[Fragment 32]

A.E.M. Baumann

© 2018



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About The Knossian Oracles


Note to the Reader



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


      The Incantations of Isis and

            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

            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




      The Occult







      Table of Fragments

      An Incomplete Bibliography




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Garden, temple: some may find quaint humor in the use of such metaphors. Yet undeniably they continually maintain a place within the aesthetic. As, even for the obviousness of it, there is something inherently appropriate to calling the belle chose a flower, of identifying the one with the other, and the other with the one; something that prevents the association from collapsing irreversibly into the trite: something that ever arcs above, be it verbal or visual in the making, whether writing of pudenda as flowers, or painting flowers as pudenda.

But why? Like a flower the belle chose is something to be gazed upon; something to stare at and enjoy. And like a flower it is something that should be brought to the nose, not only to enter the field of its scents, but also to sneak those universally sought yet somewhat closeted touches, the brushing, the feeling that is petals upon a snout. (And is not the reticence, the tinge of social gaffe, the hint of embarrassment that first accompanies pressing your nose into a flower the same trepidation that paints touching your nose to naked labia, or even into the scents of an offered bosom? Few would deny the pleasure involved, or the desire to do it; yet, being seen in the act makes us hesitate.) There are the physical similarities, of course. And those similarities go beyond manifold forms, complexities, or analogous structures. There is also motion; for in the same way that watching a flower unfold is peculiarly captivating, is strangely magical – whether it be for its grace, or for implied and botanical meanings of both exhibition and invitation –, watching the blossom of the belle chose, the slow unfolding, the delicately parting lips of Salomé’s sex, is equally if not superiorly captivating, mystical, simultaneously exhibition and invitation.