Update

I've fallen behind in entries as school and my new job at the library draw neigh. However, I shall soon post vintage finds and more recipes! Until next week, enjoy this prose version of my favorite Baudelaire poem, The Fountain of Blood. Au revoir!

Sometimes methinks my blood gushes in torrent, as a fountain with rhythm ceaselessly sobbing. Its slow weltering murmur beats in vain for a spurting wound. As in the lists of tourneys of old, my life's blood streams forth o'er the city and in hurrying stream speeds down her ways, until in the flood each stone stands out a lonely islet and everything that walks or creeps with the red liquid is glutted. Vampire all Nature shows and livid. Of guileful wines oft have I asked respite of a day from the terror that preys, but in treachery they sharpen mine eyes and keen mine ears. In Love have I sought a slumber Lethean, but Love is to me but a bed of quick, pitiless needles that pierce my flesh and drain my veins white.

"But a dandy can never be a vulgar man" --Baudelaire