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Les cuisses contiennent l'essence déclare Mardou dans The subterraneans de jack Kerrouac "the thighs contain the essence".

“Men are so crazy, they want the essence, the woman is the essence, there it is right in their hands but they rush off erecting big abstract constructions.”—”You mean they should just stay home with the essence, that is lie under a tree all day with the woman but Mardous that’s an old idea of mine, a lovely idea, I never heard it better expressed and never dreamed.”—”Instead they rush off and have big wars and consider women as prizes instead of human beings, well man I may be in the middle of all this shit but I certainly don’t want any part of it” (in her sweet cultured hip tones of new generation).—"And so having had the essence of her love now I erect big word constructions and thereby betray it really—telling tales of every gossip sheet the washline of the world—and hers, ours, in all two months of our love (I thought) only once-washed as she being a lonely subterranean spent mooningdays and would would go to the laundry with them but suddenly it’s dank late afternoon and too late and the sheets are gray, lovely to me—because soft.—But I cannot in this confession betray the innermosts, the thighs, what the thighs contain—and yet why write?—the thighs contain the essence—yet tho there I should stay and from there I came and’ll eventually return, still I have to rush off and construct construct—for nothing—for Baudelaire poems"

Il reviendra sur cette idée essentielle à la dernière page :

And write this book.

Nor could it have been charming and helpful to her fears and anxieties to have me start out, at the outset of our romance, “kissing her down between the stems”—starting and then suddenly quitting so later in an unguarded drinkingmoment she said, “You suddenly stopped as tho I was—” and the reason I stopped being in itself not as significant as the reason I did it at all, to secure her greater sexual interest, which once tied on with a bow knot, I could dally out of—the warm lovemouth of the woman the womb, being the place for men who love, not... this immature drunkard and egomaniacal... this...knowing as I do from past experience and interior sense, you’ve got to fall down on your knees and beg the woman’s permission, beg the woman’s forgiveness for all your sins, protect her but for God’s sake lover her and lover her all the way in and every way you can.

Jack Kerouac les souterrains. The uncreative subterranean

Pour le titre du billet

Mardou c'est Alene Lee si magnifique.

Beat for it

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