[Fragment 35]

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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I have seen these things.

These things have happened.

I have seen her at the bay window, flopped naked onto the cushions of the rattan great-chair, her legs splayed, her fingers spreading lips to expose her sex to whatever demi-gods watched from outside.

I have come late to bed and entered a room aglow with moonlight, and found her lying asleep and unclothed, the bed covers upon the floor, her legs wide, her vulva dark and swollen, a stain of sweat on the sheet; her eyes a’twitch with dream energies; her chest panting; sounds coming out from her at times distantly like a song, at times like incantation.

I woke one morning from fitful dreams, my penis erect, my groin smeared with the moonwater that flows from her sex. A noise drew me to the window where I saw her outside, back against the apple tree, laughing out loud in voice and body, her hips thrust contortively forward.

I was lying on the floor, paper and books about me, struggling with phrases lying dead at the tip of my pen. She stood at the end of the hallway, staring at the dance of the air, a hand in her hair, a hand upon her breast. She met my eyes, started toward me, in precise and immediate motions kicked off her sandals, dropped her bracelet, her earrings, unclasped her necklace, shed her blouse, her shorts, her silks; dropped rather than sat upon the sofa