Arthur Rimbaud (1854-1891)
I am another. If the copper awakens bugle, there is nothing to its fault. This is obvious to me: I am witnessing the emergence of my thoughts: I look at them, I listen to them: I bow: the symphony moves in the depths, or comes from a leap on the stage.
If the old fools had not found something in me that was only false meaning, we would not have to sweep away these millions of skeletons who, for an infinite time! have accumulated the products of their BorgnesseRimbaud’s neologism, feminine form of “blind” intelligence, by claiming to be its authors!
The first study of a man who wants to be a poet is his own complete knowledge; he seeks his soul, inspects it, attempts it, and learns it. As soon as he knows it, he must cultivate it; this seems simple: in every brain a natural development is accomplished; so many egoists proclaim themselves authors; there are many others who attribute their intellectual progress to themselves! I say that you have to be sighted, to make yourself seen.
The Poet becomes conspicuous by a long, immense and reasoned disorder of all the senses. All forms of love, suffering, madness; he seeks himself, he exhausts in him all the poisons, to keep only the quintessence. Ineffable torture where he needs all the faith, all the superhuman strength, where he becomes among all the great sick, the great criminal, the great cursed, — and the supreme Savant! — Because he arrives at the unknown! Since he has cultivated his soul, already rich, more than any! He arrives at the unknown, and when, distraught, he ends up losing the intelligence of his visions, he has seen them! May he die in his leaping excitement by the unheard-of and innumerable things: other horrible workers will come; they will begin with the horizons where the other has collapsed! (Arthur Rimbaud)
Another
It was a long time ago, in another life. She was called Lili the Tigress. She was exaggeratedly young and seemed even younger. How could I have thought about seducing her given the age difference? Since the previous one had dumped me, I was inconsolable.
I’ve never dumped a woman. I’ve never hit on a woman either. I wouldn’t know how to do that, and it was pointless. They were all falling roasted in my mouth without me paying attention. The waves, they say. Sacha said the same thing, but they clung. If I liked them, I let it happen. Often I fell in love*. And I still fall in love with all those. The two or three others I dumped hate me too much to read me, even years later. Great good deed for them.
–Don’t be sad, my Xavier. Breakups happen many times in adolescence. And they last a lifetime.
-I’m a man we love and leave. Damn it.
-Maybe? … If you were nicer…
-Shut up!!!
*Falling in love, that’s a perfect expression. We fall from a height, really. We break our mouths of love. We tumble into a bottomless well full of love all along. What a fall!
Self Pronoun
I am not the ego. Of course, the ego uses and abuses itself; I here and there, but I am not the ego. I am normal. Standard. As for me, I am more strange. The ego is when we say you to say I. We monopolize the norm that suggests that everyone has our tics and our impulses, our failings, our excesses. It is not the case.
— When you hear that, what do you do? You just pile it up. You can’t stand to hear such bullshit!!
The I is not the ego. After my university studies, with a degree in psychology and a master’s in philosophy, I had trouble dropping the “we” – another form of you reserved for intellectuals. We are less levelling than you, but in its sneaky way, it says: “No difference between you and me. I say we to express this similarity and this deep agreement.”
Therefore
The first articles of Eden Saga, I wrote them using the “we”. The fault lies with the university. Yet I had attended a journalism school that had made me look small by forcing myself to use my “I”. That’s the rule in the press. But not in Eden Saga, I thought. Therefore I racked my brains so that the “I” wasn’t said.
Let’s respect each other, let’s stop the you who kills. The I is a game when the we tie me up.
The Hindu rule is the Self, the Atman. Our immortal soul has no ego. Rimbaud the poet did not lack ego. He was so young!
His second life as a smuggler in Africa is little known, as if there had been two very distinct Rimbauds.
There are many more than two Eden Sagas. Which is very convenient: I can say white in one article, black in another. Believing without believing is a magical precept that allows for almost everything.
As far as I can tell you, it is a sine qua non condition. Essential. Ciné quoi NonneMovie what a nun, absolutely.
Salomon fell in love with a black woman, the Queen of Sheba
Forever Poets
- Heine, Loreley
- William Blake
- Boileau’s poetic art
- The Eyes of Elsa
- Ophelia and Lady Shalott
- Invitation To The Voyage
- Correspondences
- Towards The Star
- Unmask
- I Am Another