http://marquise-justine-de-sade.tumblr.com/ (No, this ISN'T my tumblr; I don't know whose it is.)
Dear K, I'm assembling a post about about this woman (ironically named "Justine") whose tumblr I first found this afternoon. It reminded me of you, so I photo-posted to your tumblr something she called "Her Sir". (Cool photo, no?) I returned to it, and photo-posted a second one tonight, which offers a rather tasty dictum about love and sex.
I translated it as: "The key to a sexual relationship.. not to force anyone to to do anything they don't want...rather to bring them to do things that they secretly dream of doing." That's the optimism guiding her.
But there's also pessimism, represented by a dark text (in Italian), gracing the home-page of her tumblr. As I note in the title above, she calls herself "Marquise Justine"; the blog has elegant erotica, with hints of BDSM (as befits something devoted to deSade, whose name gave birth to "sadism").:
"Anima Inquieta ♤ Mi chiamano maschera, sono figlia di un credo, mio padre è l’inganno. All’altare faccio santa la guerra, nel letto inganno l’amore. Ho tutti i difetti, me li porto nascosti per prendervi in giro. La mia fede è menzogna. Sono calma, feroce, assassina. Due torri gemelle non bastano?! E allora pensatemi saggia: ogni stupido va appresso al mio credo perché ogni credo pare sempre perfetto? Credi tu, Crede lui, credo anch’io. C’è sempre un altro che crede e provvede: che taglia le mani, che lapida ancora? Quel credo è imposto al bambino, quel credo genera guerra, quel credo coltiva, spaccia la droga, quel credo va in paradiso, con quel credo si credono eroi, la morte è contenta. Quel credo è ignoranza, fanatismo terrore. L’utopia è gloriosa e perfetta? Per lei, l’inganno è guadagno: il bimbo si prede per mano, (è innocente) L’amore non chiede perché?...
I've just translated it, despite some linguistic fuzziness, as follows:
"Unquiet soul: they call me a mask; I'm the daughter of a belief, [of] my father and [of] a fraud. I pledge holy war at the altar; in bed, I fake loving. I have every defect; I carry them hidden to employ them at will. My faith is a lie. I'm calm, ferocious and deadly. Twin towers [sic!] weren't enough? And then you think me wise -- every idiot joins my creed, all creeds being equally perfect?. You believe, he believes, even I do. There's always someone who believes and supports, who still goes along with things. [That] creed is passed to the child -- it causes and sustains war, it spreads drugs, believing in paradise, creating heroes -- and death is satisfied. That creed is ignorance, fanatical terrorism. Utopia is glorious and perfect? For some [Trump, perhaps?], fraud is just a profit opportunity: the innocent child is led by the hand. Love doesn't ask why."
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There are other interesting reblogs on Justine deSade's site. I'll do a follow-on piece about them tomorrow...
I translated it as: "The key to a sexual relationship.. not to force anyone to to do anything they don't want...rather to bring them to do things that they secretly dream of doing." That's the optimism guiding her.
But there's also pessimism, represented by a dark text (in Italian), gracing the home-page of her tumblr. As I note in the title above, she calls herself "Marquise Justine"; the blog has elegant erotica, with hints of BDSM (as befits something devoted to deSade, whose name gave birth to "sadism").:
"Anima Inquieta ♤ Mi chiamano maschera, sono figlia di un credo, mio padre è l’inganno. All’altare faccio santa la guerra, nel letto inganno l’amore. Ho tutti i difetti, me li porto nascosti per prendervi in giro. La mia fede è menzogna. Sono calma, feroce, assassina. Due torri gemelle non bastano?! E allora pensatemi saggia: ogni stupido va appresso al mio credo perché ogni credo pare sempre perfetto? Credi tu, Crede lui, credo anch’io. C’è sempre un altro che crede e provvede: che taglia le mani, che lapida ancora? Quel credo è imposto al bambino, quel credo genera guerra, quel credo coltiva, spaccia la droga, quel credo va in paradiso, con quel credo si credono eroi, la morte è contenta. Quel credo è ignoranza, fanatismo terrore. L’utopia è gloriosa e perfetta? Per lei, l’inganno è guadagno: il bimbo si prede per mano, (è innocente) L’amore non chiede perché?...
I've just translated it, despite some linguistic fuzziness, as follows:
"Unquiet soul: they call me a mask; I'm the daughter of a belief, [of] my father and [of] a fraud. I pledge holy war at the altar; in bed, I fake loving. I have every defect; I carry them hidden to employ them at will. My faith is a lie. I'm calm, ferocious and deadly. Twin towers [sic!] weren't enough? And then you think me wise -- every idiot joins my creed, all creeds being equally perfect?. You believe, he believes, even I do. There's always someone who believes and supports, who still goes along with things. [That] creed is passed to the child -- it causes and sustains war, it spreads drugs, believing in paradise, creating heroes -- and death is satisfied. That creed is ignorance, fanatical terrorism. Utopia is glorious and perfect? For some [Trump, perhaps?], fraud is just a profit opportunity: the innocent child is led by the hand. Love doesn't ask why."
***************************
There are other interesting reblogs on Justine deSade's site. I'll do a follow-on piece about them tomorrow...