Littérature pour conjurer le trouble, le vertige de cette explosion ! oui !! virtuellement infinie d'images, (nous sommes tous des crapules) pour retrouver un fil conducteur (Ariane!--Au secours !!) dans ce labyrinthe de nos défaites. Que la fête à venir ne soit pas pour oublier le mal mais pour illustrer nos victoires ! ... P.S. : Je vous aime !


A noir, E blanc, I rouge, U vert, O bleu : voyelles
Je dirai quelque jour vos naissances latentes :
A, noir corset velu des mouches éclatantes
Qui bombinent autour des puanteurs cruelles,

Golfes d'ombre ; E, candeurs des vapeurs et des tentes,
Lances des glaciers fiers, rois blancs, frissons d'ombrelles ;
I, pourpres, sang craché, rire des lèvres belles
Dans la colère ou les ivresses pénitentes ;

U, cycles, vibrements divins des mers virides,
Paix des pâtis semés d'animaux, paix des rides
Que l'alchimie imprime aux grands fronts studieux ;

O, suprême Clairon plein des strideurs étranges,
Silences traversés des Mondes et des Anges :
- O l'Oméga, rayon violet de Ses Yeux !
Rimbaud, Arthur

jeudi 25 novembre 2010

Helpless (sad song)

Helpless, they roar, they cry. Do they listen to each others? Well, maybe, some of them, but they can not even listen to themselves, and the little voice inside is muted, veiled, dismissed or forgotten. She hat left her to be forgotten because she is ashamed to speak : it is to whom she speaks that dissuades her. Even if they once had pure heart, this is since long forgotten.

They need to find a voice, they want to learn from the Voice, they search to listen to guidance. Because they are in great distress. Some go mad, other go fools. Some are depressed, in the verge to implode. Some express, at the verge to explode and become the casual killer, the terrorist from within (with those inside, there is no use to guard at borders tightly).

From this chaos full of noises many still try to listen but each and every of them is content on himself, little fate indifferent to others. And in the center of those self, all alone by themselves, there is a tiny spinning void. Is it a guide? Could it collapse? They call this freedom but it is always filled with the popular crap. So freedom as structure but slavery in fact, because all they want is to bugle with the herd. And that is why they are so helpless.

They roar, ther cry… they shout and scream, some sing and dance, over the roof of the firing tower. Inferno is there, claiming its fair share of victims. And walking on the dark side, in the streets of America today, this is not so good to be someone. When everything is falling apart, many nobodies from the eternal herd are willing to wrest and cruch any someones they meet.

♣ Dans les rues de l’Amérique, il n’est pas si bon d’être quelqu’un ♦

♥ In the streets of America, it’s not so good to be someone ♦

And American thanksgiving I guess this time will not save the day.

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