Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 19, 2025
It was an emetic Mallare had found necessary to administer to himself. "Ah, my cleverness grows incredible. I am too Supreme to grasp Myself. There are still unexplored crevices in My infinity, and out of these continue to issue surprises that divert Me. "Goliath was undressed. His black body, lumped and like some mad caricature of itself, gleamed in the light. "'See, I said.
"'Mallare, they say. "This is his only answer to my overtures. But I will win him over. He will come close to my smile and kneel finally before me. He will confess who he is and what my name means. "I grow tired. Goliath stands by his shrine and weeps. He waits beside a couch as if it were another Mallare able to give birth to a phantom.
Rita lay with her head hanging over the couch. Her lips were opened. Her teeth gleamed like little deaths. She lay motionless as Mallare had flung her. Goliath shuffled to the couch. His huge black face stared over her closed eyes. He remembered that he had thrown the girl against the wall and he paused. The street was black. Great shadows balanced themselves on his eyes.
She straightened and dragged herself to the door of his room. It was empty. "Mallare," she cried. Her hands beat against her head, "Mallare." Goliath remained watching her naked figure stumbling through the rooms as she called the name. She returned to the couch and threw herself face down. She lay moaning and tearing the cushions with her fingers. He had gone away.
If she loves me well enough she will understand. All things are possible in love. I will explain to her that I possess her at will without the loathsome absurdities of sex." The beggar paused and mumbled beside Mallare. Watery, reddened eyes waited patiently for the alms asked. Mallare had fallen into silence. He stood regarding the beggar intently.
He has entered my world and my madness creates for him, as it does for me, shadows that deceive him. But there is no Mallare in him. Unlike me, he does not sit in amused judgment upon himself. "It is an interesting phenomenon this strange mesmerism. It remains to be studied. Goliath and I are mad brothers. This understanding arrived in time.
He stood, a tall figure without a hat, a slant of black hair across his forehead, and ignoring eyes. A beggar in a ragged overcoat shuffled, head down, toward him. "She is only a child," Mallare thought, "but it is evident that passion already lifts her breasts. Her simplicity is betrayed by incipient orgasms prowling for an outlet. This, she fancies, is love. It is fortunate she is a virgin.
I'm too clever for you, Mallare. Very much too clever. You present a pair of red hands to me. I wash them carefully in the snow. They become white. Interesting phenomena." He chuckled softly and stared at the snow and swollen trees. "The old circle again," he murmured. "And I begin the absorbing hide and go seek with my senses. Who am I and where do I end? And who are they and where do they begin?
"The blood came from something else." He paused and watched the snow. "It is curious," he whispered aloud. "Then I am still mad. Careful ... mad. For there was blood ... and not mine. So it would seem I have been seducing myself with optimisms. A true madman. Yes, a lunatic mumbling excitedly to himself in the snow all night, saying: "Sane. Mallare is quite sane." He laughed softly. "Oh, yes.
But the desire went from him. The brilliant fancies of his thought began slowly to bore him. The astounding images that still bowed themselves into his mind became like a procession of mendicants seeking alms of him. He folded his hands and with an interested smile watched his genius die. At the time of this curious tragedy Mallare was thirty. He kept a Journal in which he wrote infrequently.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking