I went out under the sky, Muse! and I was your vassal.
A man who wants to mutilate himself is certainly damned, isn't he?
Je est un autre. (I is someone else).
The poet makes himself a voyant through a long, immense reasoned deranging of all his senses. All the forms of love, of suffering, of madness; he tries to find himself, he exhausts in himself all the poisons, to keep only their quintessences.
What am I doing here?
. . . be absolute moderne.