Virtuous Libertines

"But what would people do if I told them all that? Spit at me—if not in reality then in spirit. They didn’t want to hear about it, no matter how sensitive an observer I was. They didn’t want the nuances, the details, the subtleties. They didn’t want to know, they wanted to condemn—and since I knew this, since I was well aware of it, I was doing their dirty work for them. I had locked myself into that most solitary of confinements. I was punishing myself by keeping quiet. " - Supervert, Necrophilia Variations

"I have loved to the point of madness; that which is called madness, that which to me, is the only sensible way to love." - Francois Sagon

Death and The Maiden by Pierre Eugène Emile Hébert

"Mother, you don’t understand; I made Hades run to me He saw my bones beneath and offered me half his kingdom. Do you really think I ate the fruit unwillingly?" - A.M., Persephone Returns

“Perfume was first created to mask the stench of foul and offensive odors... Spices and bold flavorings were created to mask the taste of putrid and rotting meat... What then was music created for? Was it to drown out the voices of others, or the voices within ourselves? I think I know.” ― Emilie Autumn, The Asylum for Wayward Victorian Girls

"The arts are not a way to make a living. They are a very human way of making life more bearable. Practicing an art, no matter how well or badly, is a way to make your soul grow, for heaven's sake. Sing in the shower. Dance to the radio. Tell stories. Write a poem to a friend, even a lousy poem. Do it as well as you possible can. You will get an enormous reward. You will have created something." - Kurt Vonnegut, A Man Without a Country

"And the earth is so heavy, bearing down on you with the weight of a thousand mountains of lead. You envy men buried at sea, for when the tide tosses their bodies in the water, and when the waves swing their bodies in the sea, the movement must give them the illusion of a little more life." - Supervert, Necrophilia Variations Art by Axel Sauerwald

"Tell me then, does love make one a fool or do only fools fall in love?" - Orhan Pamuk, My Name is Red

"You lie there with the ground pressing down on you, suffocating you, seeping into your very pores. A worm or a mole comes by and you’re grateful for the company until you realize that it has only come to eat you. You feel it nibbling your finger or gnawing a little hole in your side or boring through the bone of your skull. You imagine you feel the lips of the mole against your temple, the ridges of the earthworm sliding through your ear. You see your own brain become a slithering mass of maggots and grubs. Memories, things you cherish, the last thoughts that give you warmth or happiness—these you envision sliding down the throats of the creepiest vermin. Your love for your family becomes worm meal. Your knowledge of classical music perishes in peristalsis. You return to the earth through the intermediary of beasts. It’s not pleasant. “Dust to dust” is a lie. The truth is a movement from flesh to food to feces—and only then to dust." - Supervert, Necrophilia Variations

Collage by Sara Shakeel

"I lay there feeling horribly vulnerable, exposed to the universe, as though I had to protect my guts against rain or bird droppings. If I weren’t careful, squirrels might build nests in my chest cavity or rats might chew up my heart." - Supervert, Necrophilia Variations

Art by Don Blanding

"When you love a city and have explored it frequently on foot, your body, not to mention your soul, gets to know the streets so well after a number of years that in a fit of melancholy, perhaps stirred by a light snow falling ever so sorrowfully, you'll discover your legs carrying you of their own accord toward one of your favourite promontories." - Orhan Pamuk, My Name is Red Photography by Satori Nagata

“ I loved my wounds, not because they hurt but because they were like a gun in my pocket. They gave me a power that no one knew I had. Maybe, I thought, I should just exercise that power now. Maybe I should give up on this idea of a last hurrah. Why bother? If I was going to die, then did it really matter how I spent my final hour? Cavorting in the arms of a prostitute or walking down Fifth Avenue drinking a lemonade—what did it matter?" - Supervert, Necrophilia Variations Art by Miles Johnston

“He in his madness prays for storms, and dreams that storms will bring him peace.” — Leo Tolstoy, The Death of Ivan Ilych Man of Sorrows(1480) by Robin Isely

Painting by Ron Hicks

"Sometimes I dance, alone, to music no-one can hear but me. When I dance I feel the beat of the earth’s own heart rise through my feet and legs, through my loins and belly and into my chest, until my own heart beats in time with the earth’s. Then I wonder if you feel it too, beneath that portion of the earth’s crust where you stand, or walk, or lie, or dance too. Because always, when I’m dancing, I’m dancing with you." - Sarah Bower, The Book of Love