There's a book Leviathan wrote under a pseudonym (and pseudo-energy) on Shiva and Shakti's relationship as one of BDSM. It's here on the carved mahogany table Victor's been using, clearly he was reading it. I know this book, is it more accurate to say this was an incarnation of Lev's? Because really, it seems to be, at least colloquially this is an incarnation. He was a wandering... artist, writer, nomadic spirit going from place to place and writing commentaries on... external reactions to external things. This was written on a mountain, which reminded him of riding the false phallus of Shakti.
It's an interesting book. It's full of... it's. hmm. its full of paragraphs that are fully interior, hard to parse if you don't follow the rabbit down its hole. He doesn't necessarily invite the reader anywhere, but the stream-of-consciousness writing is something that you need to dance with to actually get what he's saying. There are a sections that are very clinical lists of adjectives and so on, a signature of Lev's writing, but drawn out into shopping-list-esque paragraphs.
It's not so much an informative book as it is a window into the information itself. In fact, really, the way its written is like an onomatopeia for the subject itself, requiring a purposefully painful ride through the dry and distant Other as it strips away the pleasures of ease, of author soothing reader, and requires the reader to put themselves through the pain in the chase for the release of knowledge.
There's a section here towards the end about the mountain as a symbol for it all, though, I say end, the book spirals in on itself and fractalises down into dreaming where it can continue forever. The mountain is, then, one of the last lucid parts of the book, very heavily, as I said earlier, associated with the false phallus (strap on, colloquially) of Shakti and the sky's consensual lay brutal penetration. Bruises paint the sky blue, he says; the roughness of trees like nails, the unwavering-wavering nature of Shakti as the immoveable decisiveness of Matter, specifically of bodies. Still, as he says, even as a mountain she constantly shifts with falling rocks and gravel in accordance with the movement of the stars (symbolic or metaphoric way to say time's movement), as Matter vibrates and changes even when unchanging; the book is fundamentally a Lev perspective. Matter moves constantly, but his relationship with it is Shakti dragging him into position, using him, constantly hammering in new sensations and forcing him to ride through it. BDSM, though, not abuse. Consensually he enters the Serpent's lair, naked, stripped down, powerless against her royal get-up.
It's an interesting book, for sure.
