My hallucinations are endless. This is what I’ve always gone through: the end of my faith in history, the neglect of my principles. I shall say no more about this: poets and visionaries would be jealous. I am the richest one of all, a thousand times, and I will hoard it like the sea.
I ought to have a special hell for my anger, a hell for my pride, - and a hell for sex; a whole symphony of hells!
Poet under the influence of hashish
Self portrait drawn w. pen by Charles Baudelaire
reproduced in Les fleurs du mal, Kultura, Beograd, 1970
[this copy I have is especially dear to me since it was a gift from my mum to my dad when they started to date back in 1974]
You are sitting and smoking; you believe that you are sitting in your pipe, and that your pipe is smoking you; you are exhaling yourself in bluish clouds. You feel just fine in this position, and only one thing gives you worry or concern: how will you ever be able to get out of your pipe?
Charles Baudelaire, 1860
thanks to frenchtwist:]
I say one must be a seer, make oneself a seer. The poet makes himself a seer by an immense, long, deliberate derangement of all the senses.
- Arthur Rimbauld in Letter to Paul Demeny May 15, 1871
Arthur Rimbaud profile in Paris,1976
by Francis Schklowsky
[ i might even like this more then any of Wojnarowicz’ interventions ]