Berlin Sounded Like A Good Idea
O tempora! O mores!
It's a bad, bad habit to recite Proust in the morning. You never get enough juice to fuel your day. One can of tuna to feed your cat is exactly what Rimbaud would say.
My cat is better fed; if I had a cat, he'd purr.
(A different world changes you when wearing the wrong pair of shoes.)
The left must go with the left foot and your right must smell like new. I curse the day shoelaces were invented; they fucking smell like a stale roll of tissue.
Goddamit, Marcel, where have you gone to? You left without a note, without precaution or warning or clue. I've been down and about and looking for you. Goddamit, Marcel! God damn you.
Smile, Marcel. Smile tonight. J'etaime - is that how you say goodbye?
To me, adieu feels like a scab on my wrist.
To me, Marcel, Youth is as irreparable as acne skin.
Is douché French for something as condescending as "genius"? Did you think Rimbaud would care, if he knew?
Do you think it would surprise you and let it kiss you on the lips? I left you once without a kiss on your feet.
Did it bother you?
It's too soon to tell if the world would indeed end. Mine did when yours began.
(The black ink, the absence of it on my pulsing wrist, is the closest it'll ever be to coasting forgotten seas.)
It's okay, Marcel. I forgive you for dying on me.
You were snuffed like China on a Sunday morning -
But if I sit in one corner and spoke Castilian, would you forgive me?