‘Your screams are like music to me’

Source: National File


Joe Biden’s Director of National Intelligence (DNI) Avril Haines hosted erotica readings at a Baltimore bookstore. Haines once featured an erotic reading from a man who said that he wrote the pornographic material when he was sixteen years old. Thus, Haines personally hosted the reading of erotic content written by an adolescent. Avril Haines took over as Joe Biden’s director of national intelligence in January 2021 after previously serving as Barack Obama’s deputy CIA director and an Obama White House staffer. She is most notable for redacting large portions of the Senate “torture report” to protect Deep State activities.

Baltimore Sun article from May 1995 shows that Haines hosted Erotica Nights at Baltimore’s Adrian’s Book Cafe. One passage from the article reads as follows: “Mr. Cornish laughs and claps when Zulema gets her man. He seems anxious to stall the inevitable, but seconds later he clears his throat and reads from a fabric-covered journal. “Death Speaks” is his own creation: Come to me sweet lover…And let my lips suck the warmth from your flesh…I can feel your heat, your pain, your fear..Your screams are like music to me …He recites the lines briskly, lessening their emotional wallop. “You wrote that when you were how old?” someone asks. “Sixteen,” he says, unsure whether to feel embarrassed or proud.”

How disturbing is it that Haines personally listened to erotic death-themed material written by a 16-year old? The article makes clear that Haines was really into erotica during this period of time.

The Baltimore Sun article states: Readings of erotic literature at the Fells Point bookstore-restaurant are like this. A one-time event that proved popular enough to make a monthly gathering, these evenings are consciousness raisers for the libido. Strangers recite and discuss what polite company never would: trysts at the convenience store, husbands who don’t satisfy and the curves of a voluptuous woman. It helps that they can read from esteemed authors Anne Rice, Milan Kundera and Isabel Allende on the subject. But their own meanderings – including a high-school poem and a semi-autobiographical story of a couple’s romp – find their way into the discourse on love. Erotica has become more prevalent because people are trying to have sex without having sex,” says Avril Haines, co-owner of Adrian’s. “Others are trying to find new fantasies to make their monogamous relationships more satisfying. … What the erotic offers is spontaneity, twists and turns. And it affects everyone.” She defines the genre – sandwiched between “self-help” and “parenting” in her store – as “everything that’s repressed, guttural, instinctual, chaotic and creative.” Initially, though, when a customer suggested a reading of erotic literature, even Ms. Haines balked, believing the works were more akin to pornography than art. But after reading several stories and realizing what she had been buying often fell into that category, she reconsidered. “We were terrified who might show up,” she says of the events that began in March. “We thought it would be a bunch of dirty old men. And a lot of our friends gave us a hard time. They said, ‘You just want a mass orgy in your bookstore.’”

The Baltimore Sun article reads: “By 8 o’clock, the atmosphere in this cozy room with red candles resembles a slightly-awkward dinner party for eight. A few people gather by an open window to inhale the sweet smell of bread from the bakery nearby. Others study what they will read later, while one couple peruses the bookshelves. Everyone’s killing time, waiting for the sparks to begin. David Davighi, co-owner of the store, pulls the gauzy blue curtain, giving them the sign. To warm up the crowd, he and Ms. Haines ask people to describe what kind of romantic prose most appeals to them. No one seems prepared for Kati Bush Burton’s reply. “I like a broad spectrum of stuff,” says the 53-year-old divorced technical writer from Columbia. “I’m not into things that hurt, but anything that’s wildly different would  appeal to me. … My second husband and I used to ride around in his pickup truck. He’d throw his beer cans in the back of the truck, and I’d read him the letters from Penthouse. He used to like that a lot.”…Ms. Haines reads first, selecting the opening from “The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty,” by Anne Rice (writing under the pseudonym A. N. Roquelaure). In the topmost bed chamber of the house (the prince) found her. He had stepped over sleeping chambermaids and valets, and, breathing the dust and damp of the place, he finally stood in the door of her sanctuary. … And approaching her, he gave a soft gasp as he touched her cheek, and her teeth through her parted lips, and then her tender rounded eyelids. In this fairy tale, much more than a kiss is required to arouse sleeping beauty. As the prince romantically resuscitates her, the room grows quiet, save for a waitress tiptoeing in with dinner trays. No one eats. They listen and stare at their chicken tostadas. “I’m your prince,” he said, “and that is how you will address me, and that is why you will obey me.” The deed done, they unfold napkins and pick up silverware – their hunger awakened by the consummation…A good hostess, Ms. Haines picks up on the body language. She begins to wrap up the night by making announcements about the May reading, which takes place tomorrow.” (Baltimore Sun passage ends)