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March 10, 2004
No Name #226
One of my old favorite boys introduced me to the poetry of Rimbaud when I was twenty. I still idly flip through Rimbaud collections when I find myself in bookstores, hoping that the news of my fidelity will travel back to that boy along the universal psychic pipeline. Then last night in lecture, my professor idly mentioned that at the end of his life Rimbaud renounced poetry in favor of industry and became a slave-trader. This knowledge will color all my subsequent readings and now I wonder: am I sad because I've lost the poet? Or the poetry? Or because I've lost the boy?
Posted by didofoot at March 10, 2004 10:24 AM
Comments
Why did you have to tell me this? Now I knowingly admire the poetry of a slave-trader.
This is almost as bad as when you said Anais was your best friend, when all along I thought she was mine.
Posted by: robyn at March 15, 2004 04:50 PM
I think you and me and Anais can get one of those best friend heart necklaces that breaks into three pieces. I get the left-hand piece.
Posted by: didofoot at April 8, 2004 10:33 AM
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