fools win

I'm getting to the post I said I'd do. It's about "Yo Soy Betty, La Fea." 

But, first, I will direct you to this genius review of my piece on StoryGraph, because whoever this savant is, well, nailed it. Nailed it. Got the whole point of the piece. Yes, I am painful, and my prose is painful ("almost"). Cringe! And, yes, it resembles edgy bad fanfiction that "doesn't land," no, not like a Sp/\c3X space-craft would land. I am obsessed with this person for their wisdom in observing these facts (?), and you can say I'm stalking them in the night hours while they continue rating literature. You should too. Who wouldn't want to witness such stellar brilliance? Their avatar is so beautiful, too; that person's account is so art-fully constructed in its intelligence. You could say it's art-intelligent. But, behind the account is a soul, right? A human, right? I mean it's human and artistic, not artificial nor even auuuuu...

All right, enough bullshitting lol. For this occasion, I leave this excerpt from "Une Saison en Enfer" or "A Season in Hell" by Arthur Rimbaud: "Délire II: Alchimie du verbe" trans. by me.

À moi. 
L'histoire d'une de mes folies. 
Depuis longtemps, je me vantais de posséder tous les paysages possibles, et trouvais dérisoires les célébrités de la peinture et de la poésie modernes.
J'aimais les peintures idiotes, dessus de porte, décors, toiles de saltimbanques, enseignes, enluminures populaires ; la littérature démodée, latin d'église, livres, érotiques sans orthographe, romans de nos aïeules, contes de fées, petits livres de l'enfance, opéras vieux, refrains niais, rythmes naïfs.
Je rêvais croisades, voyages de découvertes dont on n'a pas de relations, républiques sans histoires, guerres de religion étouffées, révolutions de mœurs, déplacement de races et de continents ; je croyais à tous les enchantements

My turn.
A tale of one of my idiocies.
For a while, I bragged of possessing every possible landscape, and found paltry the celebrations of paintings and modern poetry.
I loved stupid paintings, door hangings, décors, circus backdrops, signs, popular lighting; outdated literature, medieval Latin, badly-spelled erotica, geriatric novellas, fairy tales, little kids' books, old opera, nonsense jingles, innocent rhymes.
I dreamed of the Crusades, voyages where you'd discover you have no relation to anyone, countries with no history, smothered religious wars, moral revolutions, racial and continental displacements: I believed in all kinds of magic.

Yes, I too believed in all kinds of magic, M. Rimbaud, and I love us best when we do. Be the cringe rather than spend all your time dodging it for the sake of pompous idiots, it's got that unbeatable power of the (un)holy fool.

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