O octopus of the silky glance! You whose soul is inseparable from mine;
you, the most beautiful creature upon the terrestrial globe; you,
chieftain of a seraglio of four hundred sucking-cups; you, in whom are
nobly enthroned as though in their natural habitat, by a common
agreement and with an indestructible bond, the divine graces and the
sweet virtue of communication: why are you not with me, your belly of
quicksilver pressed to my breast of aluminum, the two of us sitting here
together upon a rock by the shore as we contemplate the spectacle I
adore!
-"Les Chants de Maldoror" by Lautreamont (1846-1870)
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A smell of petroleum prevails throughout.
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