The Book of Pleasure

Prey

A series of paintings inspired, in part, by the piece of poetry below, written by my good friend and consociate D.C.R.. He wrote a number of poems but this was the only one I was ever able to pry out of him. The rest, he kept and then took it upon himself to “turn to vapour” in July 2015.

Disquiet
Disquiet

Folly, depravity, greed, mortal sin
Invade our souls and rack our flesh; we feed
Our gentle guilt, gracious regrets, that breed
Like vermin glutting on beggars skin

 
Harvest
Harvest

On evils cushion poised, His Majesty,
Satan thrice – Great, lulls our charmed soul, until
He turns to vapour what was once our will:
Rich one, transmuted by his alchemy

Salt
Salt

He holds the strings that move us, limb by limb!
We yield, enthralled to things repugnant, base
Each day, toward Hell, with slow unhurried pace,
We sink uncowed, through shadows, stinking, grim.

Feeder
Feeder

Like some lewd rake with his old worn-out whore,
Nibbling her suffering teats, we seize our sly
Delight, that, like an orange – withered, dry –
We squeeze and press for juice that is no more

Prey
Prey

Our brains team with a race of Fiends, who frolic
thick as a million gut-worms, with each breath,
Our lungs drink deep, suck down a stream of Death –
Dim – lit to low moaned whispers melancholic.

D.C.R

Gatekeep

 

 

 

Gatekeep

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