I read in a few hours last night, this book: "Story of the Eye" by Georges Bataille. Erotic novel, is called ... pages are full of excess, without an aim that is not annihilation. A chasm inexorable sex. It seems the only thing that can really exist in this novel, the rest of the world is only a shadow, a dim outline in that single flame, generating and devouring, is eroticism, a vortex without any rationality.
These are only my impressions, I can personally say that he was a little disturbed by the debacle that have those pages, maybe because I'm still here, I try to find a reason for a story that is lacking.
Carry a few steps:
"then I stretched on the grass. I leaned my head on a stone and lay flat, with open eyes, turned to the Milky Way: strange spot of astral semen and urine through the sky again skull of the constellations: open wound in the sky, apparently formed from ammonia fumes become bright immensity - the empty space where it cuts like a rooster's cry in the silence - an egg, an eye gouged or blinded my skull, glued to the stone, postponing indefinitely the symmetrical images. "
" For others, the universe seems honest. It seems honest people honest because they have eyes neutered. 'S why they fear the obscenity. They feel no fear when they hear the cock crow, or if they see the starry sky. Generally, they enjoy the pleasures of the flesh provided that they are tasteless. But even then there were no more Concerns: I did not love those who are called euphemistically pleasures of the flesh, perhaps because they are tasteless. I loved what is judged as obscene . "
" pulses against us that day that it had canceled each other out, leaving us blind. They puts us a long way in a world in which gestures are ineffective, as voices in a space that is not sound. "
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