Yes, this world is indeed flat, while the other nonsense.
I am resigned, without hope, in my fate,
And to kill time until death,
I smoke by the noses of the gods thin cigarettes.
Go, live, strive, poor future skeletons,
I, the blue meander which toward the blue sky twists,
plunge into an infinite ecstasy and end up sleeping
As a perfume dying of a thousand dishes.
And I enter paradise, filled with flowery yet clear dreams
Where seen mingling in waltzes fantastic
Elephants in choirs of mosquitoes.
And then, when I wake dreaming of my verse,
I contemplate the heart full of a sweet joy,
My dear thumb roasted as a goose’s thigh.
See Le sanglot de la terre, a poem that evinces the influence of Arthur Schopenhauer‘s pessimistic philosophy and Edward von Hartmann‘s concept of the unconscious mind.