Yesterday something strange happened. I didn't feel like writing about it yesterday and I didn't let it bother me too much. But today I'm getting paranoid. There's a wall next to our house. It covers the side of the front garden and a little of the back and covers the back of our neighbour's garden (they live on the corner of the street and we're kind of at the end save for the corner house and garden). We have one garden to one side and we have about four gardens that back onto ours ...
I am writing an essay about Les Fleur du Mal and I absolutely love it. This is my kind of poetry, I have been talking about reading Baudelaire for years, and I mean YEARS but never did cause I am not a fan of translated poetry but I am reading it for school now. I could choose from 25 books, plays and poems and I just fell for Baudelaire, I am really slow I guess for not realizing it earlier. 'Une charogne' is one of the most beautiful poems I have read, this is the kind of poetry I'd like being ...
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