Book//mark – Irène | Albert de Routisie (Louis Aragon) 1928
”Don’t wake me, for God’s sake…”
”Don’t be afraid of moving your face close to this place–and already your tongue, the chatterer, is restless–this place of delight and darkness, this patio of ardor, in its pearly limits, the fine image of pessimism. O cleft, moist and soft cleft, dear dizzying abyss.”
”It is in this human wake that vessels finally lost, their engines now unserviceable, returning to the infancy of voyages, hoist the sail of despair to a jury-mast. Between the curly hairs how beautiful the flesh is: beneath this embroidery well divided by the amorous axe, the skin amorously appears, pure, foaming, milky. And the folds of the labia majora, joined at first, gape. Charming lips, your mouth is like that of a face leaning over a sleeper, not transverse and parallel to all the mouths in the world, but fine and long and forming a cross with the speaking lips that test it in their silence, game for a lengthy punctilious kiss, adorable lips which gave kisses a new and terrible direction, a meaning forever perverted.”
Albert de Routisie, Irene, etchings by André Masson, 1928
“And when she’s alone again, as truly alone in the world as she’s always felt herself to be, she looks at herself in a bamboo-framed mirror. Beautiful face, aglow with the taste of carnal pleasure, disdainful and avid … and above all an indefinable look in which can be sensed unspecified danger, sensuality triumphant and a sort of intoxicating vulgarity. She likes what she sees … around her drifts a great brunette fragrance, scent of happy brunette, in which the idea of others dissolves.”
“It sometimes happens that pleasure blows anywhere it damn well chooses.”
“Bodies, bodies, bodies of all the people around, my nailed down hands were tearing off your clothes, tearing off the clothes that revealed your damning curves.”
“I’m going to scream I’m screaming brutes sons of sows buggered by prayer stools abortions of dirty underpants latrine sludge ladders in whores’ stockings menial toads purulent mucosa vermin let go of me rhododendron-blight armpit-hairs candles louse-clippings rat-grease shavings shavings black dejecta let go of me I’ll kill you I’ll crush you I’ll rip off your balls I’ll chew your nose I’ll I’ll trample you.”
Albert de Routisie, Irene, etchings by André Masson, 1928
“Dead dead so they’re going to wake me up they wake me. Help me waterfalls whirlwinds cyclones. The onyx the depths of mirrors the hole in the pupil mourning dirt photography sneaks crime ebony betel man-faced African sheep priestly rabble help me cuttlefIsh-ink smegma jiggers decayed teeth north winds plague help me excrement and melancholy thick snail-slime paranoia fear come to me from the hissing shadows from the cavalcades of conflagrations of coal-towns and the peatbogs and the stinking exhalations of railways in brick cities everything that resembles the cosmetics of moonless nights everything that tears apart in front of the eyes into spots into flies into cinders into mirages of death into howls into despair cachou-spittle crabs of liquorice rages magic residues muscats seals colloidal gold bottomless pit. Help me blackness.
If you’ve loved just once in the world don’t wake me if you’ve loved!”
Louis Aragon, Irene’s Cunt / Le Con d’Irene, 1928
tr. Alexis Lykiard
First published under the pseudonym Albert de Routisie
illustrated with etchings by André Masson
Also:
Days [ ) In the Zone where Black and White Clash | Louis Aragon, 1926
Η τέχνη της ηδονής | Louis Aragon, 1921
These tumours are dressed in black petticoats, no doubt intended to cast some uncertainty on their sex. But where those petticoats barely close, one notices, through a half open tear, a pale and thin tool hypocritically twisted around a rosary. It is a group of young Catholics
The Adventures of Jean-Fuck the Cock / Louis Aragon / 1929
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