Any penetration is a grace offered to you by the person you’re inside; it is an intimate way of inclusion, a gift. No matter how hard or rough the fuck, no matter who is the top or bottom or anything else, no matter the genders of the participants, this is a world in which opening one’s self to someone else is always somewhere on the continuum between a gesture of welcome and an office of trust, and you should be grateful.
S Bear Bergman, Butch is a Noun [Amazon, Bookshop, Publisher, Local Library]
He was crying in despair. Then he spoke aloud, to himself, in English. “Who are you?” he said. “And where do you belong?” His own body stared back at him; but he could not recognize it as his own. It was alien, and frightening.
Walter Tevis, The Man Who Fell to Earth [Amazon, Local Library]
You told me, Sleep, I’ll wake you in the morning. I asked, What is morning? and you said, When everyone who fucked with me is dead.
Tamsyn Muir, Nona the Ninth [Amazon, Bookshop, Publisher, Local Library] (The Locked Tomb Series Book 3)
Its handy to have friends who are weird as you are.
G. Willow Wilson, & al., Ms Marvel, Vol 2: Generation Why
Who may know his complete likeness, so much being hidden? The Astrals, Elementals, Mind, Soul? We realize something of the body’s mechanism and of the affectiveness of the whole; at its interrelations we may only guess. Every fact gleaned shows us merely greater ignorance of ourselves. Therefore, speak not of God, speak for yourself alone, for when you know yourself you will know your gods.
Austin Osman Spare, The Logomanchy of Zos
After these came the Periphallia, a troop of men who carried long poles with Phalli hung at the end of them; they were crowned with violets and ivy, and they walked repeating obscene songs. These men were called Phallophori; these must not be confounded with the Ithyphalli, who, in indecent dresses and sometimes in women’s costume, with garlanded heads and hands full of flowers, and pretending to be drunk, wore at their waist-bands monstrous Phalli made of wood or leather; among the Ithyphalli also must be counted those who assumed the costume of Pan or the Satyrs. There were other persons, called Lychnophori, who had care of the mystic winnowing-fan, an emblem whose presence was held indispensable in these kinds of festivals. Hence the epithet ‘Lychnite’, given to Bacchus.
Richard Francis Burton & Leonard C Smithers, Priapeia, Introduction
That poem of Browning owes much of its haunting charm to this very circumstance, that the reader is never told who Childe Roland is, or why he wants to get to the Dark Tower, or what he expects to find when he does get there. There is a skillfully constructed atmosphere of Giants, and Ogres, and Hunchbacks, and the rest of the apparatus of fairy-tales; but there is no trace of the influence of Bædeker in the style. Now this is really very irritating to anybody who happens to be seriously concerned to get to that tower. I remember, as a boy, what misery I suffered over this poem. Had Browning been alive, I think I would have sought him out, so seriously did I take the Quest.
Aleister Crowley, Helena Petrovna Blavatsky, Liber LXXI, The Voice of the Silence
“Wer war der Thor, wer Weiser, Bettler oder Kaiser? Ob Arm, ob Reich, im Tode gleich,” the slogan reads, or, “Who was the fool, who the wise man, beggar or king? Whether poor or rich, all’s the same in death.”
Terry Melanson, Perfectibilists: The 18th Century Bavarian Order of the Illuminati [Amazon, Bookshop, Publisher, Local Library]