Lazaret:Du latin lazarus, <>: lieu réservé dans les ports a la désinfection des marins de retour d'une région ou sévit une maladie contagieuse. Victor Hugo.
dimanche 16 octobre 2011
dimanche 29 mai 2011
Strange Fruit
- The shame of being human sometimes is overwhelming.
- The hypocrisy of the word humane makes my stomach turn.
- Our savagery is sustained by a flag of rotten ideals.
- But how to distinguish which ideals are rotten
- Which ideals are beginning to rot
- Which ideals will surely expire before we notice any smell emanating.
- Which ideals will go from a fragrant fruit to rotten flesh...
- Southern trees bear strange fruit,
- Blood on the leaves and blood at the root,
- Black body swinging in the Southern breeze,
- Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees.
- Pastoral scene of the gallant South,
- The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth,
- Scent of magnolia sweet and fresh,
- Then the sudden smell of burning flesh!
- Here is fruit for the crows to pluck,
- For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck,
- For the sun to rot, for the tree to drop,
- Here is a strange and bitter crop.
- (Strange Fruit is a Poem by Abel Meeropol and sang by Billie Holiday)
dimanche 22 mai 2011
Scared to Dream
To die, to sleep...
To sleep—perchance to dream. Ay, there's the rub!
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause—there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life.
To sleep—perchance to dream. Ay, there's the rub!
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause—there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life.
dimanche 15 mai 2011
Sisyphe-Kafka
Ceux mêmes qui l'entourent [Arpenteur K.] ne peut imaginer un autre souci que celui qui le ronge. Ceux mêmes qui l'entourent s'éprennent de ce vide et ce douleur qui n'a pas de nom, comme si la souffrance revêtait ici un visage privilégie. Camus parlant de Kafka.
But perhaps there is a privilege to understand: to understand and not become fully lost to which is observed and experienced... : The great patrimony of existentialism.
But perhaps there is a privilege to understand: to understand and not become fully lost to which is observed and experienced... : The great patrimony of existentialism.
dimanche 8 mai 2011
La Vie Dans les Plis
Souvent il arrive que je me jette en avant
comme la mer sur la plage. Mais je ne sais encore que faire.
Je me jette en avant, je reviens en arrière,
je me jette à nouveau en avant. H. M.
We know what to do: our timidity takes control and we end up oppressed by the shore.
samedi 30 avril 2011
Egestatem et Potestatem
Does it really make a difference if we give out a hand without asking anything in return.?
It does not help, in fact is useless.
Poverty will always exist, misery will always be part of us and *we* not changing anything.
We do it anyway knowingly we are not changing anything at all.
Nothing.
Perhaps the reason we help those under the wrath of misfortune is because we do look for something in return.
We look to learn something about them and also about us.
We are helping to learn about us: to learn about pain and desperately control it.
Control it on us... control it on others.
By "helping" them, we hope to help us.
It is them who are helping us.
It is them who are lending a hand.
At least this is what i think when I extend my arm.
It does not help, in fact is useless.
Poverty will always exist, misery will always be part of us and *we* not changing anything.
We do it anyway knowingly we are not changing anything at all.
Nothing.
Perhaps the reason we help those under the wrath of misfortune is because we do look for something in return.
We look to learn something about them and also about us.
We are helping to learn about us: to learn about pain and desperately control it.
Control it on us... control it on others.
By "helping" them, we hope to help us.
It is them who are helping us.
It is them who are lending a hand.
At least this is what i think when I extend my arm.
lundi 25 avril 2011
To Bleed
There is nothing to painting [writing],
All you do is sit down at a canvas [typewriter] and bleed.
All you do is sit down at a canvas [typewriter] and bleed.
dimanche 17 avril 2011
Incurable disease.
C'est une de maladie incurable que je porte, qui s'appelle lucidité.
Parce que je ne vois aucune raison pour être optimiste dans le monde ou nous sommes.
Aucune raison.
Parce que je ne vois aucune raison pour être optimiste dans le monde ou nous sommes.
Aucune raison.
dimanche 10 avril 2011
Dying in Paris
Being in a large city filled with people which seem to bubble from the ground like ants makes it easier to get lost.
Easier to die within.
Easier to kill the soul while the body still moves and breaths.
So is the case of a friend of mine.
He left this world a long time ago, and everytime I see him, I know he is no longer here.
His body is still here. He tries from time to time to acknowledge I am in front of him, but the effort to acknowledge others existence causes him extreme pain.
I know, but he likes me so he tries and usually falls to a chaotic and repetitive conversation loop.
You have to know him to realize he is repeating over and over and getting lost in his thoughts and tears.
Sometimes he can look at me with his lost eyes and just start crying.
I do not think he looks at me, I just happened to be in the direction of his memories.
I am probably blocking them for an instant then they come rushing in inundating his eyes.
When I first met him, his body was still responding, he walked and even insisted in cooking for me from time to time...
but as of lately even his body is giving signals of abandon.
Every time I look at him I wonder when his suffering will end.
I too suffer seeing him in so much pain.
It is to me a clear example of a body separated from its soul to never come back.
Just like ORLY from J. Brel.
The body stays alone after the soul has long left causing anguish and pain...
Yesterday he was found in the streets unable to move and talk and taken to some hospital.
It is april 10, 2011. I am today in my 30's while he is in his 70's.
I can hear the bells from the church at Saint-Germain-des-Prés singing, reminding me to stop writing, get up and look for him.
I will now call hospitals to find out where has him been taken. I hope to find him...
Perhaps his pain will soon will end. I care about him very much. I would like him to find peace. This peace will not be found here, not in this earth, not in Paris, not in his frail body and certainly not in my company, although I have held his hand a few times in my attempt to give him comfort.
At the end my presence is useless as there is nothing I can do except be filled with melancholy.
....•°°•.¸.•°°•.¸.•°°•.¸....
Easier to die within.
Easier to kill the soul while the body still moves and breaths.
So is the case of a friend of mine.
He left this world a long time ago, and everytime I see him, I know he is no longer here.
His body is still here. He tries from time to time to acknowledge I am in front of him, but the effort to acknowledge others existence causes him extreme pain.
I know, but he likes me so he tries and usually falls to a chaotic and repetitive conversation loop.
You have to know him to realize he is repeating over and over and getting lost in his thoughts and tears.
Sometimes he can look at me with his lost eyes and just start crying.
I do not think he looks at me, I just happened to be in the direction of his memories.
I am probably blocking them for an instant then they come rushing in inundating his eyes.
When I first met him, his body was still responding, he walked and even insisted in cooking for me from time to time...
but as of lately even his body is giving signals of abandon.
Every time I look at him I wonder when his suffering will end.
I too suffer seeing him in so much pain.
It is to me a clear example of a body separated from its soul to never come back.
Just like ORLY from J. Brel.
The body stays alone after the soul has long left causing anguish and pain...
Yesterday he was found in the streets unable to move and talk and taken to some hospital.
It is april 10, 2011. I am today in my 30's while he is in his 70's.
I can hear the bells from the church at Saint-Germain-des-Prés singing, reminding me to stop writing, get up and look for him.
I will now call hospitals to find out where has him been taken. I hope to find him...
Perhaps his pain will soon will end. I care about him very much. I would like him to find peace. This peace will not be found here, not in this earth, not in Paris, not in his frail body and certainly not in my company, although I have held his hand a few times in my attempt to give him comfort.
At the end my presence is useless as there is nothing I can do except be filled with melancholy.
....•°°•.¸.•°°•.¸.•°°•.¸....
Et maintenant ils pleurent Je veux dire tous les deux Tout à l`heure c`était lui Lorsque je disais il Tout encastrés qu`ils sont Ils n`entendent plus rien Que les sanglots de l`autre Et puis infiniment Comme deux corps qui prient Infiniment lentement ces deux corps Se séparent et en se séparant Ces deux corps se déchirent Et je vous jure qu`ils crient Et puis ils se reprennent Redeviennent un seul Redeviennent le feu Et puis se redéchirent Se tiennent par les yeux Et puis en reculant Comme la mer se retire Ils consomment l`adieu Ils bavent quelques mots Agitent une vague main Et brusquement ils fuient Fuient sans se retourner Et puis il disparaît Bouffé par l`escalier
samedi 9 avril 2011
la peste
C'est au moment du malheur qu'on s'habitue à la vérité, c'est-à-dire au silence.
...and....as brittle as silence...truth slowly falls apart.
...and....as brittle as silence...truth slowly falls apart.
vendredi 1 avril 2011
Camille
"Ce n'est pas ma place au milieu de tout cela, il faut me retirer de ce milieu, après quatorze ans, aujourd'hui d'une vie pareille, je réclame la liberté à grands cris."
There are multiple ways of being "institutionnalisée" some people don't even realized it has happened (to them.)
Peut être que la liberté n'existe pas...nos cris sont assourdis par notre cécité.
There are multiple ways of being "institutionnalisée" some people don't even realized it has happened (to them.)
Peut être que la liberté n'existe pas...nos cris sont assourdis par notre cécité.
vendredi 25 mars 2011
mercredi 23 mars 2011
mardi 15 mars 2011
jeudi 10 mars 2011
Sustained Incoherence
"Thought runs you. Thought, however, gives false info that you are running it, that you are the one who controls thought. Whereas actually thought is the one which controls each one of us. Thought is creating divisions out of itself and then saying that they are there naturally. This is another major feature of thought: Thought doesn't know it is doing something and then it struggles against what it is doing. It doesn't want to know that it is doing it. And thought struggles against the results, trying to avoid those unpleasant results while keeping on with that way of thinking. D. B."
mardi 1 mars 2011
I got the spirit, but loose the feeling
Courage is for those who stay.
I am not so sure anything is worth it at the end except on our delusional minds
ou pour ceux qui sont née avec une cuillère d'or... pendant l’été...
I am not so sure anything is worth it at the end except on our delusional minds
ou pour ceux qui sont née avec une cuillère d'or... pendant l’été...
lundi 27 décembre 2010
Prometheus.
Life is a sort of a nightmare.
Perhaps not to me at this precise moment,
but at this same instant, in simultaneous places, and multiple peoples, life is a
constant nightmare.
Life becomes unbearable to the point of desperate escape.
At the time i finish this sentence, many people would be undergoing pain and suffering and would have committed suicide.
We have even gone as far to convince ourselves that life when it breathes oxygen by the nostrils for the first time its a moment of pleasure and happiness for the carrier.
Screams of agony... unless pleasure has been re-defined in some S&M dictionary, this moment is more to me like a sacrifice filled with intense frightening pain, such as that from Prometeus after he stole the fire (see below).
No.
Life is a nightmare, but curiously not for all societies.
There are some hunter-gatherer groups which the idea of internal struggle and suicide is a comical construction of the "civilized" world.
In fact, even the word suicide does not exist in their language.
Perhaps it is that we have converted thought to irreversible chaos and thus suffering is a natural consequence.
Perhaps not to me at this precise moment,
but at this same instant, in simultaneous places, and multiple peoples, life is a
constant nightmare.
Life becomes unbearable to the point of desperate escape.
At the time i finish this sentence, many people would be undergoing pain and suffering and would have committed suicide.
We have even gone as far to convince ourselves that life when it breathes oxygen by the nostrils for the first time its a moment of pleasure and happiness for the carrier.
Screams of agony... unless pleasure has been re-defined in some S&M dictionary, this moment is more to me like a sacrifice filled with intense frightening pain, such as that from Prometeus after he stole the fire (see below).
No.
Life is a nightmare, but curiously not for all societies.
There are some hunter-gatherer groups which the idea of internal struggle and suicide is a comical construction of the "civilized" world.
In fact, even the word suicide does not exist in their language.
Perhaps it is that we have converted thought to irreversible chaos and thus suffering is a natural consequence.
dimanche 28 juin 2009
dimanche 21 décembre 2008
right for food, 180 for, 1 against..mmm
How is this possible?
http://www.un.org/News/Press/docs/2008/gashc3941.doc.htm
so basically, the opposing country will not vote for the basic food right, nor the child's Rights, why?
maybe because overflowing the market with subsidized corn would make this developing countries incapable of competing with the cheap bags of rice and corn that are over produced and heavily subsidized.
Its not aid, it does not help during the real crisis's, i.e. Drought, famine.
Aid is only sent when we know those countries have farm land.
you see: they need to be put out of business....
It is not aid, it is a crime.
I remember when I was at UCLA's cafeteria towards closure time that the students-workers would come with large black trash bags to throw all the food inside. All of it dumped in the bag.
Spoiled and hypocrite bastards.
http://www.un.org/News/Press/docs/2008/gashc3941.doc.htm
so basically, the opposing country will not vote for the basic food right, nor the child's Rights, why?
maybe because overflowing the market with subsidized corn would make this developing countries incapable of competing with the cheap bags of rice and corn that are over produced and heavily subsidized.
Its not aid, it does not help during the real crisis's, i.e. Drought, famine.
Aid is only sent when we know those countries have farm land.
you see: they need to be put out of business....
It is not aid, it is a crime.
I remember when I was at UCLA's cafeteria towards closure time that the students-workers would come with large black trash bags to throw all the food inside. All of it dumped in the bag.
Spoiled and hypocrite bastards.
vendredi 5 décembre 2008
Saigne
Derrière le statut, le vêtement,
la couleur de peau
n'est-ce pas qu'on est tous semblables ?
Les mêmes préoccupations :
Qui suis-je ?
Où vais-je ?
Que n'ais-je ?
M'aime-t-il ?
M'aime-t-elle ?
C'est pas exagéré, de dire que je suis mort.
Je suis allongé là à même le sol et je me demande encore, pourquoi m'aimait-il pas ?
la couleur de peau
n'est-ce pas qu'on est tous semblables ?
Les mêmes préoccupations :
Qui suis-je ?
Où vais-je ?
Que n'ais-je ?
M'aime-t-il ?
M'aime-t-elle ?
C'est pas exagéré, de dire que je suis mort.
Je suis allongé là à même le sol et je me demande encore, pourquoi m'aimait-il pas ?
Camus and Sartre meet Hip Hop
"Louis-Ferdinand Celine revolutionised literature because he was very close to real people, like us rappers today. That's generally a good thing, but there's a danger about being so close to the people; you can start to embrace all the things that are wrong with society...
...In Celine's time, anti-Semitism was rife and he fell into the trap of becoming anti-Semitic himself. Today, we rappers can sometimes do the same and say it's always the fault of others, or apologise for violence, or become misogynistic or too materialistic."
Abd Al Malik
...In Celine's time, anti-Semitism was rife and he fell into the trap of becoming anti-Semitic himself. Today, we rappers can sometimes do the same and say it's always the fault of others, or apologise for violence, or become misogynistic or too materialistic."
Abd Al Malik
