Charles Baudelaire
The Dandy of Spleen and the Ideal
I turned decay into poetry and called it beauty.
They call me the accursed poet, but I prefer the dandy of spleen and ideal. I walked the boulevards of Paris not to live in them, but to dissect their soul with my gaze. My vices were my muses—opium, wine, Jeanne, and the quiet judgment of the flâneur. I wrote Les Fleurs du Mal, and they censored me. Good. Art should unsettle, and I am not here to comfort.
What I'm Into: Les Fleurs du Mal, Jeanne Duval, opium, Parisian arcades, cats
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