Now a curse upon Because and his kin! May Because be accursed for ever! If Will stops and cries Why, invoking Because, then Will stops & does nought. If Power asks why, then is Power weakness. Also reason is a lie; for there is a factor infinite & unknown; & all their words are skew-wise. Enough of Because! Be he damned for a dog! But ye, o my people, rise up & awake!
Yes, that’s very nice, I know that you’re conjuring up some wonderful theoretical thingamajig, but Samantha, would you fuck me now, please?
Now cometh from every side at once a voice, terribly great, crying: Close the veil; the great blasphemy hath been uttered; the face of my Mother is scarred by the nails of the devil. Shut the book, destroy the breaker of the seal!
He looks stunned, but he keeps smiling. “You want me to –”
Now it’s my turn to smile. “I know, I’m a fucking pervert. You think you can handle it?”
Xnoubis, Tarot Erotica: Tau
These, dear girl, are for you. They form this pleasant book. Now strip yourself and get a candle; lunge in front of a looking-glass and read and frig alternately. If you are grown up, a dog or a man to suck you saves labour—of any sort—and time. But I want you to swim in a perfect ocean of fuck as you read—and please God if we ever meet—what ho!
It is now no secret that the famous legend of the “Russian Soldiers,” that wonderful story of a million and a half Russian troops (with horses and artillery) smuggled through England in the dead of the night, was put about by the secret service to try to check the panic caused by the collapse at Mons. It was quite useless to point out to the English people that Archangel is served by a single line of rail, and that to ship even 10,000 troops would have strained the resources of the line for an entire summer.
Aleister Crowley, “Three Great Hoaxes of the War” in Vanity Fair
Had nature taken her course, I should probably now be sleeping in a quiet grave—and my soul might be in the regions of the blessed. But the tempter came, and dazzled me with prospects of endless happiness—and I succumbed!
I could barely keep upright and despaired of ever reaching the end of this ride through the impossible. We had abandoned the real world, the one made up solely of dressed people, and the time elapsed since then 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, for instance, with earth, sky, and atmosphere.
They longed for philosophy, for synthesis. The erstwhile happiness of pure withdrawal each into his own discipline was now felt to be inadequate. Here and there a scholar broke through the barriers of his specialty and tried to advance into the terrain of universality. Some dreamed of a new alphabet, a new language of symbols through which they could formulate and exchange their new intellectual experiences.