Monday, March 28, 2005

Filip Marinovitch

(excerpt from:)
GREEN SPHINX LIBERTY: A Performance Text

…AND WHEN CONSIDERING LOBBY POLITICS
REMEMBER WHAT THE DOORMAN SPEAKS
TO ONE WHO WISHES TO ENTER

In this heat everybody who comes in here looks like psycho killers.
NEW YORK DOORMEN TO RECEIVE ANTI-TERRORIST TRAINING.
Earlier in the day it was so hot everybody who was coming in
was looking like wilted flowers.
In this cold everybody who comes in here looks like
THE CLOUDS IN SUPER MARIO BROTHERS.
When I hear noises outside my window
I think it's you coming to visit me.
But when you're human you realize who needs
integrity—we can build airplanes—
Burn sage in your room please—
What if your birthname were
The Only Galahad?
CLEAN YOUR GRAIL WHEN YOU FILL IT WITH GRAPEJUICE
IN A SCHOOL WHERE CLASSES ARE TAUGHT BY GLASSES OF GRAPEJUICE.
IN A SCHOOL ONE AFTERNOON—FIRING SQUAD—1943—2003—
SARGENT SCOOP THE SCHOOLGIRL'S EYES OUT WITH THIS SPOON
OR SEE YOU IN THE COURT-MARTIAL MAZE
WITH YOUR PERSIAN GULF POTASSIUM NITRATE
IN A SCHOOL WE TOOK OVER FOR THIS PURPOSE
ONCE UPON A TIME IN THE HILLY BALKANS—

Dear UN,
you look like a big bright blue
swimming pool
today!
A big bright bluegreen
tanning lamp—
are you?

Dear UN—I am tanning
to death under the sun
you reflect
off your bluegreen banks—
Thank You! Thanks!


--PEEKABOO!
Who am I? THE DOORMAN—
DOORPRIZE OF THE SPHINX CAUGHT IN THE REVOLVING DOOR WHO SCREAMS…

A SONG OF THE DOORMAN TO HIS BELOVED THE CLEANING LADY OF THE PENTAGON:

My love
O come to
come to
LET IT BE GIVEN OUT I WOULD LIKE TO MAKE A STATEMENT
I am faint with love
Love
and I am sick of love
and let it be given out
that I am grinding myself to butter
in the pantry
for I am with my Love—
Yea BELOVED
You are like a deer's nose—
YOU ARE LIKE THE CAPITOL'S SICK ROSE—
YOU ARE LIKE A GLEAMING SUBMARINE IN THE GROTON SNOW—
BELOVED
your hair is like goats
running down the mountain—
your tits are like twin gazelles—

---------------
REAGAN
- THERE HE GOES AGAIN…

MONDALE
- I THOUGHT YOU WEREN'T GONNA SAY THAT AGAIN MR. PRESIDENT!
----------------

LET IT BE GIVEN OUT THAT GIVING THE BELOVED AWAY
IS NOT AN OPTION
THOSE WHO OPPOSE THE U.S.
ARE BEFORE US BEHIND US AGAINST US AND UNBORN—

DANCE WITH A BELL

MR. SOFTY IN THE DISTANCE I HEAR MR. SOFTY IN THE DISTANCE
Mr. Softy calling—
Uncle Sam calling—
NO CANADA AND NO SCHOOL WILL HIDE YOU THIS TIME—
AGES 18 THROUGH 26 GET IN LINE—
A PHOTO-OPPORTUNITY—
QUICK GET THE QUICKLIME—

O I miss New York
O how I miss it
I miss wandering its trenches—
KISSING ON SPLIT BENCHES—

NEW YORK MON AMOUR—
INCOMING!
O SACRIFICE THE COW
IT WILL COME ANYHOW
DEATH IN NEW YORK—
THE RESIDENT BREAST—

COMING ATTRACTIONS:
CONVENTION THIS AUGUST
AND COUNTER-CONVENTION—
ANGEL WITH PLACARD WINGS ITS BACK TO THE DUST—

------------------

--ARE YOU TRYING TO PICK UP AN ANGEL?
TRY AGAIN.

--What are you doing this weekend?

--NOW APPEARING AT MACY'S WONDERLAND THE GAZA STRIPPERS…

------------------

O subway rails
of the F train
elevated
where rat and pigeon
mate and make SPHINX

NOW NOW
DOORMAN SING TO GREEN SPHINX LIBERTY

Ooh
That Green Lady
Standing in the water
With a torch
Ooh Green Lady
When you look at me
You're hot as Hades' Ladies!

go to transmitsu (translation)

Filip Marinovitch lives in New York.

Tuesday, March 22, 2005

Plein Chant

PLEIN CHANT

Un numéro spécial de la revue Plein Chant sur le poète Ivar Ch'vavar; un "Horrible travailleur" célébré par ses amis et complices (hiver 2004/2005)

Plein Chant - Bassac - 16120 Châteauneuf-sur-Charente
France; 16 euros. Abonnement 4 numéros: 30 euros

go to transmitsu (translation)

Tuesday, March 15, 2005

Christophe Manon

l’idieu
xième cercle
(détails)

Le soleil bande bande le soleil bande. Le vent crache : de vastes glaires. Les fougères grognent en cadence. Les arbres étendent : leurs bras d’un violet délicat dans : des tourbillons d’air chaud qui : montent du sol. De gros cumulus laiteux déboulent du haut des montagnes du Nord comme : des tranches de viandes molles et rayonnantes. Un frisson angoissé parcourt : la cime des arbres. Les nuages aboient aboient les nuages aboient et boivent : le miel lacté du ciel tandis qu’un silence musclé cogne cogne : les tympans / le nez / les lèvres flasques / cogne : le ciel complètement vide comme : une grande baignoire. Idieu idieu je suis : un idieu pas d’autre mot : positivement idieu. Je suis un mutant issu du croisement d’un : idiot et d’un : dieu. Je suis né : à trente ans (né : à 30 ans) et sujet a : des morts et des naissances : alternatives quelquefois même : précipitées. J’ai la mine c’est ainsi la mine : d’un étron rétrograde et des yeux en forme de : feuilles de platane. Mon corps est composé d’éléments fort variés : de couleurs célestes ou terriennes / de cornes de bouc et de queues de roseaux / de rivières ou de forêts / de reins de louve ou de pieds de bœuf. Je n’ai pas : de limite pas de limite je suis : multiple de multiples et l’existence simultanée de tous mes éléments ne fait pas : de doute. À travers moi résonne à travers moi : le brame du cerf et dans : la tanière de ma poitrine est tapie : la bête féroce de mon cœur avec ses fortes canines. Je n’ai pas de demeure. J’erre parmi : les contrées de la Terre et je tombe je tombe à la croisée : des vides. J’aime tout ce qui pierre ou crâne ou ressort de pendule un jour fut expulsé de soi-même comme c’est bon expulsé et jeté hors d’usage et sans nom parmi : les détritus. Toute matière en chute m’exalte. Je trouve dans la mort je trouve : le vivant et aujourd’hui je viens à lui. Plane je plane au-dessus de la ville moi je plus léger que l’air suis et invisible plane comme si : me poussaient des ailes tant je me sens : bien et léger ici en haut ici riche assez et joyeux et magnifique. Un sentiment de bonheur s’élève en moi comme : une fusée car : je sais que : mon destin m’attend quelque part mon destin au milieu : des nuages. Je suis maintenant à : 13 407 pieds d’altitude 13 407 pieds et ma vitesse de croisière est : de 900 Km/h. Il fait 35° (degrés) au-dessous de zéro et je navigue entre : des cumulus verts et rouges et le soleil et je touche du bout des doigts comme c’est bon je touche : d’immenses canyons nuageux. Je suis : au ciel (ô ciel !) et mon cœur bat tellement que j’ai l’impression : d’exploser et c’est : bon et je deviens : de la lumière de la lumière je deviens : de la lumière et je me fonds dans : le bleu de l’orgone. Je fais l’amour à : l’espace vide autour : de moi. Je l’enlace. Je suis : partout partout à la fois et : nulle part. Mon esprit est l’immensité. Je suis absorbé et je disparais. Mon corps organique se décompose et se mêle : aux particules de gaz de : l’atmosphère (((((((((((rotule ↔ azote (N2) / vertèbres ↔ oxygène (O2) / larynx ↔ argon (A) / sternum ↔ vapeur d’eau (H2O) / clavicules ↔ gaz carbonique (CO2) / thorax ↔ néon (Ne) / pubis ↔ krypton (Kr) / viscères ↔ hydrogène (H) / plèvre ↔ oxygène d’azote (N2O) / humérus ↔ xénon (Xe) / fémur ↔ ozone (O3)))))))))))). Autour de moi fermente : le monde et brille l’image enivrée de : la Terre. Je vois : tout et je ne dis je ne dis : rien je vois tout : les néons lumineux / le fleuve et ses monstrueux bras gris-marrons chargés de tourbe / limons / laitance de poissons morts / les hommes qui sortent du sol comme : des fourmis pour aller : travailler (c’est fou ce qu’ils sont laids). Plane je plane. Je grimpe dans : les airs et fais : de la haute voltige. D’esprit en esprit je voyage et d’une poussée toujours plus : verticale je me déplace jusqu’à : l’autre bout de l’univers à travers : constellations et amas de gaz. Quelle sensation glorieuse j’éprouve alors quand : sous mes pieds la Terre barrit affamée et gloutonne comme dans : un rêve d’orage très fort. Plane je plane au-dessus : de la ville battant l’air de mes bras et petit à petit : je descends. J’assiste à ce qui était moi il y a à peine quelques fractions de secondes : visions rouges / rapides / brûlantes devant : mes yeux et je descends toujours en brassant : l’air en arrière. Alors me pousse aussi : le cœur et de nouveau se lève entre : moi et moi l’aube et l’esprit en moi grandit plus : joyeux et plus : libre. La nuit titube alentour. Des nuages noirs et rouges comme : des ecchymoses batifolent derrière : les dards acérés des pins. L’air est saturé d’un mélange : de désespoir et d’odeurs corporelles (urine âcre / sueur). Des rectangles irréguliers de bruit éclatent l’un après l’autre au passage : des moutons aériens. Idieu je suis : un idieu pas d’autre mot : positivement idieu. J’ai l’apparence c’est ainsi l’apparence : du Ienisseï en hiver et la souplesse : du vif argent. Emprisonné je jette : des étincelles comme c’est bon. Je me suis soustrait à la crainte des dieux car : je sais qu’en-deçà du : multiple il n’y a rien et qu’au-delà du : multiple il n’y a encore que : le multiple. Ma pensée n’est pas chauve car : je connais le secret de la foudre : avec mon cri je peux remonter : le chemin de l’orage. Un jour sur deux mon corps est : dur comme du bois. Parfois il est aussi épais : qu’un mur et parfois il est parfois comme : une eau noire et boueuse. Mes dents ont : la largeur d’un tiroir de commode. Maintenant mon corps est : collé et glissant comme : du parquet. Idieu je suis : un idieu. Je suis aussi incandescent que : l’univers en sa prime jeunesse. J’ai : de gros yeux ronds qui se posent un peu partout amoureusement. Je songe à : l’influence du futur sur le passé et je travaille à : l’avènement hasardeux et précaire de possibles insoupçonnés à : l’émergence de possibilités inouïes. Du sud de mon cerveau surgissent : des vérités insolites. Toutes les veilles connaissances je les chiffonne en : une boule de papier mâché. Il m’arrive même de penser que d’une manière générale là où il y a : un et encore un il y a aussi : trois et cinq et sept et l’infini. Une puissante poussée de l’amour envahit : tout mon être. La joie suffit à me réjouir mais : que je sois : heureux ne prouve pas que je ne sois pas : malheureux c’est ainsi. J’ai des yeux de oui qui observent : oragement le monde mais : mon regard parfois atteint parfois : la cote d’alerte. Je ressens alors : une petite colère aux creux des reins : feux doux qui vient d’un mélange de : soleil mal digéré et de : crottes de nez. J’ai vu triompher : le putanat toujours et partout mais : contre rien ni personne je ne peste ni ne blasphème : mes sacrés porcs désignent seulement : ce pressoir où moi-même je me tords. J’ai : des aveux de pattes de mouche et : le goût du plaisir. Je suis : aussi vulgaire c’est ainsi aussi vulgaire : qu’un saint. Ma seule ambition est : de surexister. J’aspire : la vie j’avale : la vie je l’absorbe je la dévore. Je sais ce que c’est que : l’air dans : les poumons et le sang dans : les veines. Je sais ce que c’est que : la santé. Je veux faire : du sport et l’amour. Je veux faire : l’amour soir et matin comme c’est bon car : toujours j’adhère au monde peau contre peau / ciel contre ciel et l’air transubstancié / limons / arbustes / ombre lisse qui glisse donnant la main à : tout

go to transmitsu (translation)


Christophe Manon vit à Paris.

Friday, March 11, 2005

Florence Manlik

shoes

52 chaussures (printemps/été 2005). Technique: gouache. Format: 21X29,7 cm.

go to transmitsu (translation)

Florence Manlik est illustratrice. Elle vit à Paris

Thursday, March 10, 2005

Noura Wedell: Loto-Love. (faster)

LOTO-LOVE. [faster]
[cuts and speeds of LOTO-LOVE. and from among the titles: adolescence of love, a declaration]

{go}

you used to go to this place called LOTO-LOVE. It was in Long Island City.
a nice place generally empty except for lunch when the PS1 employees who were tired of their corner diner and their institutional cafe came for a little break. that was often. the place lived off that institution's lunch money.
it was said that the owner had bought the place because of a lucky 30 million dollar ticket one wednesday. he had taken a loan for the down payment: the state prefered to pay in small installments.
the place was all concrete and windows. it had a nice air about it. of forest and water stuck in LIC.
like i was saying you used to go to this place all the time. remember? i will continue saying it. we used to go to this place all the time. we go to this place all the time. we will continue going. memorize that.

it was windows on a garden. sometimes in winter you could feel the cold sitting on the seats under all those small panes. there was a heater in the middle end of the room whose heat sometimes came up to you sometimes just missed your feet. remember you were cold sometimes but you liked that unkept promise of warmth.

we knew why it was called LOTO. everyone knew.
the LOVE was
that love is that great chance that befalls us all everyone knew the story of that place but no one knew if it was true nor if that was how it really happened.
there was an architecture of chance to the place. each thing was where it was and could also have been completely elsewhere. chaos zoomed around and sometimes settled in the fixed haphazard occurence of position. the tables so placed. the chairs and even the stools and bar where drinks kept an incessant motion. (stillness of movement)
it ressembled a word if resemblance were systemed chance. the doing and undoing that same time fluttering past. caught up. it chanced a word.
the place was made of words. it was really a storybook place where LOTO and LOVE lit up in the same neon blinking above the door. sometimes flashing TO sometimes another ending.

you told me you had read in Homer that the three domains of heaven, hell and ocean had been distributed by chance in a Babylonian lottery. LOTO-LOVE was the same way. pure distribution and through distribution, value. we used to talk about that a lot. remember, we were combative.

[here some things happen you know just as in life.]


so now what is it that always happens in that cafe?
there were but a few possibles. LO-TO-VE
[something like that tripple tripping]

first it set up an indeterminacy. TO-VE right there the beginning of subjectivity not an unknowable but a vagueness. from this came time in numbers. (you and you and you)

if you stepped in upon the TO- you were swept up in an unstoppable going. you were riding inside and through the place like on a train going. going through. just pauses on your passage. you paused at the coffee or the flavored water and immediately it was gone. taken away from you. swept up by diligent service to time. a miriad of hands invisible beneath white cloths.
even your steps were involved in this going. the black and white checkered floor swerved beneath as if the colors were carried [clung] by the feet that stepped upon them.
there were no stops
just glimpses
circulation too fast to fix.
shorter than time to see. smaller than distance between. even you and your hands, your coffee cup presented and already taken up in the incessant moving. taken up by the blur. TO was the first stop [halt] TO indeterminacy.

VE was a differently lit spectrum altogether. its being slightly closer to the end of the alphabet was not enough to explain the difference. VE was a stop. it was the end of the line. entering on that time everything was always definite and closed. it was the VE of closure. this was where things happened. eyes met eyes. lips met lips. in this VE time there was no room for error. each gesture was definite and fatal. and if one did not want to become too hugely incorporating all the links that were bound to be made then. unable to walk freely then. then unable to function at all. (links too fixing) VE was really the end of things.
it was love at first sight and love holding onto the other. it was love binding like a binding contract so that its dissolution was always the ground easing away from under you and exploding and terror of the waking day. [dissapearance of what we’d always thought was ours]
yes.
for the VE was building the subjective. which building rigidity upon nothingness was always bound to fail.
[fall]
flat
where we fixed the
black and white checkers and they built themselves up into immutable order. they didn't move about. they’d never moved about. and yet, each step assigned a black or white segment to the space. that was the reason for the fucking traffic. how did one foot blackening come step one whitening foot? sometimes, if the steps were close enough, one foot could walk one white one black through there and come upon space already filled [with those two destinies] and stopped. no movement possible. no breath. by advancing there the VE time, which was the allotted slot for love, brought about its own impossibility. movement densified. subjectivities ate up their space.

love was impossible. love was suffocating. but lo still held some promise of flight.

you said : go tripping go into there tripping. fall. fly.

wherever there were flashing lights and blinking promises (the dark the promise the light the momentary coming to). in fact things were otherwise. LOTO was chance. it was the singling out of one amongs the many
[everyone gave a dollar and all the millions came to one. cling cling cling went the sound of the machine ringing and the dropping coins]

an old old trap. one that had been around for years. lingering. waiting. it's mouth open slightly. but no fault to it: people made it what it was, people and their thinking, people for the possession of chance.

but luckily there were always three: LO-TO-VE the beginning of multiplicity.

some testimonies here. an owner, a mother of a friend, someone unknown saying i had woken up so anyway i wrote them down on a strip of paper brought the paper in the next morning and paid the dollar i was supposed to pay to get the numbers transferred through the machine (the state LOTO memory) onto this other paper, my receipt, mine to keep and cherish and then to trade in, sometime later, for an indefinitely large sum of something which would have been about the size of the population (in that state [place] the LOTO was a very popular thing).

Ti: a slippery walk
comes in one day. used to the steady tick of the neon, slips through, only slightly jerked by the VE sting coming through the door. says.
i don't know how anything is ever going to happen all scared that we are about fixity.

voice of memory (time 1: a present, a thought about the present): as i remember i actualize. no fixed occurence since i am the process. you don't know yet about the chance occurence of days.

steps back out
and comes in on the wrong time
LOVE sounds the bell of entry. everyone is quiet. everything is expecting the worse. the clients shift uneasily in their chairs. the waiters try to keep their eyes moving. even the dogs were yelping.

pressure or some silent presence of memory (time 2, affection): blocks blocks blocks i am stuck here in these assemblages i feel this stomach tightness i miss something mothers and fathers or families some lovers and friends, trees and those new spring days i had, and i wish love were not so painful so missing it's always lack in blocks. laid down in blocks of memory its fixity misunderstood

slowly manoeuvring the blocks suddenly everywhere in the way
walks throught the room on a floor of crosses sidestepping its own patterns.

it's building up
voice of the future: i build in days. i build with populations of days. my possibility is always a lucky number.

got subtle hints from knowing how to skip the times. got sidetracked. backed up. zoomed forward.

somehow got to the bar.

it's taking
a voice singing:
landing on loto you chanced to be you. so that your love was not your mother's your sister's your best friend's landing on loto out of the million it was you. every day was a win in/from the multitude.

the melody swirves to hollywood romance:
out of the seeming infinite one. no. two. a meeting. a predestination conjured on the spot. a new past shooting out along with its future. lo and behold TO had the strongest glue and still. so wonderful lips pressing drinking such sweet liquid you have never known lips pressing so that even the breathing comes from them lips pressing any chance can they get. landing on loto it was luck you were you.

and something's happening here. singing singing happening already something's happening.

modes of chance:luck’s bindings
ONE that it occured just so. one chosen out of the many. injustice if seen from the outside. haphazard concurrence of events creating order.
TWO contemplating nothing and letting things come of themselves. no view and no intentionalities. feedom if not seen from any specific place.
THREE a rule translated uniformly through chance, ambe it was called. two together. two at the same time, being what they represented
dreams and loneliness in the illusion of when a world began:

witness : (eyes)
´ the one who plays dice and likes to feel in his palm the tickling of chance still feels this joyous dizziness of fate he will all of a sudden fix. the jumping whiteness. the coexistence of six sides of the possible blacks. finite coexistence that will fade to fixity. a chosen number you and you and you adding up "

your parents did it your grandparents did it your ancestors the birds did it the world does it all the time everyone does the enclosing of chance. we all stop somewhere we are all stopping all the time

a group comes in. grouping grouping. lovers and concubines abound. aunts, cousins, grandparents, children running between the tables, they push them, bump into them, send them flying. cups and saucers and flying liquids, hair and laughter and perchance a bruised knee. soft undercurrent of noise. the palpable presence of movement.

concept: knots saying
the points of juncture(s) are important. [they are] aleatory knots of space. two hands joined. eyes staring. fingers crossed. legs pulled back or bodies clenched.
wanting to hold fast those points. squeezing past the point of strength. and knots not unwordly. making up appearance stronger binds than we imagine yet purely mind junctures
they were the thought of the clench.
and they danced [about] the chaos so there were many points-incessant movement-some release and some other catching up. the hook holding past singularity and letting go. moving (pointing) on to the next.
TO. LOVE and flashing brightness in between the release.

witness : everything in here is ordered chaos. we know. we have read about cybernetics.

we didn't know if we were there or not.
no one understood anything at all of what was happening. we don't know what's happening. provided there is something to be happening.

[probability says it should but it's hope decides it]

let's see what's gonna happen let's see what's gonna happen let's see

[…]


go to transmitsu (translation)

Noura Wedell lives in New York.

Saturday, March 05, 2005

Double Fonction

bain moussant

Bain moussant camouflage par Stéphane Bérard, 2000

go to transmitsu (translation)

Thursday, March 03, 2005

Charles Pennequin

vous vous levez, vous êtes mort, vous levez un mort, vous êtes en vous, vous sortez, vous sortez le mort de vous, vous avez quelque chose en moins, vous le sentez, vous sentez que c'est mort, c'est l'en moins de vous, vous avez un bras en moins, une jambe en moins, un pied, bon pied, bon oeil, pas aujourd'hui, aujourd'hui vous vous levez, vous sentez, vous vous sentez l'en moins, vous êtes en moins en vous, vous avez perdu la main, la voix, la voix s'est perdu, elle s'est levée, la parole est partie, elle venait du mort, comme un souffle, c'est le dernier, le dernier souffle du mort c'est les mots, vous avez ce poids de mots, vous le sentez partir sans vous, ça sort du trou, le trou du mort, vous sentez ça, vous sortez du trou que par la bouche, le reste est mort, perdu, foutu, vous vous levez mais rien n'est là, c'est juste un trou, le trou où ça parle en vous, le trou qui sort, il sort d'un mort, tous les matins, tous les matins vous sentez la mort sortir par là, vous sentez que ça respire par là, par la parole, le mort respire qu'en cet endroit, c'est son endroit, le vôtre, c'est notre endroit de mort, c'est dans l'en moins, on vous situe, tous les matins, vous situez la mort, en vous levant, c'est-à-dire en parlant, sinon vous vous levez pas, vous avez rien à dire, vous croyez parler, mais vous vous taisez, car vous taisez la mort, il vous faudrait une bouche pour ça, il vous faudrait un corps, il vous faudrait des membres, les vôtres, et pas les nôtres, mais vous savez plus à qui ça appartient tout ça, qui a fait ça, qui a repeint ces corps la nuit durant, pour qu'on croit que c'est moi, ou que c'est toi, que ça soit vous, ou moi, qu'on soit dedans, qui a fait croire tout ça, et qu'on y est, qu'on est dedans, tous les matins, et qu'on se lève, et puis qu'on parle, qui a fait croire qu'on pouvait dire, personne peut dire, tout le monde s'embrasse, de toutes les bouches, elles embrassent toutes, mais on nous ment, elles embrassent pas, personne embrasse personne, quelqu'un embrasse une bouche, mais c'est pas nous, c'est jamais nous qui embrassons, c'est que des morts, les morts s'embrassent, les morts se font la fête, les morts ont des questions, les morts répondent, rien d'autre se passe, on est dans un tombeau, votre homme est à côté, ou bien c'était votre femme, vous lui parlez, ça parle tout en dormant, elle vous répond, elle dormait elle aussi, mais elle dort pas, elle croit souffler, mais elle souffle pas, on croit rêver, mais on rêve pas, elle vous parlait, elle dit j'ai perdu mes dents, j'ai perdu l'appétit, je l'ai perdu en mangeant, pourquoi j'ai mangé l’appétit, j'ai perdu le sommeil, je l'ai perdu en dormant, j'ai trop dormi là-dessus, dessus mon envie de vivre, j'ai trop perdu la vie, à pas vouloir trop vivre, je me suis trop perdu, et vous aussi, et nous aussi, tout le monde, chacun dans son chacun, et les vaches seront bien gardées,


go to transmitsu (translation)

  • Silo
  • Charles Pennequin
  • Kilobytes' Patron
  • Les cahiers de benjy
  • Marelle, Pierre Ménard
  • Tapin
  • Sitaudis
  • Toog