Horror Of Life Charles Baudelaire - Johnny Pulp and the Lemonheads
Sleeve Notes
falling asleep and waking up are unbearable and I don't seem to be able all beauty is sinister and cold and saturated with fury and patience too old for my flowers of evil my flower s of evil this asylum of the guilty and sacred people why not take a day off and forget the sun and the appalling dread of what's done and undone? I am a flower of evil, a flower of evil an asylum for the guilty and sacred people there's just this that brings you to your knees and its sorrow and the drama that it sees and every minute reveals a moment of clarity I pass time reflecting on life's brevity Don't kill your flower of evil, your flower of evil your asylum for your guilty and sacred people and its arbitrary and I'm your lethargie your sickness and there's no remedy and when I fall asleep I hear voices and have just anxiety and have run out of choices Come to your flower of evil, your flower of evil and be our asylum for the guilty and sacred people Come to your flower of evil, your flower of evil and be our asylum for the guilty and sacred people there's always a fear of suddenly falling down dead and a fear of living too long and there's always suicide was what you said and living again and again seems wrong I'm catatonic and inertia has me by the throat and always an old sense of a curse and hallucinations come and reality floats and I write letters and notes and verse here come my daydreams again and discouragements galore so much melancholy so much pain and everything's real and I want more There's a sort of illness and a kind of defect a sort of oblivion of a different sort I'm all these feelings and no kind of intellect a way of life more than a life caught Precarious obsessions and demon lovers a mania for writing and debts unpaid I am mental and physical and all sorts of others I want to lie and live where the dead are laid here come my daydreams again and discouragements galore so much melancholy so much pain and everything's real and I want more come to my daydreams again and discouragements galore so much melancholy so much pain where everything's real and I want more How can I cure myself is there a cure am I sick or and are you with him or with her what's with the solitude and what's with the moods I promised you failure and I gave you them goods You're always so suspicious like a duty to exist and are these visits from the doctors going to persist? Do you self-annul do you play at sacrilege And do you stand on the veranda and perch on the ledge? Self loathing's a form of patricide and its antics are quite severe with dark angels who visit you side by side and your a wanderer and sincere You have stray dogs and utterances they come by way of nights disturbances I speak of horror and despair and life itself I am in the gutter and the abyss of myself Self loathing's a form of patricide and its antics are quite severe with dark angels who visit you side by side and your a wanderer and sincere The cat's prowl the rooftops and the city squares The dogs bark melancholic by the stairs The moon is a cliché and nobody really cares And you've a message you have to share about Self loathing's a form of patricide and its antics are quite severe with those dark angels who visit you side by side and your a wanderer and sincere Yes Self loathing's a form of patricide and its antics are quite severe Your dark angel who visits you side by side and your a wanderer and sincere writing you texts takes more than a whole book my mood is now an abstract of mortality of lived time are their forces that are like we're fishes on a hook flapping around on deck. This is a sign. tedium vitae coming again with the emails tedium vitae coming again with the emails all my life. all my life. it's impossible to get alive. I have not lived . I have watched a life outside it and its ambivalent affects. You watched it too. I held on to you. we'd watch together. external to humanity or maybe a deep dive in. tedium vitae coming again with the emails tedium vitae coming again with the emails Find me an equivalence. the self is emptying like old dishwater self annulment is easy self abnegation is a breeze there's a deliberate impersonality in my art and poetry. i am a mystic without any intuitions i don't engage with crisis and doubt i am crisis and doubt i am the immortal tedious spectacle a beautiful disease like when the eyes brighten into an incurable physiological misery strange towns like Brussels Paris Berlin incurable incurably ill eyes like black berries melodramas on the display of suffering sigils that cloak more than reveal. you'll never know me now. you said you would bear witness but you're renewing your interest in life tedium vitae coming again with the emails tedium vitae coming again with the emails Nicolas Chamfort what a laugh suicides failed each time who wounded you? Myself. Seneca killed himself three times. Knife, poison then scalding bath. tedium vitae coming again with the emails tedium vitae coming again with the emails tedium vitae coming again with the emails i'm the awkward conjunction of suicide and jokes metaphysics and soap operas i am the misery's diabolical dictionary idleness and enigmas within boredom no motive or cause a shadow cast by mortality and hovering i am the misery's diabolical dictionary the kestrel over existence and the ditch gallows humour madness melancholia medicine and diets, stasis and inborn defects i am the misery's diabolical dictionary mania and DSM and pharma apparatus broken impact of cultural shifts hallucinations of living decadence degeneration and extinction catastrophe anda breakdown before coffee and limbo. i am the misery's diabolical dictionary i am the misery's diabolical dictionary i am the misery's diabolical dictionary what's the use? what's the use? tell me what the answer is now? well? the allure of oblivion is back it was getting out of reach now its at my finger tips what's the good of going on now? is there a good ? its all malady. i am the misery's diabolical dictionary I'm already on the other side of the grave look backwards illness as chronic life sinews of life in a passion an alarming state of catatonia douleur comes again diffuse and opaque miasmatic ennui are you too tired for this? Why are you a sudden event when no-existence is oblation these are the nervous states i get up in the morning just because of an alarming structural despair fainting spells and falling sickness suicide is prepared in advance the chronic life douleur comes again diffuse and opaque miasmatic ennui are you too tired for this? Why are you a sudden event when no-existence is oblation i live in the city i am my own negativity my dysphoria is aesthetics remorse is the halter to the free reigns regret desire beauty number memory who needs to bleed or talk the loquacious tripe i failed from the very start douleur comes again diffuse and opaque miasmatic ennui are you too tired for this? Why are you a sudden event when no-existence is oblation all my writing and all my other scrawls are my suicide note as are my conversations loves meals shows fragments drinks my constellation is a dark milky way my impressions are just langueur done as hysteria yours the inverse proportion I cluster alone you walk past my tombs and the gravity of sepulture i will be always here an homage you'll treat like anyone would the long dead. douleur comes again diffuse and opaque miasmatic ennui are you too tired for this? Why are you a sudden event when no-existence is oblation douleur comes again diffuse and opaque miasmatic ennui are you too tired for this? Why are you a sudden event when no-existence is oblation and i will be always here an homage you'll treat like anyone would the long dead. what about this I bequeath everything all I possess rare are the moments of joy I barely know him he has neither lived in me nor with me he has no need of me farewell. Farewell. don't destroy this letter the last will is when the dead have the right to leave a few gifts. she posoined my life has no further use of the money she has the company of others affection and friendship I suppose for myself I only have you have peace of mind with you i cannot bear the thought that she'd be dispossessed was I mad? farewell. Farewell. don't destroy this letter the last will is when the dead have the right to leave a few gifts. I often plead and am humiliated who interferes with my final wishes women understand me best haha these are the positions you are the only loved woman and gentle and elevated minds need to look to you once I'm gone and annulled. farewell. Farewell. don't destroy this letter the last will is when the dead have the right to leave a few gifts. guide me and advise me and care for god's sake just care reason and utility can't we do better? my will is no act of bravado I am my cosmic disarray I am just the expression of whats left of the humanity in me farewell. Farewell. don't destroy this letter the last will is when the dead have the right to leave a few gifts. upstart writer ho ho twists and turns and a kind of totality of correspondence. idleness is murdering me devours and is disasterous and I have a timetable counting down to farewell my love my psyche is confessional complicated to disarm sincerity i am multi faceted like resentfulness is like smashed china idleness is murdering me devours and is disasterous and I have a timetable counting down to farewell my love tea in a storm seeks attention poetic it may be but hopeless dense and rambling scattered and works in progress idleness is murdering me devours and is disasterous and I have a timetable counting down to farewell my love wine and hashish Les Paradis artificiels hallucinations with Poe and De Quincy. I am very listless. idleness is murdering me devours and is disasterous and I have a timetable counting down to farewell my love don't call me idle. I am strenuous indolent have a douleur grief sorrow pain and chagrin sorrow grief and distress These are the fine distinctions and linguistic touchstones. I guess I have what is laughingly called depressive states. so idleness is murdering me devours and is disasterous and I have a timetable counting down to farewell my love Madame Aupick in spite of your cruelty i remain sincere and essential for life like a lamp, a wash basin, wood and coal. there is no money of course lodgings and furniture are sparse and the days come and go like long tedious discussions idleness is murdering me devours and is disasterous and I have a timetable counting down to farewell my love I never dared read the last two pages they seemed too strange to begin down that road pervasive listlessness and devastating fits of rage, of rage, red supernature what happens tomorrow what is killing me what is posterity if I go beyond you? negligence procrastination a wager a state of mind a thousand troubles a bended knee I come on like the last gesture oh don't forsake me what happens tomorrow what is killing me what is posterity if I go beyond you? time is flying one last time the insects are dying and I am disrupted by these terrible things what happens tomorrow what is killing me what is posterity if I go beyond you? there's intellectual decay built into the architecture find infinity in art you're missing the point everything sells except this all I take on is diligence and a history of caricature and an active calculated reticence I insist on you and hustle and bustle in my bed and reduce myself a don't ask for any more debts. what happens tomorrow what is killing me what is posterity if I go beyond you? Your letters are cruel and you should take them back I'm very very tired and have the air of perpetual self-interest but don't speak of the age nor of my age either but I've squandered everything haven't I and now this writing is undressed what happens tomorrow what is killing me what is posterity if I go beyond you? I try and find more courage who knows where it is you can trust the messenger I'm glad I wrote before saying farewell what happens tomorrow what is killing me what is posterity if I go beyond you? Here comes the disaster the catastrophe roars are you dead yet am i your necrophiliac if I'm censured I'll do more. I want to stroke you and this is medicine for a very poisoned soul Languorous lover take me slowly drink with me the dregs of this life and death and counter balance the prose with feeble verses. Here come whips and furs and the artificial paradises. if I'm censured I'll do more. I want to stroke you and this is medicine for a very poisoned soul I am a second edition. depression overwhelms the times. cruel reminders are posted every minute. if I'm censured I'll do more. I want to stroke you and this is medicine for a very poisoned soul my solitude is a crowded room. I am everyone else's life. I envy yours. I am abrupt and cut people off. there is the flattery that offends and the attacks that judge themselves sinister wrath and malancholy stack up between fingers and thumbs if I'm censured I'll do more. I want to stroke you and this is medicine for a very poisoned soul I stare at your ass and outrage my finer feelings. I shudder at the very touch in a regular copy of myself like seeing a glass repro in shop windows if I'm censured I'll do more. I want to stroke you and this is medicine for a very poisoned soul if I'm censured I'll do more. I want to stroke you and this is medicine for a very poisoned soul I send you kisses by the bar I will be legally sold reprint me reprint my soul compose your needs I have sunk low and then lower dragged by the hair by despair. These rhymes are accidents I swear. my illness isn't anything to do with medicine you are my voyage. certainly there is always having no money no influence nothing but a terrible reputation to beat me with Krauss on journalists no ideas and the power to express them I have sunk low and then lower dragged by the hair by despair. These rhymes are accidents I swear. my intolerable sense of isolation depletion of strength absence of desire the impossibility of finding a meaningful distraction I seem to have relapsed after a moment of bizarre stirrings I have sunk low and then lower dragged by the hair by despair. These rhymes are accidents I swear. what good is this? what good is that? it's the essence of spleen and I clean up after my cat I have sunk low and then lower dragged by the hair by despair. These rhymes are accidents I swear. Am I alarmed. I incline against that. keeping calm is not an appeal to your weakness. It isn't yet time. I have sunk low and then lower dragged by the hair by despair. These rhymes are accidents I swear. there's something offensive and repugnant the contrast between spiritual reverence and this precarious miserable life I have sunk low and then lower dragged by the hair by despair. These rhymes are accidents I swear. I am suffocating in open skies and closeted rooms my intestines and stomach are evil food chokes me. I have sunk low and then lower dragged by the hair by despair. These rhymes are accidents I swear. what ails you would you consider please just living a long time for me? I imagine you returning assume I will use January to finish maybe in Paris then Honfleur in Havre I'll be a fencing master training in and out the hours I need a spa a cold shower and cold bath a nude briefly what ails you would you consider please just living a long time for me? I imagine you returning the world is a dead stepfather mother you said I disappointed you I had to be humiliated by you saying be friends with him. All that's left now is reprimand and bitterness. what ails you would you consider please just living a long time for me? I imagine you returning He has gone for good and you are now mourning him whereas you never understood my overwhelming sensitivity. hahahaha we are both quite alone and weak can we be happy for each other? I have an unpleasant duty something to tell I would have hidden it but it would have been another hell to misunderstand each other by. what ails you would you consider please just living a long time for me? I imagine you returning I passed a shop and a painting on the Passage des Panoramas a reclining woman watching 2 nudes dreaming by the man you once loved but I had no money for a deposit the unbearable torrent of daily errands and I forgot about it and the art was terrible but has sentimental value somehow what ails you would you consider please just living a long time for me? I imagine you returning I'm thinking of the narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym I shall find a hollow earth and descend, descend it will be larger inside than its surface there may well not have been a beginning to time no big bang so I want to obliterate people's minds. who are they then? I'll tell you: Byron, Balzac, Chateaubriand. Have I the hours left? over a bitter coffee Confessions of an English Opium Eater squints back outrageous and horrible images along with passages of great beauty language can have clarity some day someone might say the same for my litanies of satan. you have to sing as you read them. My heart laid bare. I want to obliterate people's minds. who are they then? I'll tell you: Byron, Balzac, Chateaubriand. Have I the hours left? 1867 1867 1867 never getting heaven 1867 1858 It's getting late later than you'd have imagined hurt and surprised I suffer inside what looks like your sincerity. the horrors of life is a matter of multitudes a thousand details I want to obliterate people's minds. who are they then? I'll tell you: Byron, Balzac, Chateaubriand. Have I the hours left? suffering is worn thin why not take the day off and forget about whatever it is. the worries. I am an appalled multitude undone and crushed and sorrowful and helpless false assurances are devils conscientiousness no better I float above my life on days and can't feel my finger tips its a cursed rejuvination I am neither upstanding nor mediocre thank god. I want to obliterate people's minds. who are they then? I'll tell you: Byron, Balzac, Chateaubriand. Have I the hours left? sheer will power is it enough to get out of the rut when exhaustion comes like a ragged child bawling in your face I hate the idiotic magistrates who think I'm a delusion I want to obliterate people's minds. who are they then? I'll tell you: Byron, Balzac, Chateaubriand. Have I the hours left? I look for signs of nobility in servants I am a dupe close my eyes and forget I don't praise you could all have said more 4 times more at least there are so many drawbacks and every act now is wicked. I look for signs of nobility in servants I am a dupe close my eyes and forget I round out my resentments. I borrowed several hundred. my conscience isn't completely clear I'm not that strong yet ha I'm deplorable and sure there are people I'd hurt I look for signs of nobility in servants I am a dupe close my eyes and forget plans for happiness: read and read and read. read again. all my foolishness and worries compromised time and hours dwelled only in a fraction of time I have no excuse for not following through solid plans. I look for signs of nobility in servants I am a dupe close my eyes and forget my mother barely knows me we never lived together never had a chance I look for signs of nobility in servants I am a dupe close my eyes and forget It's 4:30. Afternoons are times where you embrace affections and the days are long and you scribble out like bad handwriting all over your little life. I do it large so your eyes won't get tired. I look for signs of nobility in servants I am a dupe close my eyes and forget I look for signs of nobility in servants I am a dupe close my eyes and forget I'm still in the hotel and my evil's at the printers and I'm a terrible business don't confuse beauty with good Carthage and The Temptation of St Anthony The Flowers of Evil November Madame Bovary the decorations of a regime are censorship exile I'm still in the hotel and my evil's at the printers and I'm a terrible business execution. Flaubert fights the malevolent forces I stop by Rouen on the way to Honfleur I am not cruel. To work is to work unceasingly. I am devoted. I'm still in the hotel and my evil's at the printers and I'm a terrible business l'ennui de vivre. is that suicide again tempting me debt reaches a pitch a minor stroke chronic nausea, vertigo migraines galore shit this is impossible and needs sarcasm to deal with its fucking repudiations. I'm still in the hotel and my evil's at the printers and I'm a terrible business who works through misery. I need some diabolical fortitude to survive this and this is chaos. I accept chaos but shit it could be easier I'm still in the hotel and my evil's at the printers and I'm a terrible business I renounce my acts whilst pressing on with them. I want to dominate my circumstances. take vengeance persist in defiance and impunity these are it has to be said juvenile fantasies. I'm still in the hotel and my evil's at the printers and I'm a terrible business one fine morning black coffee shrouds joy and stability the devastation is this: thoughts of not being able to prevent you being hurt. I assemble a list of my debts. They double and I double up. I'm still in the hotel and my evil's at the printers and I'm a terrible business I reread things written years ago and my frail health is an abomination to me. I have a deplorable nerve/ Some news is good but not today. I'm still in the hotel and my evil's at the printers and I'm a terrible business I think my money problems sink me. What's a soul to a bank balance. tumults and the streets. theatre is repulsive if just gestures My Paradise is in the post. I'm still in the hotel and my evil's at the printers and I'm a terrible business I'm still in the hotel and my evil's at the printers and I'm a terrible business yes I am... My Paradise is in the post. I'm still in the hotel and my evil's at the printers and I'm a terrible business