wake my becoming, turn me wild

Touch me with your eyes...

You are an inexhaustible flow of precious stones, a rare soul, proud and ardent, your radiance is inner, and full of beauty and clarity.

And she looked […] pure & otherworldly.

She felt within her a certain magnetic cosmic power, and she believed that Bataille would help her unravel the otherworldly mysteries, to see the other side of light. She could easily conjure its image; it was as illuminating as daylight, a strange spectacle for which one had to pay dearly. And then she grew tired of the fleeting loves, the banal affairs, which failed to reach the core of things: the sacred. A voice inside her mind whispered that one had to go through death, the sullying and profanation of the self, cross horrible lands, and face death himself to finally reach the shores of the unknown and devour the burning heart of Eros.

“I understand. That’s the trouble. I understand. I’ll understand all the time. All day and all night. Especially all night. I’ll understand. You don’t have to worry about that.”