baudelaire-ennui

Nothing is as tedious as the limping days,

When snowdrifts yearly cover all the ways,

And ennui, sour fruit of incurious gloom,

Assumes control of fate’s immortal loom

Thought:

“Sometimes I think I am playing the piano, which I cannot do, but I hear rhythms in my tapping and sometimes, Glenn Gould-like, I chant as I go to remind myself what’s coming in the next few lines.”

Paul West

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