Paradise. Gustave Doré.
Veni Carthaginem, et circumstrepebat me undique sartago flagitiosorum amorum. Nondum amabam, et amare amabam, et secretiore indigentia oderam me minus indigentem. Quærebam quid amarem, amans amare, et oderam securitatem et viam sine muscipulis, quoniam fames mihi erat intus ab interiore cibo, te ipso, Deus meus, et ea fame non esuriebam, sed eram sine desiderio alimentorum incorruptibilium, non quia planus eis eram, sed quo insanior, fastidiosior. Et ideo non bene valebat anima mea, et ulcerosa proiciebat se foras, miserabiliter scalpi avida contactu sensibilium. Sed si non haberent animam, non utique amarentur. Amare et amari dulce mihi erat, magis si et amantis corpore fruerer. Venam igitur amicitiæ coinquinabam sordibus concupiscentiæ, candoremque eius obnubilabam de tartaro libidinis, et tamen fœdus atque inhonestus, elegans et urbanus esse gestiebam abundanti vanitate. Rui etiam in amorem, quo cupiebam capi. Deus meus, misericordia mea, quanto felle mihi suavitatem illam et quam bonus aspersisti, quia et amatus sum, et perveni ad vinculum fruendi et conligabar lætus ærumnosis nexibus, ut cæderer virgis ferreis ardentibus zeli et suspicionum et timorum et irarum atque rixarum.
Liber III, caput I, Confessiones Sancti Augustini
Alors brûle
Brûle quand tu t’enlises dans mon grand lit de glace
Mon lit comme une banquise qui fond quand tu m’enlaces
Plus rien n’est triste, plus rien n’est grave
Si j’ai ton corps comme un torrent de lave
Les Chansons d’amour
April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
—The Waste Land, T.S. Eliot
Medianeras de Buenos Aires
Orlando Furioso sobre un hipogrifo salvando a Angélica. Gustave Doré.
We are the jack-o-lanterns in July
Setting fire to the sky
— “The Phoenix,” Fall Out Boy
In persecutione extrema Sacræ Romanæ Ecclesiæ sedebit Petrus Romanus, qui pascet oves in multis tribulationibus: quibus transactis civitas septicollis diruetur, et judex tremedus iudicabit populum suum. Finis.
— Prophetia Sancte Malachiæ Archiepiscopi, de Summis Pontificibus
I want to go home but where can I go? Heaven knows…
“Francesca” by Ezra Pound
You came in out of the night
And there were flowers in your hands,
Now you will come out of a confusion of people,
Out of a turmoil of speech about you
I who have seen you amid the primal things
Was angry when they spoke your name
In ordinary places.
I would that the cool waves might flow over my mind,
And that the world should dry as a dead leaf,
Or as a dandelion seed-pod and be swept away,
So that I might find you again,
Alone.
