Sexus: The Rosy Crucifixion I

Sexus: The Rosy Crucifixion I

Henry Miller

Language: English

Pages: 506

ISBN: 0802151809

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


The first book of a trilogy of novels known collectively as "The Rosy Crucifixion". It is autobiographical and tells the story of Miller's first tempestuous marriage and his relentless sexual exploits in New York. The other books are "Plexus" and "Nexus".

Satori in Paris and Pic

Revenge of the Lawn

Outer Dark

The Small Room: A Novel

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

deliberately, knowing that I had no qualifications other than my sincerity and enthusiasm. He was even pleased at the result, which was nil, and which he had anticipated in advance. It is now about twenty years since the period I speak of. Only the other day, as I was strolling aimlessly along, I ran into Arthur Raymond on the street I might have passed him by had he not hailed me. He had altered, had taken on a girth almost commensurable to Kronski’s. A middle-aged man now with a row of black,

retained to protect her interests. He looked like a corn-fed Romain Rolland, a chauve-souris without a crumb of humor or imagination. He seemed to be charged with moral indignation; he was a prick through and through, a coward, a sneak, a hypocrite. He gave me the creeps. We had it out about him the day of the outing. Lying in the grass somewhere near Mineola. The child running about gathering flowers. It was warm, very warm, and there was a hot dry wind blowing which made one nervous and rooty.

have gotten off the train at Chickamauga, wrapped himself in tobacco leaves and cow dung, and taken himself a squaw. Instead he came back North to the funeral parlor, found himself a fat Polish wench with fertile ovaries, saddled himself with a brood of little Poles, and tried in vain to write standing up over the kitchen tubs. Stanley rarely talked about anything in the present; he preferred to spin incredible yarns about the men he loved and admired in the army. Stanley had all the bad traits

had died of dysentery shortly after arriving in India, Ghompal informed him. ‘That’s lousy,’ said Kronski, shaking his head despairingly, as if to imply that it was hopeless to combat conditions in a country like India. Then, turning to me, with a sad flicker of a smile. ‘You remember Ghose, don’t you? The fat, chubby little guy, like a squatting Buddha.’ I nodded. ‘I should say I do remember him. Didn’t I raise the money for him to go back to India?’ ‘Ghose was a saint,’ said Kronski

order: the world is order incarnate. It is for us to put ourselves in unison with this order, to know what is the world order in contradistinction to the wishful-thinking orders which we seek to impose on one another. The power which we long to possess, in order to establish the good, the true and the beautiful, would prove to be, if we could have it, but the means of destroying one another. It is fortunate that we are powerless. We have first to acquire vision, then discipline and forbearance.

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