Bad Blood (Rimbaud, a fragment)

 Here I am on the shores of Armorica. Let the cities light up at night! My journey is over; I am leaving Europe. The sea air will burn my lungs; the lost climates will warm me. Swimming, crushing grass, hunting, smoking, mainly; drinking strong liquors like burning metal, - as these dear ancestors did around the fire.

I will return with iron limbs, dark skin, furious eyes: because of my mask, they will judge me to be of a strong race. I will have gold. I will be indolent and brutal. Women take care of these ferocious patients when they return from hot countries. I will be involved in politics. Saved.

Now I am cursed, I have a horror of my homeland. The best thing is a drunken sleep on the coast.