Henry Miller on Writing Sex

Sometimes in the recording of a bald sexual incident great significance adheres. Screenshot (171)Sometimes the sexual becomes a writhing. Screenshot (104)Sometimes it is a fresco hidden in a sacred cave where one may sit and contemplate on things of the spirit. Screenshot (140)There is nothing I can possible prohibit myself from doing in the realm of sex. It is a world unto itself and a morsel of it may be just as destructive as a ton of it. It is a cold fire which burns in us like the sun. Screenshot (138)It is never dead.*

(From Arthur Miller’s On Writing.)

Anori Outtake: Everyone’s a Pervert

“Everyone’s a goddamn pervert.” Dee traced her nail along her palm, following the lifeline up to the base of her index finger. “We repress that. We deny it, turn it into porn, the door locked, like it isn’t what we dream. But we all have these tiny demons. They’re our essential thing.” Screenshot (141)“What about her?” Val nodded toward a woman at the far side of the tavern, her hair pulled back, posture straight.

“Two masseurs, lots of oil.”

“And him?”

Dee considered the man leaving, his pink striped sleeve rolled up one arm. “Squeaky toys.”

“You’re projecting.”

Dee wiped her hand through the drink rings, pushing the thick puddles into small lines, making a long claw-like streak. “The thing about men is that they love to stare at their hard cocks, like a rare and marvelous wild thing.” 6a013487b4dff2970c013487b4eb27970c
“They’re like little boys, amazed by that thing between their legs. They can’t fathom anything so stupendous and god-like.”

“Wards off the fear of death.”

“For, like a minute, anyway.”

“And then…”

“Back to the perversions.”

Ice Friday: Henry Miller on Writing Sex

Sometimes in the recording of a bald sexual incident great significance adheres. Sometimes the sexual becomes a writing, pulsating facade such as we see in Indian temples. Sometimes it’s a fresco hidden in a sacred cave where one may sit and contemplate on things of the spirit. IMG_4940There is nothing I can possibly prohibit myself from doing in this realm of sex. It is a world unto itself and a morsel of it may be just as destructive or beneficent as a ton of it. The gods came down from above to fornicate with human kind and with animals and trees, with the earth itself. Why are we so particular? Why can we not love – and do all the other things which give us pleasure too? IMG_4947We fear to lose ourselves. And yet, until we lose ourselves there can be no hope of finding ourselves.