18 April, 2011

In search of The Golden Age

For the first time in a long time, I can sit alone in my room -- alone with my thoughts.
Just my music, my Sobranies & freshly brewed French press - my room smells of Paris in the 20's.
I haven't been able to find the record I've been looking for - for what feels like an eternity, and I think I'm gonna have to go to Denmark to find it.  Furthermore, I have wrapped myself in Rimbaud and there is nothing more magical than his words pressed on to the sheets of an old book.

I dreamed of a green night with dazzled snows,
Kisses climbing slowly to the eyes of the seas,
The circulation of uheard-of saps
And the yellow-blue dawn of singing phosphorus! 

Lettre du voyant (Arthur Rimbaud)

His lonely romantic words ring in my thoughts, as if  myself were writing them.
Me thinks after Denmark, I'll visit France again, but this time solely in memory of his memories.

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