"Messalina Returning" by Aubrey Beardsley

from Juvenal’s Satire VI

(circa late 1st or early 2nd century A.D.)

Then consider the God’s rivals, hear what Claudius
had to put up with. The minute she heard him snoring
his wife – that whore-empress – who­ dared to prefer the mattress
of a stews to her couch in the Palace, called for her hooded
night-cloak and hastened forth, with a single attendant.
Then, her black hair hidden under an ash-blonde wig,
she’d make straight for her brothel, with its stale, warm coverlets,
and her empty reserved cell. Here, naked, with gilded
nipples, she plied her trade, under the name of ‘The Wolf-Girl’,
parading the belly that once housed a prince of the blood.
She would greet each client sweetly, demand cash payment,
and absorb all their battering – without ever getting up.
Too soon the brothel-keeper dismissed his girls:
she stayed right till the end, always last to go,
then trailed away sadly, still with burning, rigid vulva,
exhausted by men, yet a long way from satisfied,
cheeks grimed with lamp-smoke, filthy, carrying home
to her Imperial couch the stink of the whorehouse.

– translated by Peter Green

[full in latin] [full in English]

This post starts after the jump.

ALFRED JARRY AND MARCEL DUCHAMP: WHO WINS AT ARM WRESTLING?

I’ve decided this is my new tag. I AM NSFW!  Like, I am living it! Like living the dream!!! Actually, this post has no ass pix, but just you wait, I’m posting naked pictures of Kathy Acker up here any day now.

 Marcel Duchamp got in a lot of trouble for calling a toilet art, and calling that toilet “R. Mutt”.

Even better, perhaps, is the piece of art called “In Advance of a Broken Arm” which was a shovel. A FUCKING SHOVEL.

(Look, I am better than Duchamp, because I have two shovels).  I got drunk last night and don’t remember everything that was said, but I love everybody. I am a little sad that I remember losing at arm wrestling. I hate losing so quickly. I think I lost really quickly. In defense- I’ve been working out too much and was sore! Rematch, motherfuckers! Rematch.

I want to thank the commenter (sorry, forgot which one of you fabulous ones it was) who suggested “Stupidity” by Avital Ronnel. I ordered it!!! It’s coming. I’m reading some really, really great Alfred Jarry plays. Alfred Jarry makes me feel good about myself. He was way more fucked up than me!!! He also is funny. Here’s a bit from his play, Ubu Rex:

He presents the King with a kazoo.

The King: You don’t expect me to start playing kazoo at my age, surely? Well, I’ll give it to young Boggerlas. (note: that’s the king’s son. I love the name Boggerlas.)

Boggerlas: What an old fool he is, this Ubu creature.

Pa Ubu: And now I shall fuck off. (He falls, as he turns around.) Oh! Ow! Help, rescue! By my green candle (note: dude says that ALL the time), I’ve ruptured my gut and smashed my rattle-trap.

The King: Old Ubu, are you hurt?

Pa Ubu: Yes, badly, and I certainly am going to croak. 

I’m not feeling very inspired (question–was Duchamp feeling inspired when he made toilet art and called that toilet R. Mutt, or was he just not really having a good day and that was all he could come up with? We might never really know the answer to that question. And of course, what does it matter? He changed the world. Or, not. Depends on what you think.) But  I wanted to say hi and thank you to all my readers. I fucking love you all. (That is the second time I said I love everybody, but when I’m hungover, like when I’m drunk, I can be very in love with life. Also, I can be that way when not drunk or hungover.)