el festín de un idiota cómodo

no puedo dejar de pensar que el festín perdido al que se refiere Rimbaud al inicio de Una temporada en el infierno, sea la infancia que el poeta acaba de dejar atrás.
Ahora todo se ve de una manera distinta y uno quisiera recuperar los velos que hacían parecer la vida tan fácil, la ventaja del niño es que olvida el dolor y el adulto lo lleva a cuestas como un fardo de hierros oxidados o un cádaver atado a la espalda...
¿En qué te has converido, en el "otro" al que no conoces, en el insecto incubado dentro de tí?¿Qué has llegado a ser? Esto no es lo que tú eres...

Confortbly numb. PINK FLOYD.

Hello, hello, hello
Is there anybody in there?
Just nod if you can hear me.
Is there anyone at home?

Come on, come on down,
I hear you’re feeling down.
Well I can ease your pain,
Get you on your feet again.

Relax, relax, relax
I need some information first.
Just the basic facts.
Can you show me where it hurts?

There is no pain, you are receding.
A distant ship’s smoke on the horizon.
You are only coming through in waves.
Your lips move, but I can’t hear what you’re saying.

When I was a child, I had a fever.
My hands felt just like two balloons.
Now I’ve got that feeling once again.
I can’t explain, you would not understand.
This is not how I am.

I have become comfortably numb.

[guitar solo]

I have become comfortably numb.

OK, OK, OK
Just a little pin prick.
There’ll be no more, aaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh,
But you may feel a little sick.

Can you stand up, stand up, stand up.
I do believe it’s working good.
That’ll keep you going for the show.
Come on, it’s time to go.

There is no pain, you are receding.
A distant ship’s smoke on the horizon.
You are only coming through in waves.
Your lips move, but I can’t hear what you’re saying.

When I was a child, I caught a fleeting glimpse
Out of the corner of my eye.
I turned to look, but it was gone.
I cannot put my finger on it now.
The child has grown, the dream is gone.

I have become comfortably numb.

Y piensas que re-creándo este universo por medio de la poesía, la palabra escrita, podrás acceder nuevamente a los misterios gozosos del pasado...
Pero si la belleza le supo amarga al Iniciado, al Vidente, ¿qué se puede esperar de tí que no eres nada?