Back again from hiatus, and though it was not a season in hell that kept me away, it would be all the more effective if i said so. The experiment returns to life, however briefly...
"Once, if I remember well, my life was a feast
where all hearts opened and all wines flowed.
One evening I seated beauty on my knees. And I
found her bitter. And I cursed her.
I armed myself against justice.
I fled. O Witches, O Misery, O Hate, to you has
my treasure been entrusted.
I contrived to purge my mind of all human hope.
On all joy, to strangle it, i pounced with the stealth
of a wild beast.
I called to the executioners that i might gnaw
their rifle-butts while dying. I called to the plagues
to smother me in blood, in sand. Misfortune was
my God. I laid myself down in the mud. I dried my-
self in the air of crime. I played sly tricks on mad-
ness.
And spring brought me the idiot's frightful laugh-
ter.
Now, only recently, being on the point of giving
my last squawk, I thought of looking for the key to
the ancient feasts where i might find my appetite again.
Charity is that key.--This inspiration proves that
I have dreamed!
'You will always be a hyena...' etc., protests
the devil who crowned me with such pleasant poppies.
'Attain death with all your appetites, your selfishness
and all the capital sins!'
Ah! I'm fed up:--But, dear Satan, a less fiery eye
I beg you! And while awaiting a few small infamies
in arrears, you who love the absence of the instructive
or descriptive faculty in a writer, for you let me tear
out these few, hideous pages from my notebook of
one of the damned."
-A Season In Hell, Rimbaud
