"God is the only being who, in order to reign, doesn't even need to exist."On this very day in 1821 was born one Charles Baudelaire, influential French poet and art critic who had an all-consuming passion for alcohol, hashish, opium, and all things synesthetic.
His work ill-received, largely underappreciated, and often misunderstood, his body and mind wracked by hemiplegia and aphasia, Baudelaire died at the age of 46 in a Parisian nursing home, his mother by his side.
There's a lesson in there somewhere, but I'll be damned if I know what it is...
"The Poet is a kinsman in the clouds
Who scoffs at archers, loves a stormy day;
But on the ground, among the hooting crowds,
He cannot walk, his wings are in the way."
—L’Albatros [The Albatross]
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