هيّا، إلى السير! الصحراء والعبء والضّربات والشقاء والسّأم والغضب.- الجحيم، العِلم ومِتَع الفكر والحواسّ المشتّتة - Arthur Rimbaud

Priests, professors, masters, you are wrong to turn me over to Justice. I have never belonged to this people. I have never been Christian. I am of the race that sang under torture. I do not understand your laws. I have no moral sense, I am a brute.

What am I doing here?

Delivered to oblivion...growing and flowering with incense and weeds to the sullen whine of nasty flies... I loved deserts, burnt out orchards, faded boutiques...I dragged myself down stinking alleyways... General, if there's an old cannon left, aim for the glass of splendid shops, into the living rooms...make the city eat its own dust.