[Fragment 23]

A.E.M. Baumann

© 2018

hatterscabinet@gmail.com

 

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About The Knossian Oracles


 

Note to the Reader

Epigraphs

 

The Knossian Oracles

      Περὶ Ποιητικῆς . . .

            1   2   3

      Daedalus in Tartarus

            4   5   6

      L'Origine, Salomé I

            7   8   9   10   11   12   13   14   15

            16   17

      L'Origine, Salomé II

            18   19   20   21   22   23   24

      The Night Sea Crossing

            25   26   27   28   29   30

      The Garden of Venus

            31

      The Incantations of Isis and
      Osiris

            32   33   34   35   36   37   38   39

      Imago Dei

            40   41   42   43   44   45   46

      The Seven Dreams of Paris

            47   48   49   50   51   52

      The Axiom of Maria
      Prophetissa

            53   54   55   56   57   58   59   60

            61   62   63   64   65   66   67   68

            69   70   71   72   73   74   75   76

            77   78   79   80   81   82   83

 

And the Light Falls, Remir

      Mystery

      Arcanum

      Alchemy

      The Occult

      Love

      Art

      Grace

 

Notes

      Translations

      Table of Fragments

      An Incomplete Bibliography

 

 


 

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One night, I made a noise too loud, and your eyes opened.

“Don’t move.”

“What?”

“Don’t move. Stay like you are.”

“Why?”

“Just keep still.”

“What are you doing?”

“Sketching your breast. You left the closet light on, and the glow is playing on the underside in a curious way.”

“Oh.

O.K.

Let’s see what you’ve got.”

“Just a sketch. Some tea in a clear mug. Something jotted hastily in a notebook before being caught.”

“Show me.”

“O.K.

‘The windows are dark. The hazelwood in the fireplace has become allusive, orange-tongued embers. I write this quickly, not wanting you to see. You are upstairs, just out of your bath – the pipes are silent again. In a minute or two you’ll come down, most likely wearing your purple robe, which you think feels delicious about you. I’ve been watching the glow of the fire through the glass teacups – that saffron tea you make, heavy with honey. I think I can smell your skin in the air. (Have you yet guessed that you did not misplace the sash, but that I hid it?)’”