Category Archives: Misc. Items from the Web

Inscription | 1929 | Al Satterwhaite | The Superman in America

Welcome to a new category of post called “Signatures and Inscriptions.” If you click on the category, you will find all post we have made so far. If you would like to contribute an interesting signature, inscription, or letter (starting soon), please contact me. There is a form on the front page:

Many thanks to Robert Carmonius for this contribution and some of the further research.

This inscription found in a copy of The Superman in America, and is dated the same year of publication, 1929.

Of interest is his “Anno Volstead 9”, I hadn’t seen him do that before (or I don’t recall it either way). Year nine of prohibition.

To Al Satterthwaite
in memory of those
nights so long ago when we
used to wander under the
morning stars talking Schopen-
hauer and Saltus, rending
life and the Universe to tatters–
since which time I–they–
have never been quite well,
for did not God say to me
over the other day, “Say, Ben, you
give me a pain in my
DeCasseres!” Venerably,
Benjamin DeCasseres
Anno Volstead

It seems both Benjamin DeCasseres and an Albert Satterthwaite contributed to Pendant la mêlée: acrate, individualiste, éclectique (title translates as During the melee), a French individualist anarchist publication from 1915-1916. The journal was one in a series associated with Emile Armand.

Heading of the journal of the first issue (CIRA de Lausanne)

November 15, 1915 , in full World War, exit the fortnightly Paris “during the melee ,” the newspaper proclaimed acrate, individualistic and eclectic. The manager is Charles Michel. From January 1916, the newspaper published in Orléans, change its name to ” beyond the fray .” The executive of a department of the newspaper then E.Armand but after the arrest of the latter in October 1917 (for desertion complicity) is Pierre Chardon who will succeed him until February 1918. The following month, the newspaper will change as for ” The Melee “.  – translated by Goole from

This postcard with text from “Alba Satterthwaite” was found at:

Ignorance in the brain, hatred in the heart, cowardice in the will, these are the crimes I impute to the idea of ​​God and his fatal corollary: religion. — SÉBASTIEN FAURE.

The most terrible fact to the charge of Christianity is neither its intolerance, nor its tortures, nor its excommunications, nor its internal wars, nor its fatuity or falsehood, but this: it teaches man To resign himself to life, not to enjoy it, thereby depriving him of the most precious possession he has acquired by right of birth. He teaches him to be satisfied with social injustice. He taught her to tighten the other cheek and not to resist the evil. He treacherously induces him to barter the present, now, for a mythical beyond. And this is why men who are intellectually intellectually reject with sincere repugnance his theology, his dogma and his profession of faith. — ALBA SATTERTHWAITE

Missing Boy Found in the Delaware River

Article from The Times (Philadelphia, Pennsylvania), 3 Apr 1900.

Details finding the body of Walter, Benjamin’s brother, who committed suicide. Ben would later publish a collection of Walter’s poetry title The Sublime Boy.

Article gives home address as 1929 N 31st St Philadelphia, PA.


Introducing and Der Geist Journal…


tbmsbibIntroducing the Union of Egoists, a biographical, historical, bibliographic and inspirational resource for autodidacts and vagabonds alike. A project initiated by Trevor Blake (Confessions of a Failed Egoist & Max Stirner Bibliography) and Kevin I. Slaughter (A Bible Not Borrowed from the Neighbors: Essays and Aphorisms on Egoism).
The first Egoist Max Stirner, Egoist Feminist Dora Marsden, defacto Satanist Benjamin DeCasseres, Social Darwinist Ragnar Redbeard and soap-box Superman Malfew Seklew are a few of the members of this Union of Egoists.
EgoCover-1963-LibertarianBookClub-682x1024Blake has described Egoism as being the claim that the individual is the measure of all things. In ethics, in epistemology, in aesthetics, in society, the Individual is the best and only arbitrator. Egoism claims social convention, laws, other people, religion, language, time and all other forces outside of the Individual are an impediment to the liberty and existence of the Individual. is also home to Der Geist, a blog(including facebook page)and forthcoming print journal. The print journal will focus exclusively on the 100 years between the publication of Stirner’s “Der Einzige und sein Eigenthum” and DeCasseres death in 1945.
You can support the project by contributing corrections or materials. Use the Contact page or view the Wanted list.

“The Species Ghost” in Moods magazine…

What follows is a review of Moods journal, containing mention of a DeCasseres article titled “The Species Ghost”. This was later published in the “DeCasseres Book” Saint Tantalus (1936). The review itself was published in Columbia Daily Spectator, Volume LII, Number 51, 21 November 1908.

What follows is a rough transcription of the above:

“MOODS” A UNIQUE MONTHLY New Venture in Literary Field

“Moods.” the new publication which has already been announced as being the work of four Columbia men, contains, in its November issue, a series of poems and prose pieces that follow the style of last year’s Columbia Monthly. Of the thirteen contributions to this number, eleven are in verse. “A Memoir of Wilbam Barrington” is the one long prose piece, being a recollection of an artist’s life in New York. It has vague suggestions of Hopkinson Smith, but lacking in his peculiar charm. Most of the work is by Columbia men, past or present, the exceptions being the above “memoir,” two poems by Leonard Van Noppen, and “The Species Ghost,” by Benjamin De Casseres. Columbia men who contribute are G. W. Cronyn ’10. J. H. Donohue ’08, E. Goodman ’08, B. R. Herts ‘OB, G. M. Lapolla ’10, R. L. Roeder ’10, S. O’Sheel (Sp.), and. C. S. VVttpperman ’08. “Moods” is attractive in its make up, closely approximating in size and general appearance Elbert Hubbard’s “Little Journeys”. The cover design, by Florence Southworth, is unique; a combination of parallel lines in different combinations, representing various moods. A peculiar style of type used gives the design a distinctly foreign appearance—rather German. “Moods” is intended, as is stated editorially, to encourage “artistic excellence, sincerity, and individuality,” and to discourage conformity. In addition to the articles, there are three regular departments: “The Home of Thespis,” “The Art Lover,” and “Chords and Discords.”

“De Casseres” vs. “DeCasseres” and a review…

Untitled-1At the outset, I thank everyone who takes time to write a considered review of any of our books on amazon or any other service, even if critical (Otherwise wonderful reviews can get so stilted by the strangest things. The very first line of the review below a) criticizes my “spelling” of DeCasseres name and b) misspells my name.

I take it the reviewer believes there should be a space between the “de” and “casseres”. It doesn’t take much when collecting to see the problem, and early on I decided to use the form “DeCasseres”, rather than “De Casseres”, in all my own work. Most of the books he seemed to have had the closest editorial control over generally has the form “DeCasseres”, and most examples of his signature in my collection connect the two with a line, though I have an example where it isn’t.

So, both forms have been used in print and in his own signature. I chose what I thought was “right”.

The cover of the original edition of “Anathema” shows a space in his signature in silver foil stamping, but his actual signature inside the book (nos. 42, 488, and 761 – yes, I have three copies) all show the connected “DeCasseres”. Moreso, the title page and every mention of his name is set “DeCasseres”. The biography of Spinoza owned by DeC shows a space in the signature on the flyleaf, but The DeCasseres Books has no space on the covers in the typesetting. On the spine of “Forty Immortals” it’s “De Casseres”, on the spine of  “The Muse of Lies” it’s “DeCasseres”. Etc. etc. etc.

After this initial odd stumble, it’s a wonderful review. And I thank the author of it, regardless of the contention at the outset, or the typo of my own name.

My utmost praise to Underworld Amusements for this superb edition of a forgotten great’s works
By ncosmann on September 22, 2014
Format: Paperback Verified Purchase

The apparently idiosyncratic and (I hope) unintentional spelling of the author’s name aside, Underworld Amusements and Kevin J. Slaughter should be commended for the work they’ve put into collecting together what I’ve found from this collection of poetry to be a criminally-neglected American author – although his anarchic, Dionysian pessimist, Nietzschean messages and his wonderfully ornate style seem to me somewhat of an outlier from many American poets and authors (of his time especially) and perhaps a bit niche. I have a feeling Mr. De Casseres would have preferred it like that anyhow.

The influence of Nietzsche and his style has a well-earned but often tiresome legacy; everyone seems to love Nietzsche, but out of all the writers I know of who were strongly influenced by his work, there are two who I think took up his ideas most explicitly with true skill. One of these is Mr. De Casseres, whose sheer wit and exquisite genius could not help but win me over; his knowledge of often obscure vocabulary, mythology, and history are put to good use in his work, which just oozes opulence and grandeur. His other work that has also been published by Underworld Amusements – Anathema! Litanies of Negation – exemplifies his style best in my opinion with its increasingly hyperbolic, soaring feats of Dionysian splendor and arrogance. In my humble opinion, it is among the finest representations of the timeless human spirit – in that instance, its unmatched arrogance, which De Casseres and Nietzsche both knew to be far from a bad thing.

As far as Imp goes: De Casseres’ style is still here, albeit oftentimes more narrowed. If Anathema! is a fable of mankind’s arrogance, Imp is the collected moments of an individual’s repeated attempts at ascension to godhood. Here we see more of the poet rather than his philosophy, with none of his grand style removed. Of course, being the very ruminative writer he is, Imp certainly is not without its share of contemplative and more general pieces (the Minutes collection in particular is an excellent example of melding the universal scope of philosophy with the highly concrete and ephemeral scope of poetry – an ancient art that De Casseres does all too well).

Some may dismiss De Casseres for being too Nietzschean, even unoriginally so, and in a sense I can see that criticism; as I’ve said, the tendency to imitate Nietzsche and the spirit of his philosophy is something far too many people do and that most do poorly. I consider De Casseres to be an example of Nietzsche’s philosophy instantiated in a man who lives by his ideas – him along with E.M. Cioran, the other author who I think takes a lot out of Nietzsche while still providing his own unique, lived interpretation of him. Some may also dismiss De Casseres for his preoccupation with unnecessarily fancy diction and syntax; to that, I say that if you don’t like a writer who can dish out classical-styled poetry with the level of skill that De Casseres does while still doing something unique with it rather than simply writing generic nostalgia poetry, you simply don’t like poetry.

On the author’s merits alone, I could give this edition of his works the highest praise simply for being released when De Casseres is relatively unknown; however, the edition itself is also an extremely high quality paperback. The material used for the pages and the cover all feel great and fittingly luxurious for the work contained, and the original cover art is just awesome. Really, Underworld Amusements went out of their way with this.

Since I’ve already probably gushed enough about De Casseres’ work, the final word I’ll give on it is to definitely check it out if you happen to enjoy philosophy in the vein of Nietzsche, if you are an anarchist who enjoys work by anarchists, or if you are a fan of classically-styled poetry. If you are into philosophy or poetry, in fact, I think it is reasonable to bet that you’ll enjoy reading this obscure author; if you are into philosophy and poetry, you may just find a new favorite.

The ANTI-GOD – French with English (google) translation







Il arriva plusieurs fois, au cours des premiers siècles de ce christianisme qui avait soi-disant rénové le monde, que les pauvres peuples, épouvantés de la tournure que prenaient les choses de ce monde, se demandèrent très sérieusement si ce n’était pas le Diable qui le régissait ou du moins s’il n’en partageait pas l’empire avec Dieu lui-même. Alors, dans leur effroi et dans leur prudence, ils adorèrent les deux principes, celui du bien et celui du mal. Et, pour mieux s’assurer la protection du Mauvais, ils se mirent à pratiquer toutes ses œuvres avec un entrain diabolique, cependant qu’à d’autres instants ils égrenaient force chapelets au pied des autels. Il y avait un grand désarroi dans les consciences. On ne m’étonnerait pas beaucoup si on m’apprenait que le manichéisme a refleuri pendant les jours que nous traversons. Dieu règne-t-il toujours en maître ? N’a-t-il pas été obligé de céder une partie de son pouvoir ? Peut-être quelques-uns se posent-ils ces questions déjà blasphématoires (à qui la faute ?), en attendant que se pose la question suprême : Aurait-il été détrôné et n’avons-nous pas pour Dieu Satan lui-même ? et en attendant surtout que les consciences, complètement dévoûtées, y répondent par l’affirmative. Flaubert conte que sa mère, honnête et droite personne, ayant vu mourir tout d’un coup sa fille, innocente nouvelle mariée, cessa tout à tout de croire en Dieu. On dira que cette femme n’avait pas l’esprit théologique. Sans doute, mais pour beaucoup de gens l’idée de Dieu se confond avec l’idée même de la justice. Ayant conscience de ne pas avoir fait de mal au Tout-Puissant, ils se demandent pourquoi le Tout-Puissant et leTout-Juste les a brutalement frappés du poing. Qu’aurait dit la mère de Flaubert si elle avait vu les soldats prussiens entrer dans sa maison, dénuder et violer sa fille sous ses yeux, ensuite l’étriper, ensuite mettre le feu à la maison et fusiller tous les voisins, tirer sur elle-même ou la rouer de coups et la laisser pour morte ? Elle aurait ressenti obscurément les sentiments que vient d’exprimer un poète américain, Benjamin de Casseres, qui s’est fait le juge de Dieu et qui lui reproche violemment les crimes sur lesquels s’est achevée l’année ! Ce morceau est d’un si grand mouvement lyrique que j’ai voulu le traduire. Le voici. Il rappelle certaines invectives de Maldoror, mais l’auteur n’est pas un Maldoror ; il ne le connaît peut-être pas. C’est un poète :






Où es-tu, ô Dieu ? Viens et sois jugé, sois frappé, sois exécuté par moi. 

Où es-tu, ô Dieu ? Être subtil, être rusé, constructeur du Ciel et de l’Enfer, amant de l’Esprit et de la Matière, viens et sois jugé, sois frappé, sois exécuté par moi.

J’ai croisé à ta recherche jusqu’à cette heure à travers l’éternité. Viens et sois jugé, sois frappé, sois exécuté par moi.

Maintenant, en voilà assez, mangeur d’hommes, multiforme cannibale, molécule de l’assassinat, Thug dans la nuit.

N’y a-t-il pas assez de sang sur ton autel, n’y a-t-il pas assez de chair sur ta table, n’y a-t-il pas assez de puanteur sous tes narines ?

Maintenant il faut que cela finisse, poltron, fuyard, Borgia de l’Éternité, Iago de l’éther.

Anti-Dieu, je suis ; et je suis sur le toit de ton tabernacle mystique comme un voleur dans la nuit.

Anti-Dieu, je suis ; et je suis sur le seuil de ton secret comme une vengeresse Érynnie.

Anti-Dieu, je suis ; et je suis la langue des victimes de ta loi de Nécessité dont les gouttes de sang jonchèrent le monde pendant cette dernière année de ton règne.

Je te jette à la face les seins et les ovaires des femmes découpées par les mains de tes créatures.

Je te jette à la face une énorme poignée de testicules et de phallus arrachés par les mains de tes créatures.

Je te jette à la face les corps rôtis de petits enfants jetés au feu par les mains de tes créatures.


Auteur de la Vie et auteur de la Mort, écoute, oh ! écoute le tonnerre de ma haine !

Auteur de la Vie et Auteur de la Mort, écoute, oh ! écoute la prodigieuse malédiction que je prononce sur toutes tes œuvres.

Auteur de la Vie et Auteur de la Mort, écoute, oh ! écoute l’appel passionné de celui qui ne peut être trompé, qui ne peut être réduit au silence, qui ne peut être enchaîné par tes menaces.


Anathema maranatha sur ton éblouissant Cosmos, masque de ton perpétuel diabolisme ! Amen.

Anathema maranatha sur les jours de printemps et sur ceux de l’été, sur l’automne et sur les neiges de l’hiver, masques de ton perpétuel diabolisme ! Amen.

Anathema maranatha sur la race humaine, outil de ton perpétuel diabolisme ! Amen.


Maudite soit la Vie, cette stupide aventure !

Maudit soit le coït, ce stupide plaisir !

Maudite soit l’épée, cette stupide peine !


Tu as créé l’homme à ton image, et tu lui as donné un toit à porcs pour maison.

Tu as créé l’homme à ton image, et tu lui as donné la guerre pour apprentissage.

Tu as créé l’homme à ton image et tu lui as donné pour vin le sang de ses frères.


Apogée de notre amertume, apogée de notre martyre, l’égout et le vomissement des cycles de la vie te montent jusqu’aux fesses, Torquemada des cieux, perpétuel Néron de l’éternité.


Cependant les cœurs sensibles ont le droit de redire en minaudant :


Aux petits des oiseaux il donne la pâture

Et sa bonté s’étend sur toute la nature.



(Remy de Gourmont, in Mercure de France, 1er mai 1915)




It happened several times during the first centuries of Christianity that had supposedly renovated the world, poor people, terrified at the turn of the things of this world, seriously wondered if this was not the devil that governed or at least if it did not share the empire with God himself. So, in their terror and their prudence, they worshiped the two principles, that of good and evil. And to better ensure the protection of the Poor, they began to practice all his works with an evil spirit, however, that other times they ticked by strength rosaries at the altar. There was great confusion in people’s minds. It would not surprise me much if I was taught that Manichaeism has blossomed during the days we are experiencing. God reigns he still master? Has he not been forced to sell part of its power? Maybe some they arise these issues already blasphemous (whose fault?), Until the supreme question arises: Would it have been dethroned and did we not God Satan himself? and especially until the consciences completely dévoûtées, respond in the affirmative. Flaubert tale that his mother, honest and upright person, having seen die suddenly her daughter, innocent bride, stopped everything to believe in God. We say that this woman had no theological mind. No doubt, but for many people the idea of ​​God is identified with the very idea of ​​justice.Conscious of not doing harm to the Almighty, they wonder why the Almighty and Letout-Juste has brutally beaten his fist. What would Flaubert’s mother said if she had seen the Prussian soldiers into his house, stripped and raped his daughter before his eyes, then gut, then set fire to the house and shoot all the neighbors, pull it himself or pummel and leave for dead? She would have felt obscurely feelings just expressed an American poet, Benjamin Casseres, who became the judge of God and accuses him violently crimes that ended the year! This piece is a great lyrical movement that I wanted to translate it. Here it is.He recalls some invective Maldoror, but the author is not a Maldoror, it may not know it. He is a poet:





Where are you, God? Come and be judged, be struck, be executed by me. 

Where are you, God? Be subtle, be clever, manufacturer of Heaven and Hell, lover of Spirit and Matter, come and be judged, be struck, be executed by me.

I met your search until now through eternity. Come and be judged, be struck, be executed by me.

Now that’s enough, man-eating, cannibalistic multifaceted molecule of the murder Thug night.

Are there not enough blood on your altar, there is there is not enough meat on your table, there is there not enough stench in your nostrils?

Now there must be an end, coward fugitive Borgia Eternity, Iago ether.

Anti-God, I am, and I am on the roof of your mystic tabernacle as a thief in the night.

Anti-God, I am, and I am on the threshold of your secret as a vengeful Érynnie.

Anti-God, I am, and I am the language of the victims of thy law of Necessity, the drops of blood strewed the world during the last year of your reign.

I’ll throw you in the face breasts and ovaries of women cut by the hands of Thy creatures.

I’ll throw you in the face a huge handful of testicles and phallus torn by the hands of Thy creatures.

I’ll throw you in the face the body roasted small children thrown into the fire by the hands of Thy creatures.


Author of Life and author of Death, hear, oh! listening to the thunder of my hatred!

Author Author of Life and Death, hear, oh! listening prodigious curse I say on all thy works.

Author Author of Life and Death, hear, oh! listening to the passionate man who can not be deceived, that can not be silenced, that can not be chained by your threats call.


Anathema maranatha on your dazzling Cosmos mask your perpetual diabolism! Amen.

Anathema maranatha on spring days and those of the summer, the autumn and the winter snows, perpetual diabolism your masks! Amen.

Anathema maranatha human race, your perpetual tool diabolism! Amen.


Damn life, this stupid adventure!

Cursed be coitus, this stupid fun!

Cursed be the sword that stupid penalty!


You created man in your image, and you gave him a roof for pig house.

You created man in your image, and you gave him the war for learning.

You created man in your image and you gave him wine to the blood of his brothers.


Pinnacle of our bitterness pinnacle of our martyrdom, sewer and vomiting cycles of life will rise to the buttocks, Torquemada of heaven, perpetual Nero eternity.


However sensitive hearts have the right to complain smirk:


Small birds he gives food

And goodness extends over the entire nature.



(Remy de Gourmont in Mercure de France , May 1, 1915)

Letter to Zelda Fitzgerald by Benjamin De Casseres, Christmas 1931

On ebay, as of this posting, is a letter from Ben and Bio to Zelda Fitzgerald. I assume that something was sent with the letter, possibly a copy of Bio’s book “The Boy of Bethlehem”?


Description reads:

ALS. 1pg. 5” x 6”. Christmas 1931. New York City.  An autograph letter signed Bio De Casseres Benjamin De Casseres addressed to Zelda Fitzgerald: “Dear Zelda: Here’s the latest news about the Virgin Birth – Bio De Casseres Benjamin De Casseres Christmas, 1931 New York City”.  It is penned in green ink and has some light toning that affects nothing.  Letters to Zelda are scarce, and this was sent when she was first hospitalized.


Two great Edgar Saltus books in one…

Edgar Saltus was a huge influence on Benjamin DeCasseres. You can read DeC’s biographical sketch of him on the Forty Immortals page.

This book expounds upon many of the intellectual roots of Benjamin DeCasseres’ writing, giving sketches of a number of thinkers DeC frequently mentions as well as some of the oriental and occidental foundations of his more pessimistic thought.


“Nocturne” in French

Archived from:


Il fait nuit.

Le voleur, éternel représentant de l’humanité, reprend son poste de guet au coin de la rue.

La prostituée, voyante et sybille, la première-née de Dieu, avive ses lèvres d’une teinte de rouge avant de descendre à la recherche de son repas.

Les cafés, les théâtres, les cinémas, avec leurs milliers de milliers de lumières commencent à marcher à la conquête de cet univers amorphe : l’ennui.

Dans les hôpitaux un vague mal-à-l’aise aiguillonne les corps des patients et les pensées, comme de noirs parasols, s’ouvrent en leurs cerveaux.

Dans des vêtements de soirée impeccables, les millionnaires — ces yoghis de la chair, parcourent de long en large els mille allées des jardins des établissements de luxe à la recherche de leurs ondulants Nirvanas.

Un poète, qui redoute davantage son propriétaire que le Très Haut, allume sa lampe sans abat-jour et commence une ode merveilleuse à la gloire du Renoir des Cieux.

Un mendiant, des yeux duquel la Faim a châtré le courage, demande qu’elle lui paie un café à une riche madame que son courage héroïque a mis pour toujours à l’abri des atteintes de la Faim.

La lune, momifiée dans un éternel sommeil — coprolithe gelé de la terre, — gravit, à l’Orient, les échelons de l’Espace, tel un reptile.

Il fait nuit, et le Cela, le « Ce qui est » aux yeux multiples et auxquels n’échappe rien, s’éveille de sa sieste subtile pour tenir sous sa surveillance le sous-monde des humains.

Benjamin DeCasseres
L’En-Dehors n° 331-332, Juin-Juillet 1939