Total Eclipse Page #3

everything in my body.

It was no longer enough

for me to be one person.

I decided to be everyone.

I decided to be a genius.

I decided

to originate the future.

Thank you.

The principle

is very like photography...

only instead of

photographing a man's face...

you photograph his voice.

Then twenty years later...

just as you'd open

a photograph album...

you put the relevant cylinder

into the paleophone...

and you listen to

a poet reading his poems...

or singing his songs.

And you think

you could invent...

a machine like that

which worked?

For Christ's sake,

let's get the f*** out of here.

- We can't.

- Why not?

- He's about to read.

- Which one?

Aicard. Over there.

I don't think

I'll like him very much.

Verlaine showed me

some of your poems.

Yes?

Remarkable. Very promising.

Only, it seems all

that ingenuity is marred by...

Well, not exactly

a juvenile urge to shock...

but something of the sort.

- And were you shocked?

- No, I wasn't.

Then why would you suppose

I intended you to be?

That's not really the point.

Seems fair enough to me.

I could object

to your technical approach.

I could object to your tie.

He doesn't like

discussing his poetry.

I see.

A surprise for our friend.

Thank you.

Thank you, gentlemen.

Sulfuric acid.

I would ask you

to bear this in mind...

although, as with all

worthwhile work for children...

it's hoped what is said

is of relevance to adults.

The poem is called

"Green Absinthe."

Green absinthe is the potion

of the damned...

a deadly poison

silting up the veins...

while wife and child

sit weeping in their slum...

I don't believe it.

...pours absinthe

into his brains.

Sh*t.

O drunkard,

most contemptible of men...

- Sh*t!

- Be quiet.

It's authentic sh*t!

Please!

...degraded, fallen,

sinful, and obtuse...

I like it!

...to beat

your wife and child...

For trying to deprive you

of the juice!

- Get out!

- Me?

Yes, you offensive

little bastard. Get out.

I think I may be permitted

to raise some objection...

against the butchering

of French poetry.

No, you may not.

Apologize and get out!

Don't come near.

Be careful!

You think you can frighten me

with that thing.

Careful! Careful, I say!

Get out!

Come on.

Now you, you f***ing...

Come here!

Come here!

In the days of Francois I...

wise and benevolent giants

roamed the countryside...

and one of

their primary functions...

was to rid the world

of pedants...

fools... and writers

of no talent...

by pissing on them

from a great height.

How to make your way

in the literary world.

The depressing thing

about this city...

is that the artists

are even more bourgeois...

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