Prologue

Before all this began, there was December of last year when I wanted to be Arthur Rimbaud and I stood in the corner of a bookshop, where I was becoming a ghostly regular reading a ‘Season in Hell’ and wondering what it would take as carols played soft on the radio. It was Christmastime.

From then–

Rimbaud did this once to me before. He brought about a resurgence a few months ago after I read ‘Credo En Unam’ which feels like some erie song of the Gods and we humans living as mirrors of each other. I seek to know Rimbaud as many have done before me. Patti Smith and Dylan. So I stand in the lobby like Patti did in my own Chelsea Hotel among the ghosts and its crimson walls at Christmastime.