In our conversations prior to this interview you told me about your experience of libertine clubs, of your research of an ‘aristocracy of sex’ and your disenchantment with the banal crowd surrounding it. The popular spirit associates libertinism with the decadent 18th century aristocrats and to shitty films such as ‘Eyes Wide Shut’, where powerful people gang bang.

I was told that it frequented by dignitaries and by bourgeois women.

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When it’s extreme it’s often gonzo, a lubricated charcuterie with minimal scenario while in my eyes, everything is in the scenario.

The poisonous sophistication of scenes in ‘Salò, or the 120 Days of Sodom’ (1976) of Pasolini gives me more wood than the Yankee porno-gore of which you speak. Tripping someone up, pulling some panties down publicly in the street, or that guru who had his whole sect enumerating the physical defects of the followers, these are more sexual in my mind than the extreme close-up of a cock in a hole.

The Libertines are nice, the Libertines are normal, they all look for, according to their own unanimous confession, ‘carnal pleasure without taboos, with respect and hygiene, where all is permitted and nothing is forced’.

Patrick Sébastien, Ardisson (the French equivalent to Bruce Forsyth and Jonathan Ross)…

I went in search of mental illness: they like people comfortable in their heads and in themselves; a satanic sacral character: it’s fun; people fuck while farting and laughing in what are just nightclubs except that you’re fucking on-the-spot; some female submission: arrogant wrinklies who no longer excite their husbands and who only want to re-invigorate their ego with the power gained from turning on some abject creep, in order to forget for one night their sagging tits and that their dilated vagina, made loose from pumping out two or three sprogs, is beginning to smell rotten. It’s never nine guys that fuck a girl, but a girl that fucks nine guys.

There isn’t a place where absolute feminism reigns stronger, made exclusively from narcissism, superficiality, venality and bullshit (women eh? The men are lowered to the level of pets reduced to trying every possible self-humiliating trick (dancing like faggots, overplaying the sympathy card to the point of nausea) so not to have wasted the 50 Euros entrance fee…Even the S&M evenings are stuffed with submissive males, not females.

I’m not at all queer…but each time an eyelash falls out, I blow it off my fingertip and make a wish to become one.

In short one mustn’t generalise but what I wrote on the neo-Libertines in the diary of PN (Ed: Peste Noire) in our forthcoming magazine, is true for 90% of them: ‘The Libertines are having parties.

Villon, Baudelaire, Artaud, Les Visiteurs, all that against a backdrop of hybrid Black Metal.