foamed, with twisted arms I gripped my gun convulsively,
and, willy-nilly, three blind, horrifying shots were fired in the direction of the chateau.
Drunk and limp, Simone and I had fled from one another and raced across the park like dogs; the squall was far too wild now for the gun­ shots to awake any of the sleeping tenants in the chateau, even if the bangs were heard on the inside. But when we instinctively looked up at Mar­ celle's window above the sheet slamming the wind, we were greatly surprised to see that one of the bullets had left a star-shaped crack in one of the
panes. The window shook, opened, and the shadow appeared a second time.
Dumbstruck, as though about to see Mar-
27
GEORGES BATAILLE
Story of the Eye
.
GEORGES BATAILLE
Story of the Eye
celIe bleed and fall dead in the windowframe we remained standing under the strange, ne�rlY motionless apparition. Because of the furious wind we were incapable of even making ourselves heard�
"What did you do with your clothes?" I asked Simone an instant later. She said she had been looking for me and, unable to track me down, she had finally gone to search the interior of t�e chateau; but before clambering through the wIndow, she had undressed, figuring she "would feel more free." And when she had come back out after me, terrified by me, she found that the wind had c�rried off her dress. Meanwhile, she kept observIng Marcelle, and it never crossed her mind to ask me why I was naked.
The girl in the window disappeared. A moment that seemed immense crawled by: she switched on the light in her room. Finally, she came back to breathe the open air and gaze at the ocean. Her sleek, pallid hair was caught in the wind, we could make out her features: she had not changed, but now there was something wild in her eyes, something restless, contrasting with the still childlike simplicity of her features. She looked thir­ teen rather than sixteen. Under her nightgown we could distinguish her thin but full body, firm' u�ob­ trusive, and as beautiful as her fixed stare.
When she finally caught sight of us, the sur- prIse seemed to restore life to her face. She called, but we couldn't hear. We beckoned. She blushed up to her ears. Simone, weeping almost, while I lov-
ingly caressed her forehead, sent her kisses, to which she responded without smiling. Next, Simone ran her hand down her belly to her beaver. Marcelle imitated her, and poising one foot on the
sill, she exposed a leg sheathed in a white silk stocking almost up to her blond cunt. Curiously, she was wearing a white belt and white stockings, whereas black-haired Simone, whose cunt was in my hand, was wearing a black belt and black
stockings. Meanwhile, the two girls were jerking off
with terse, brusque gestures, face to face in the howling night. They were nearly motionless, and tense, and their eyes gaped with unrestrained joy. But soon, some invtsible monstrosity appeared to be yanking Marcelle away from the bars, though
her left hand clutched them with all her might. We saw her tumble back into her delirium. And all that remained before us was an empty, glowing window, a rectangular hole piercing the opaque night, showing our aching eyes a world composed of
lightning and dawn.
28
29
Story of the Eye
stream of light and blood, for Marcelle could climax only by drenching herself, not with blood, but with a spurt of urine that was limpid and even illuminated for me, at first violent and jerky like hiccups, then free and relaxed and coinciding with an outburst of superhuman happiness. It is not
t astonishing tha the bleakest and most leprous
aspects of a dream are merely an urging in that direction, an obstinate waiting for totaljoy, like the vision of that glowing hole, the empty window, for example, at the very moment when Marcelle lay sprawling on the floor, endlessly inundating it.
But that day, in the rainless tempest, Simone and I, our clothing lost, were forced to leave the chateau, fleeing like animals through the hostile darkness, our imaginations haunted by the despondency that was bound to take hold of Mar­ celle again, making the wretched inmate almost an embodiment of the fury and terror that kept driv­ ing our bodies to endless debauchery. We soon found our bicycles and could offer one another the irritating and theoretically unclean sight of a naked though shod body on a machine. We pedalled rapidly, without laughing or speaking, peculiarly satisfied with our mutual presences, akin to one another in the common isolation of lewd­ ness, weariness, and absurdity.
Yet we were both literally perishing of fatigue. In the middle of a slope, Simone halted, saying she had the shivers. Our faces, backs, and
I,
,!
� CHAPTER FIVE A Trickle ofBlood
Urine is deeply associated for me with salt­ peter; and lightning, I don't know why, with an antique chamber pot of unglazed earthenware, lying abandoned one rainy autumn day on the zinc roof of a provincial wash house. Since that first night at the sanitarium, those wrenching images
were closely knit, in the obscurest part of my brain, with the cunt and the drawn and dismal expression I had sometimes caught on Marcelle's face. But then, this chaotic and dreadful landscape of my imagination was suddenly inundated by a
30
I
\
31
-j
legs were bathed in sweat, and hands over one another, our soaked and burning bodies; despite a more and more vigorous massage, flesh and clattering teeth. I stripped off one of her stockings to wipe her body, odor recalling the beds of sickness or debauchery.
Little by little, more bearable state, and lips as a token of gratitude.
I was still extremely agitated. We had ten more kilometers to go,
we obViously had to reach X by dawn. I could barely keep upright and despaired of ever reaching the end of this ride through the impossible. We had abandoned the real world,
of dressed people, was already so remote as to seem almost beyond reach. Our personal hallucination now developed as boundlessly as perhaps the total nightmare of human society, atmosphere .
A leather seat clung to Simone's bare cunt, which was inevitablyjerked by the legs pumping up and down on the spinning pedals. Furthermore, the rear wheel vanished indefinitely to my eyes, not only in the bicycle fork but virtually in the
crevice of the cyclist's naked ass: the rapid whirling of the dusty tire was also directly comparable to both the thirst in my throat and my erection,
which ultimately had to plunge into the depths of the cunt sticking to the bicycle seat. The wind had died down somewhat, was visible. And it struck me that death was the sole outcome of my erection,
killed, sonal vision was certain to be replaced by the pure stars, realizing in a cold state, detours, my sexual licentiousness: a geometric incandes­ cence (among other things, the life and death, fulgurating.
Yet, contradiction of a prolonged state of exhaustion and an absurd rigidity of my penis. Now it was difficult for Simone to see this rigidity, because of the darkness, swift rising of my left leg, stiffness by turning the pedal. Yet I felt I could see her eyes, stantly, p o i n t o f m y b o d y, more and more vehemently on the seat, pincered between her buttocks. Like myself, she had not yet drained the tempest evoked by the shamelessness of her cunt, husky moans; she was literally torn away by joy, and her nude body was hurled upon an embank­ ment with an awful scraping of steel on the pebbles
GEORGES BATAILLE Story ofthe Eye
32
33
GEORGES BATAILLE
and a piercing shriek.
I found her inert, he head hanging down, a thin trickle of blood running from the corner of her mouth. Horrified to the limit of my strength, I pulled up one arm, but it fell back inert. I threw myself upon the lifeless body, trembling with fear, and as I clutched it in an embrace, I was overcome with bloody spasms, my lower lip drooling and my teeth bared like a leering moron.
Meanwhile, Simone was slowly coming to: her arm touched me in an involuntary movement, and I quickly returned from the torpor overwhelm­ ing me after I had besmirched what I thought was a corpse. No injury, no bruise marked the body, which was still clad in the garter belt and a single stocking. I took her in my arms and carried her down the road, heedless of my fatigue; I walked as fast as I could because the day was just breaking, but only a superhuman effort allowed me to reach the villa and happily put my marvelous friend alive in her very own bed.
The sweat was pissing from my face and all over my body, my eyes were bloody and swollen, my ears screeching, my teeth chattering, my tem­ ples and my heart drumming away. But since I had
just rescued the person I loved most in the world, and since I thought we would soon be seeing Mar­ celle, I lay down next to Simone's body just as I was, soaked and full of coagulated dust, and soon I drifted off into vague nightmares.
I
CHAPTER SIX
Simone
34
35
the period following Simone's minor accident, which only left her ill. Whenever her mother came, I would step into the bathroom. Usually, I took
the first time the woman tried to enter, she was immediately stopped by her daughter:
man in there." missed before long, and I would take my place
One of the most peaceful eras of my life was
advantage of these moments to piss or even bathe;
"Don't go in," she said, "there's a naked Each time, however, the mother was dis-
GEORGES BATAILLE
again in a chair next to the sickbed. I smoked cigarettes, went through newspapers, and if there were any items about crime or violence, I would read them aloud. From time to time, I would carry a feverish Simone to the bathroom to help her pee and then I would carefully wash her on the bidet: She was extremely weak and naturally I never stroked her seriously; but nevertheless she soon delighted in having me throw eggs int� the toilet bowl, hard-boiled eggs, which sank, and shells sucked �ut in v�rious degrees to obtain varying
levels of ImmerSIon. She would sit for a long time gazing at the eggs. Then she would settle on th� toilet to view them under her cunt between the parted thighs; and finally, she would have me flush the bowl.
Another game was to crack a fresh egg on the edge of the bidet and empty it under her: sometimes she would piss on it, sometimes she had me strip naked and swallow the raw egg from the bottom of the bidet. She did promise that as soon as she was well again, she would do the same for me and also for Marcelle.
At that time, we imagined Marcelle, with her dress tucked up, but her body covered and her feet shod: we would put her in a bath tub filled with fresh eggs, and she would pee while crushing them Simone also daydreamed about my holding Mar� celle, this time with nothing on but her garter-belt and stockings, her cunt aloft, her legs bent, and
Story of the Eye
36
her head down; Simone herself, in a bathrobe drenched in hot water and thus clinging to her body but exposing her bosom, would then get up on a white enameled chair with a cork seat. I would arouse her breasts from a distance by lifting the tips on the heated barrel of a long service revolver that had been loaded and just fired (first of all, this would shake us up, and secondly, it would give the barrel a pungent smell of powder). At the same time, she would pour a jar of dazzling white creme fraiche on Marcelle's gray anus, and she would also urinate freely in her robe or, if the robe were ajar, on Marcelle's back or head, while I could piss
on Marcelle from the other side (I would certainly piss on her breasts). Furthermore, Marcelle herself could fully inundate me if she liked, for while I held her up, her thighs would be gripping my neck. And she could also stick my cock in her mouth, and what not.
It was after such dreams that Simone would ask me to bed her down on blankets by the toilet, and she would rest her head on the rim of the bowl and fix her wide eyes on the white eggs. I myself settled comfortably next to her so that our cheeks and temples might touch. We were calmed by the long contemplation. The gulping gurgle of the flushing water always amused Simone, making her
forget her obsession and ultimately restoring her high spirits.
At last, one day at six, when the oblique
37
GEORGES BATAILLE
sunshine was directly lighting the bathroom, a half-sucked egg was suddenly invaded by the water, and after filling up with a bizarre noise, it was ship­ wrecked before our very eyes. This incident was so extraordinarily meaningful to Simone that her body tautened and she had a long climax, virtually drinking my left eye between her lips. Then, with­ out leaving the eye, which was sucked as obsti­ nately as a breast, she sat down, wrenching my head toward her on the seat, and she pissed noisily on the bobbing eggs with total vigor and satisfaction.
As of now she could be regarded as cured, and she demonstrated her joy by speaking to me at length about various intimate things, whereas ordinarily she never spoke about herself or me. Smiling, she admitted that an instant ago, she had felt a strong urge to relieve herself completely, but had held back for the sake of greater pleasure. Truly, the urge bloated her belly and particularly made her cunt swell up like a ripe fruit; and when I passed my hand under the sheets and her cunt gripped it firm and tight, she remarked that she was still in the same state and that it was inordinately pleasant. Upon my asking what the word urinate reminded her of, she replied: terminate, the eyes, with a razor, something red, the sun. And egg?A calf's eye, because of the color of the head (the calf's head) and also because the white of the egg was the white of the eye, and the yolk the eyeball.
The eye, she said, was egg-shaped. She asked me to promise that when we could go outdoors, I would
38
Story of the Eye
fling eggs into the sunny air and break them with shots from my gun, and when I replied that it was out of the question, she talked on and on, trying to reason me into it. She played gaily with words, speaking about broken eggs, and then broken eyes, and her arguments became more and more unreasonable.
She added that, for her, the smell of the ass was the smell of powder, a jet of urine a "gunshot seen as a light;" each of her buttocks was a peeled hard-boiled egg. We agreed to send for hot soft­ boiled eggs without shells, for the toilet, and she promised that when she now sat on the seat, she would ease herself fully on those eggs. Her cunt was still in my hand and in the state she had described; and after her promise, a storm began brewing little by little in my innermost depth-I was reflecting more and more.
It is fair to say that the room of a bedridden invalid is j ust the right place for gradually rediscov­ ering childhood lewdness. I gently sucked Simone's breast while waiting for the soft-boiled eggs, and she ran her fingers through my hair. Her mother was the one who brought us the eggs, but I didn't even turn around, I assumed it was a maid, and I kept on sucking the breast contentedly. Nor was I ultimately disturbed when I recognized the voice, but since she remained and I couldn't pass up even one instant of my pleasure, I thought of pulling
down my pants as for a call of nature, not ostenta­ tiously, but merely hoping she would leave and
39
GEORGES BATAILLE
delighted at going beyond all limits. When she finally decided to walk out and vainly ponder over her dismay elsewhere, ering,
bathroom. Simone settled on the toilet, each ate one of the hot eggs with salt. With the three that were left, ing them between her buttocks and thighs, slowly dropped them into the water one by one. Finally, white, seeing them peeled, her beautiful cunt), sion with a plopping noise akin to that of the soft­ boiled eggs.
But I ought to say that nothing of the sort ever happened between us again, exception, no further eggs ever came up in our conversations; nevertheless,
notice one or more, when our eyes met in a silent and murky in terrogation .
At any rate, thistale, thatthis
without an answer indefinitely, this unexpected answer is necessary for measuring the immensity of the void that yawned before us, without our knowledge, tainments with the eggs.
and
I
CHAPTER SEVEN
Marcelle aft and
By a sort of shared modesty, had always avoided talking about the most impor­ tant objects of our obsessions. That was why the word egg was dropped from our vocabulary, never spoke about the kind of interest we had in one another, to us. We spent all of Simone's illness in a bed­ room, to Marcelle, the end of the last class in school, talked about was the day we would return to the
40
41
GEORGES BATAILLE
StoryoftheEye
chateau. I had prepared a small cord, a thick, knot­ ted rope, and a hacksaw, all of which Simone examined with the keenest interest, peering atten­ tively at each knot and section of the rope. I also managed to find the bicycles, which I had con­ cealed in a thicket the day of our tumble, and I meticulously oiled the various parts, the gears, ball bearings, sprockets, etc. I then attached a pair of toe-clips to my own bicycle so that I could seat one of the girls in back. Nothing could be easier, at least for the time being, than to have Marcelle living in Simone's room secretly like myself. We would simply be forced to share the bed (and we would inevitably have to use the same bathtub, etc.).
But a good six weeks passed before Simone could pedal after me reasonably well to the sanitar­ ium. Like the previous time, we left at night: in fact, I still kept out of sight during the day, and this time there was certainly every reason for remain­ ing inconspicuous. I was in a hurry to arrive at the place that I dimly regarded as a "haunted castle," due to the association of the words sanitarium and castle, and also the memory of the phantom sheet and the thought of the lunatics in a huge silent dwelling at night. But now, to my surprise, even though I was ill at ease anywhere in the world, I felt at bottom as if I were going home. And that was indeed my impression when we jumped over the park wall and saw the huge building stretching
out ahead beyond the trees: only Marcelle's win­ dow was still aglow and wide open. Taking some pebbles from a lane, we threw them into her chamber and they promptly summoned the girl, who quickly recognized us and obeyed our gesture of putting a finger on our lips. But of course we also held up the knotted rope to let her understand what we were doing this time. I hurled the cord up to her with the aid of a rock, and she threw it back after looping it around a bar. There were no diffi­ culties, the big rope was hoisted by Marcelle and fastened to the bar, and I scrambled all the way up.
Marcelle flinched when I tried to kiss her. She merely watched me very attentively as I started filing away at a bar. Since she only had a bathrobe on, I softly told her to get dressed so she could come with us. She simply turned her back to pull flesh-colored stockings over her legs, securing them on a belt of bright red ribbons that brought out an ass with a perfect shape and an exception­ ally fine skin. I continued filing, bathed in sweat because of both my effort and what I saw. Her back still towards me, Marcelle pulled a blouse over long, flat hips, whose straight lines were admirably terminated by the ass when she had one foot on a chair. She did not slip on any panties, only a pleated, gray woolen skirt and a sweater with very tiny black, white, and red checks. After stepping into flat-heeled shoes, she came over to the window
42
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GEORGES BATAILLE
Story of the Eye
and sat down close enough to me so that my one hand could caress her head, her lovely short hair, so sleek and so blond that it actually looked pale. She gazed at me affectionately and seemed touched by my wordless j oy at seeing her.
"Now we can get married, can't we?" she finally said, gradually won over. "It's very bad here, we suffer . . . ."
At that point, I would never have dreamt for even an instant that I could do anything but devote the rest of my life to such an unreal apparition. She let me give her a long kiss on her forehead and her eyes, and when one of her hands happened to touch my leg, she looked at me wide-eyed, but before withdrawing her hand, she ran it over my clothes absent-mindedly.
After long work, I succeeded in cutting through the filthy bar. I pulled it aside with all my strength, which left enough space for her to squeeze through. She did so, and I helped her des­ cend, climbing down underneath, which forced me to see the top of her thigh and even to touch it when I supported her. Reaching the ground, she snuggled in my arms and kissed my mouth with all her strength, while Simone, sitting at our feet, her
eyes wet with tears, flung her hands around Mar­ celle's legs, hugging her knees and thighs. At first, she only rubbed her cheek against the thigh, but
then, unable to restrain a huge surge of joy, she finally yanked the body apart, pressing her lips to the cunt, which she greedily devoured.
However, Simone and I realized that Marcelle grasped absolutely nothing of what was going on and she was actually incapable of telling one situa­ tion from another. Thus she smiled, imagining how aghast the director of the "haunted castle" would be to see her strolling through the garden with her husband. Also, she was scarcely aware of Simone's existence; mirthfully, she at times mis­ took her for a wolf because of her black hair, her silence, and because Simone's head was docilely rubbing Marcelle's thigh, like a dog nuzzling his master's leg. Nonetheless, when I spoke to Marcelle about the "haunted castle," she did not ask me to explain; she understood that this was the building where she had been wickedly locked up. And when­
ever she thought of it, her terror pulled her away from me as though she had seen something pass through the trees. I watched her uneasily, and since my face was already hard and somber, I too frightened her, and almost at the same instant she asked me to protect her when the Cardinal returned.
We were lying in the moonlight by the edge of a forest. We wanted to rest a while during our trip back and we especially wanted to embrace and
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GEORGES BATAILLE
stare at Marcelle. "But who is the Cardinal?" Simone asked
her.
"The man who locked me in the wardrobe," said Marcelle. �
"But why is he a cardinal?" I cried.
She replied: "Because he is the priest of the guillotine."
I now recalled Marcelle's dreadful fear when she left the wardrobe, and particularly two details: I had been wearing a blinding red carnival novelty, a Jacobine liberty cap; furthermore, because of the deep cuts in a girl I had raped, my face, clothes, hands-all parts of me were stained with blood.
Thus, in her terror, Marcelle confused a cardinal, a priest of the guillotine, with the blood­ smeared executioner wearing a liberty cap: a bizarre overlapping of piety and abomination for priests explained the confusion, which, for me, has remained attached to both my hard reality and the horror continually aroused by the compulsiveness of my actions.
CHAPTER EIGHT
.j I
The Open Eyes of t h e De adwom an
For a moment, I was totally helpless after this unexpected discovery; and so was Simone. Marcelle was now half asleep in my arms, so that we didn't know what to do. Her dress was pulled up, exposing the gray beaver between red ribbons
at the end of long thighs, and it had thereby become an extraordinary hallucination in a world so frail that a mere breath might have changed us into light. We didn't dare budge, and all we desired was for that unreal immobility to last as long as
possible, and for Marcelle to fall sound asleep. My mind reeled in some kind of exhausting
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.�I
r
GEORGES BATAILLE
StoryoftheEye
vertigo, have been if Simone, cheted between my eyes and Marcelle's nudity, not made a sudden, her thighs, hold back any longer.
She soaked her dress in a long convulsion that fully denuded her and promptly made me spurt a wave ofjizm in my clothes.
I stretched out in the grass,
large, the milky way, and heavenly urine across the cranial vault formed by the ring of constellations: that open crack at the summit of the sky, cal vapors shining in the immensity (in empty space, where they er's crow in total silence), eye, rock, ity. The nauseating crow of a rooster in particular coincided with my own life, that Cardinal, discordant shrieks he provoked in the wardrobe, and also because one cuts the throats of roosters.
To others, because decent people have gelded eyes. That is why they fear lewdness. They are never frightened
by the crowing of a rooster or when strolling under a starry heaven. In general, sures of the flesh" only on condition that they be insipid .
But as of then, did not care for what is known as "pleasures of the flesh" because they really are insipid; I cared only for what is classified as "dirty." On the other hand, I was not even satisfied with the usual debauchery, because the only thing it dirties is debauchery itself, lime and perfectly pure is left intact by it. My kind of debauchery soils not only my body and my thoughts, course, which merely serves as a backdrop.
I associate the moon with the vaginal blood of mothers,
Sickening stench . . . . I loved Marcelle without mourning her. If
she died, if I sometimes locked myself up in a cellar for hours at a time preCisely because I was thinking ab out Marcelle, pared to start all over again, ing her hair, she is dead, trophes that bring me to her at times when I least expect it. Otherwise, the least kinship now between the dead girl and
and
sa
flat ro
or my o bounci
be
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GEORGES BATAILLE
Story ofthe Eye
myself, which makes most of my days inevitably dreary.
will merely report here that Marcelle hanged herself after a dreadful incident. She rec­ ognized the huge bridal wardrobe, and her teeth started chattering: she instantly realized upon looking at me that I was the man she called the Cardinal, and when she began shrieking, there was no other way for me to stop that desperate howling than to leave the room. By the time Simone and I returned she was hanging inside the wardrobe . . . .
I cut the rope, but she was quite dead. We laid her out on the carpet. Simone saw I was get­ ting a hard-on and she startedjerking me off. I too stretched out on the carpet. It was impossible to otherwise; Simone was still a virgin, and I fucked her for the first time, next to the corpse. It was very painful for both of us, but we were glad precisely because it was painful. Simone stood up and gazed at the corpse. Marcelle had become a total stranger, and in fact, so had Simone at that moment. I no longer cared at all for either Simone or Marcelle. Even if someone had told me it was I who had just died, I would not even have been astonished, so alien were these events to me. I observed Simone, and, as I precisely recall, my only pleasure was in the smutty things Simone was doing, for the corpse was very irritating to her, as though she could not bear the thought that this
creature, so similar to her, could not feel her any­ more. The open eyes were more irritating than anything else. Even when Simone drenched the face, those eyes, extraordinarily, did not close. We were perfectly calm, all three of us, and that was the most hopeless part of it. Any boredom in the world is linked, for me, to that moment and, above all, to an obstacle as ridiculous as death. But that won't prevent me from thinking back to that time with no revulsion and even with a sense of com­ plicity. Basically, the lack of excitement made everything far more absurd, and thus Marcelle was closer to me dead than in her lifetime, inasmuch as absurd existence, so I imagine, has all the prerogatives.
As for the fact that Simone dared to piss on the corpse, whether in boredom or, at worst, in irritation: it mainly goes to prove how impossible it was for us to understand what was happening, and of course, it is no more understandable today than back then. Simone, being truly incapable of con­ ceiving death such as one normally considers it, was frightened and furiOUS, but in no way awe­ struck. Marcelle belonged to us so deeply in our isolation that we could not see her as j ust another corpse. Nothing about her death could be mea­ sured by a common standard, and the contradic­ tory impulses overtaking us in this circumstance neutralized one another, leaving us blind and, as it were, very remote from anything we touched, in a
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GEORGES BATAILLE
rI
world where gestures have no carrying power, like voices in a space that is absolutely soundless.
52
� CHAPTER NINE LewdAnimals
To avoid the bother of a police investiga­ tion, we instantly took off for Spain, where Simone was counting on our disappearing with the help of a fabulously rich Englishman, who had offered to support her and would be more likely than anyone else to show interest in our plight.
The villa was abandoned in the middle of the night. We had no trouble stealing a boat, reach­ ing an obscure point on the Spanish coast, and burning up the craft with the aid of two drums of gasoline we had taken along, as a precautionary
53
-I
measure, from the garage of the villa. Simone left me concealed in a wood during the day and went to look for the Englishman in San Sebastian. She only came back at nightfall, but driving a magnifi­ cent automobile, with suitcases full of linen and rich clothing.
Simone said that Sir Edmond would join us in Madrid and all day long he had been plying her with the most detailed questions about Marcelle's death, making her draw diagrams and sketches. Finally he had told a servant to buy a wax manne­ quin with a blonde wig; he had then laid the figure out on the floor and asked Simone to urinate on its face, on the open eyes, in the same position as she had urinated on the eyes of the corpse: during all that time, Sir Edmond had not even touched her.
However, there had been a great change in Simone after Marcelle's suicide-she kept staring into space all the time, looking as if she belonged to something other than the terrestrial world, where almost everything bored her; or if she was still attached to this world, then purely by way of orgasms, that were rare, but incomparably more violent than before. These orgasms were as differ­ ent from normal climaxes as, say, the mirth of sav­ age Africans from that of Occidentals. In fact, though the savages may sometimes laugh as mod­ erately as whites, they also have long-lasting jags,
with all parts of the body in violent release, and
GEORGES BATAILLE
54
Story of the Eye
they go whirling willy-nilly, flailing their arms about wildly, shaking their bellies, necks, and chests, and chortling and gulping horribly. As for Simone, she would first open uncertain eyes, at some lewd and dismal sight . . . .
For example, Sir Edmond had a cramped, windowless pigsty, where one day he locked up a petite and scrumptious streetwalker from Madrid; wearing only cami-knickers, she collapsed in a pool of liquid manure under the bellies of the grunting swine. Once the door was shut, Simone had me fuck her on and on, in front of that door, with her ass in the mud, under a fine drizzle of rain, while Sir Edmond jerked off.
Gasping and slipping away from me, Simone grabbed her own ass in both hands and threw back her head, which banged violently against the ground; she tensed·breathlessly for a few seconds, pulling with all her might on the fingernails buried in her ass, then tore herself away at one swoop and thrashed about on the ground like a headless chicken, hurting herself with a terrible bang on the
door fittings. Sir Edmond gave her his wrist to bite on and allay the spasm that kept shaking her, and I saw that her face was smeared with saliva and blood.
After these huge fits, she always came to nestle in my arms; she settled her little ass comfort­ ably in my large hands and remained there for a
55
GEORGES BATAILLE
Story of the Eye
long time without moving or speaking, huddled like a little girl, but always somber.
Sir Edmond deployed his ingenuity at pro­ viding us with obscene spectacles at random, but Simone still preferred bullfights. There were actu­ ally three things about bullfights that fascinated her: the first, when the bull comes hurtling out of the bullpen like a big rat; the second, when its horns plunge all the way into the flank of a mare; the third, when that ludicrous, raw-boned mare gallops across the arena, lashing out unseasonably and dragging a huge, vile bundle of bowels between her thighs in the most dreadful wan colors, a pearly white, pink, and gray. Simone's heart throbbed fastest when the exploding bladder dropped its mass of mare's urine on the sand in one quick plop.
She was on tenterhooks from start to finish at the bullfight, in terror (which of course mainly expressed a violent desire) at the thought of seeing the toreador hurled up by one of the monstrous lunges of the horns when the bull made its endless, blindly raging dashes at the void of colored cloths.
And there is something else I ought to say: When the bull makes its quick, brutal, thrusts over and over again into the matador's cape, barely grazing the erect line of the body, any spectator has that feeling of total and repeated lunging typical of the game of coitus. The utter nearness of death is also
felt in the same way. But these series of prodigious passes are rare. Thus, each time they occur, they unlease a veritable delirium in the arena, and it is well kn own that at such thrilling instants th e women jerk off by merely rubbing their thighs together.
Apropos bullfights, Sir Edmond once told Simone that until quite recently, certain virile Spaniards, mostly occasional amateur toreadors, used to ask the caretaker of the arena to bring them the fresh, roasted balls of one of the first bulls to be killed. They received them at their own seats, in the front row of the arena, and ate them while watching the killing of the next few bulls. Simone took a keen interest in this tale, and since we were attending the first major bullfight of the year that Sunday, she begged Sir Edmond to get her the balls of the first bull, but added one condition: they had to be raw.
"I say," objected Sir Edmond, "w?atever d� you want with raw balls? You certaInly don t intend to eat raw balls now, do you?"
"I want to have them before me on a plate," concluded Simone.
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� CHAPTER TEN Granero'8 Eye
On May 7, 1922, the toreadors La Rosa, Lalanda, and Granero were to fight in the arena of Madrid; the last two were renowned as the best matadors in Spain, and Granero was generally considered superior to L

I did, but it seemed like you said the reason we shouldn't care about Libya is because of Iraq. And then turned around and said this isn't like Iraq, even though it is clearly like Iraq. In other words, you were mad because this is just like Iraq, and because it isn't like Iraq.

>> ^Ryjkyj:

>> ^GeeSussFreeK:
>> ^Ryjkyj:
Give me a fucking break.
If anything we should be pissed that he continued the bullshit in Iraq and Afghanistan. Focusing on Libya is just distracting from MAJOR, LONG TERM problems.
The UN, including America, is in Libya to prevent civilians from being murdered for protesting their government. Maybe someday someone will show that we shouldn't have done it but this video is pathetic journalism that distracts from larger and more pressing issues.
It's fucking bullshit.
Upvote to illuminate ignorance.

You mean like Iraq? We didn't already learn that lesson? I don't see how the UN removes that previous lesson...to error in crowds don't make it any less an error. Are you saying that whenever a country kills its citizens, it should be bombed? If so, then you approve of Iraq.
Edit, as an addendum, I am not sure this is an impeachable offence.
""The President, Vice President, and all civil officers of the United States" who may only be impeached and removed for "treason, bribery, or other high crimes and misdemeanors"." Being that the context of the War Powers Act is vague and congress hasn't repealed it, I don't see any real justification for the charge of treason or high crimes, just playing by the rules of poorly formed laws.

Hey Geesuss,
Next time, when you're going to reply to one of my comments, try reading it first. Christ on a shitwagon, you even quoted me as saying that the Libya thing is just distracting from the major, long term problem in Iraq. Why am I even repeating myself?.

>> ^Ryjkyj:

>> ^GeeSussFreeK:
>> ^Ryjkyj:
Give me a fucking break.
If anything we should be pissed that he continued the bullshit in Iraq and Afghanistan. Focusing on Libya is just distracting from MAJOR, LONG TERM problems.
The UN, including America, is in Libya to prevent civilians from being murdered for protesting their government. Maybe someday someone will show that we shouldn't have done it but this video is pathetic journalism that distracts from larger and more pressing issues.
It's fucking bullshit.
Upvote to illuminate ignorance.

You mean like Iraq? We didn't already learn that lesson? I don't see how the UN removes that previous lesson...to error in crowds don't make it any less an error. Are you saying that whenever a country kills its citizens, it should be bombed? If so, then you approve of Iraq.
Edit, as an addendum, I am not sure this is an impeachable offence.
""The President, Vice President, and all civil officers of the United States" who may only be impeached and removed for "treason, bribery, or other high crimes and misdemeanors"." Being that the context of the War Powers Act is vague and congress hasn't repealed it, I don't see any real justification for the charge of treason or high crimes, just playing by the rules of poorly formed laws.

Hey Geesuss,
Next time, when you're going to reply to one of my comments, try reading it first. Christ on a shitwagon, you even quoted me as saying that the Libya thing is just distracting from the major, long term problem in Iraq. Why am I even repeating myself?.

>> ^GeeSussFreeK:

>> ^Ryjkyj:
Give me a fucking break.
If anything we should be pissed that he continued the bullshit in Iraq and Afghanistan. Focusing on Libya is just distracting from MAJOR, LONG TERM problems.
The UN, including America, is in Libya to prevent civilians from being murdered for protesting their government. Maybe someday someone will show that we shouldn't have done it but this video is pathetic journalism that distracts from larger and more pressing issues.
It's fucking bullshit.
Upvote to illuminate ignorance.

You mean like Iraq? We didn't already learn that lesson? I don't see how the UN removes that previous lesson...to error in crowds don't make it any less an error. Are you saying that whenever a country kills its citizens, it should be bombed? If so, then you approve of Iraq.
Edit, as an addendum, I am not sure this is an impeachable offence.
""The President, Vice President, and all civil officers of the United States" who may only be impeached and removed for "treason, bribery, or other high crimes and misdemeanors"." Being that the context of the War Powers Act is vague and congress hasn't repealed it, I don't see any real justification for the charge of treason or high crimes, just playing by the rules of poorly formed laws.


Hey Geesuss,

Next time, when you're going to reply to one of my comments, try reading it first. Christ on a shitwagon, you even quoted me as saying that the Libya thing is just distracting from the major, long term problem in Iraq. Why am I even repeating myself?.

>> ^Ryjkyj:

Give me a fucking break.
If anything we should be pissed that he continued the bullshit in Iraq and Afghanistan. Focusing on Libya is just distracting from MAJOR, LONG TERM problems.
The UN, including America, is in Libya to prevent civilians from being murdered for protesting their government. Maybe someday someone will show that we shouldn't have done it but this video is pathetic journalism that distracts from larger and more pressing issues.
It's fucking bullshit.
Upvote to illuminate ignorance.


You mean like Iraq? We didn't already learn that lesson? I don't see how the UN removes that previous lesson...to error in crowds don't make it any less an error. Are you saying that whenever a country kills its citizens, it should be bombed? If so, then you approve of Iraq.

Edit, as an addendum, I am not sure this is an impeachable offence.

""The President, Vice President, and all civil officers of the United States" who may only be impeached and removed for "treason, bribery, or other high crimes and misdemeanors"." Being that the context of the War Powers Act is vague and congress hasn't repealed it, I don't see any real justification for the charge of treason or high crimes, just playing by the rules of poorly formed laws.