the profound complicity of law with the violation of law…
Georges Bataille
The obscene demand color places upon us. This
is not a sentence. Precise, nonetheless. Understand that
eroticism as seen by the objective intelligence is
variously defined, exact as salt in the palm,
uncountable noun of your gaze, I have hidden
something monstrous, just like religion. Eroticism and religion
only my hands, only this body, can you
ruin with a word. All my dead ruined,
are closed books to us if we do
as I have carried them, one finger tip
at a time. Your hands, like theirs now,
not locate them firmly in the realm of
skin having no answer, only furtive color,
outside the field of awareness. 'Quickness' makes its
inner experience. We put them on the same
boundaries fit tightly, as bodies know their neighborhoods
are narrow, your finger on my lips, eyes
level of things known from the outside if
shut, said you knew what color wanted. I
folded my tongue around that knowing, a skin,
we yield albeit unwittingly to the taboo. Unless
to speak of it, to call each other
'No one', this was respect for the dead,
the taboo is observed with fear, it lacks
'No one', a thin membrane I couldn't penetrate,
I fumble, fuse the letters—'You'. The same
the counterpoise of desire which gives it its
god over the game. Do I think it
complicity when I say no one is watching?
deepest significance. The worst of it is that
hand, belly, thigh. Same lie that I might
break a law to live by it. A
science whose procedures demand an objective approach to
breeze cooling our sweat. "Your breasts," you say.
And it's obvious we can't speak without cluttering
taboos owes its existence to them but at
our transparence. Without the soiling ointment of
every particularizing meaning. Moist anyway. Meaning
the same time disclaims them because taboos are
already moist, under your hand. 'Your'. 'My'. Additives,
fundamental salt, these granules are not the dead
not rational. Inside experience alone can supply this
-but like them, possessives are abrasive, absorptive, dangerous
to eyes. All temptations turn us colorless before
overall view, from which they are finally justifiable
we go blind. Flesh offers no other amplitude.
