Saturday, June 23, 2007
Come, my child: over there, guarded by an angel, Treasurer of the secrets of forbidden Knowledge, There bleeds, for corrupted hearts, a strange vine, Twined with the hissing snake of Paradise Lost.
The angel sleeps when I wish. Come, My beautiful child, eat with wanton teeth The clusters where my mouth has bitten: Tomorrow you will know the cost of the wine And the power of the vintage your elder has sold you.
You will watch yourself act and think and live, You will be at once the reader and the book, The obscure writer of that hideous book.
And you will die very old, cultivating your pain, For having abdicated the scepter of your ignorance, Which raised you to the height of heroes and the gods. ~"Initiation" from "Hors du Siecle" by ALBERT GIRAUD~
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