Georges Bataille

Hans Bellmer, Study for The Story of the Eye (1946)

Georges Bataille is the smartest sick fuck you’ll ever read. If you don’t know who he is, imagine Nietzsche and Julia Kristeva violently copulating while the Marquis de Sade showers piss up their nostrils and Susan Sontag films the whole thing with Derrida jacking off in the corner. A written transcription of this episode would be the textual equivalent to Bataille’s oeuvre. Or something like that.

This guy was obsessed with transgression, eroticism, and debasement. But unlike the debauched ramblings of the Marquis, Bataille’s pornographic vignettes are more than just sequential descriptions of lewd sex acts. His writing is less about inciting shock or disgust, and more about harkening back to a deeper humanity that has been lost to the frigidity of bourgeois dogma. No, really.

J.A Boiffard, Big Toe (originally published alongside Bataille’s writing)

So yeah, Bataille is my ultimate literary crush. I would totally spoon with his cadaver, but he’d probably prefer I cut off his balls and insert them into my cunt, because that’s exactly what happens in one of his more infamous stories. Except replace the testicles with the eyeball of a dead priest (hint: it’s symbolism) and now you’re getting an idea of why millions of professors are shuddering in pleasure to this shit on the reg.

Here’s a quick run-down of three of his most prurient yarns:

Underground filmmakers heart doing adaptations of Bataille’s work. This is a still from Ma Mère, a shitty, “arty” French-Austrian-Portugese-Spanish movie from 2004.

MY MOTHER

Two chicks and a dude sit down for a feast of drinking piss. Taking turns under the table, they urinate into goblets or directly into each other’s mouths. Driven entirely by the dialogue of the chatty girls, the story reads like the manuscript of a kinky phone sex worker who fancies herself a poet. “When I’ll have pissed all I will make you come so hard you’ll think you’re dying. Like a living écorché.” Then comes the dildo and a whip, which are cruelly employed on both vulvas, and Pierre ends the scene with his cock reaching a “desperate attempt to split Hansi asunder, to reach the depths of her body’s voluptuousness.” Are you swooning yet?

Dead Man 2 by Dutch director Ian Kerkhof. It’s based on Madame Edwarda and I’ve heard it’s decent

MADAME EDWARDA

A man strolls the Parisian streets at night with his hard member in his hand. He becomes obsessed with a prostitute named Madame Edwarda. Calling her pussy horrific phrases like “hairy and pink, just as full of life as some loathsome squid,” “a running, teeming wound,” and even “death’s kingdom,” he nevertheless is convinced that she is God.

One evening, Edwarda grabs a cab driver and squelches his dick into her “squid” while the man watches in lurid fascination. The entire atmosphere of this story is shrouded and spectral, as if characters would shoot ectoplasm instead of cum. It’s fitting that Edwarda’s O-face is given the creepiest description I’ve ever come across: like a “daybreak aureate chill.”

Yet another underground indie film adaptation of The Story of the Eye, by Andrew McElhinney.

STORY OF THE EYE

My favorite, Story of the Eye contains a laundry list of almost every transgression in the book: coprophilia, necrophilia, rape, blood, exhibitionism, suicide, insanity, orgies, fetish objects, and a deluge of urine. The limelight is stolen by Simone, who cutely asks, “Milk is for the pussy, isn’t it?” and proceeds to dip her labia into a saucer in the first scene.

Freewheeling into a series of sex games, Simone demonstrates remarkable acumen and creativity, like when she cracks an egg with her ass while receiving a shot of splooge in her eye. The crowning episode, however, involves her confessing to a priest, “I am tossing off while talking to you,” before screwing him in the Confessional while making him pee into the Eucharist. Then the kicker: she chokes him with a noose, inserts his rigor-mortified penis into her ass, and snaps off his eyeball to masturbate with.

Rating: 5 dildos. Bataille is a strange, hauntingly beautiful, oftentimes repulsive, yet entirely transcendent voice. I know my dripping panties are a real embarrassment here, but anyone who can describe the Milky Way as “that strange breath of astral sperm and heavenly urine across the cranial vault” is crush-worthy in my book.

Previously - Wet Goddess