I'm dirty. Lice are gnawing at me. The pigs, when they look at me, vomit*
The scabs on my lips have flaked my skin, covered with a yellowish pus.
I don't know the water of the rivers nor the dew of the clouds. [...]
My feet have taken root in the soil and compose, up to the belly,
A sort of living vegetation, full of vile parasites
Which is no longer flesh and does not derive still from the plant. Yet my heart beats.
But how could it beat if the rot and the fumes
From my corpse did not nourish it in abundance?
A family of toads has settled under my left armpit
br/>And when one of them moves it tickles me
Be careful that one doesn't escape and come and scratch the inside of your ear with its mouth: then, it would be capable of entering it in the brain
Under the right armpit there is a chameleon that gives them a perpetual hunt
So as not to die of hunger: everyone must live
But when one party completely foils the wiles of the other
They find nothing better to do than leave each other alone
And they suck the delicate fat that covers my ribs: I'm used to it
An evil viper has devoured my cock and taken the place [...]
Two little porcupines, which no longer grow, they threw to a dog,
Who did not refuse the inside of my testicles:
And they settled there 'inside of the epidermis, washed with care...
The anus was intercepted by a crab; encouraged by my inertia,
With its claws it guards the entrance, and it hurts me a lot! [...]
Don't talk about my spinal column, because it is a sword
You want to know, don't you, why it is planted vertically in my loins?
I don't remember it very clearly either .
However, if I decide to consider a memory what perhaps is nothing more than a dream
Know that the man, when he learned that I had made a vow to live with the disease
As long as I hadn't defeated the Creator, he walked behind me, on tiptoe,
But not so slowly as not to be heard
I no longer perceived anything, for an instant which wasn't long.
This sharp dagger penetrated to the hilt between the two shoulders of the festive bull
And his frame trembled like an earthquake. The blade adheres to the body with such force
That no one has so far managed to extract it: athletes, mechanics, philosophers, doctors...
They have tried, time after time, the most diverse means
br/>They didn't know that the evil that man has done cannot be undone [...]
Wanderer, when you pass by me, don't turn to me, I beg you
The slightest word of consolation: you would weaken my courage
Let me warm my tenacity in the flame of voluntary martyrdom... go away [...]
I can still hike to the walls of heaven
To the head of a legion of murderers
And return to assume this attitude to meditate, again
On the noble projects of revenge [...]
[** Les Chants De Maldoror, IV, Isidore Ducasse comte de Lautrèamont:]

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