tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-206040632012-02-17T02:08:18.301+01:00aile verteailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.comBlogger1541100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-14527121357007383002011-09-02T18:46:00.006+02:002011-09-03T00:25:58.134+02:00rêveJ'ai fait un rêve qui durait toute ma vie:
Enfant, j'ai passé beaucoup du temps dans la maison de ma grand-mère. Sauf que la grand-mère n'était pas là: il y avait d'autres femmes, entre elles N. [peut-être parce qu'elle émane ce calme maternel que ni ma mère ni ma grand-mère ne possédaient pas?], une tante je crois, voisines peut-être. . . . Je jouais avec des enfants tsiganes et en ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-72665490706062894092011-07-28T23:39:00.001+02:002011-07-28T23:40:37.306+02:00No wonder the Paris residence program attracted such a large enrollment this year: the door of their new office was labeled: STUDY A BROADailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-46640440200524393672010-07-11T08:45:00.017+02:002010-07-11T21:51:29.854+02:00at five o'clock in the morning, everything is still and the streets are empty. that's what one would expect: yet there is a life that goes on: crows cross the street with their resolute step, approach the cars chosen well in advance, call out to each other their morning news, sit on rooftops and adjust tv antennas to their favorite programs. unlike humans, crows are never in a rush. they pass ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-50848415247669085092010-07-10T21:34:00.024+02:002010-07-11T21:44:27.506+02:00If one can say of breath that it is well-articulated, like a word when it is pronounced with clear diction, then what I heard in my ear, as if someone were leaning over it after I had been lying awake for quite some time, waiting for the sun to come up, was a single, well-articulated exhalation. I could almost recognize the sound of voice that seemed to reside in the breath's inaudible wake. Yet ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-55144794984774022442010-07-06T17:58:00.000+02:002010-07-06T17:58:00.940+02:00Drugstore hypocrisy: For sale at Boots pharmacy: DOUBLE FACED PADS.
ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-58357475245367989042010-06-19T23:42:00.002+02:002010-06-19T23:42:54.729+02:00as long as I hold on to a poem, I am certain I won't drownailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-65034339003424473442010-06-07T23:44:00.003+02:002010-06-19T23:46:29.582+02:00l'anniversaire d'une disparitionailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-14945715897022832452010-05-31T18:57:00.001+02:002010-05-31T20:09:31.195+02:00Encounter: sitting in a dip by a grassy path, a fawn. Not much larger than an adult rabbit. Motionless and unafraid. I sat down on the path next to him. His nose wrinkled up, the skin like a child's, bare and pruned, and dark. I reached out and petted his face. We sat there for quite some time. Then he got up, turned about a few times, as if hesitating, then disappeared in a knee-high field of ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-57921863979416288652010-05-30T21:32:00.005+02:002010-05-31T10:34:07.905+02:00dreamI am standing in a room, facing a wall. To my left, a large window. It's dark outside, but the windows have not turned into mirrors. Outside, it's darkness and fog. The windows seem semi-opaque. Without turning my head, I can see a large black bird approach the glass, its wings outstretched, not flapping, but merely extended, keeping it suspended in that fog. The bird's beak is so close to the ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-34840345512256267502010-05-28T23:07:00.002+02:002010-05-28T23:07:41.686+02:00they tied the knot in order not to forget.ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-28549655751880105732010-05-04T20:28:00.004+02:002011-06-27T00:28:23.044+02:00rêveIls ont fait sortir un livre de mes poèmes. J'en étais tant étonnée comme si c'était vrai. Qui a pu faire tant d'effort de retrouver tous ces poèmes dont moi-même j'avais oublié l'existence? Pourtant, la publication m'a déplût. Le papier était gris-jaune, le genre qui vieillit entre les mains. Couverture souple, grise-bleuâtre, avec un dessin assez simple représentant une fenêtre.
*
Mais ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-27143850020638211042010-04-28T21:57:00.004+02:002010-05-28T23:08:23.926+02:00sleep in the shoes before you wear them.ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-27699791748117906532010-04-04T22:35:00.003+02:002010-05-15T10:16:03.409+02:00
Strong fragrance of lilies fills the space of the room. It is more tangible than my own presence. Being here makes little sense and bears no relation to where I was a year ago. Or a week ago. The radical tectonic displacement makes it difficult to sustain the idea of a single person. And what if one is not a single person?
When one travels, the speed of movement and the temporal proximity of ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-2132841792550535202010-03-08T00:04:00.003+01:002010-03-08T00:05:11.991+01:00Film-related posts will now appear on Kinematografika.
This blog will remain dedicated to random thoughts, dreams, residues. To sanity and insanity. Mental images. Forgettings.
ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-89236309971029186982010-02-22T23:34:00.002+01:002010-02-22T23:38:16.295+01:00just this: a bunch of tulips -- seven for the bedroom, one in the study (the British are odd to sell even-numbered bunches); strong mint tea in a glass teapot, kept warm by the flame of a tea candle; an orange tea-cup cradled in its orange saucer on top of an orange blanket; Wojciech Has's 'Szyfry'ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-79120741945244166552010-02-15T00:06:00.003+01:002010-02-15T00:08:08.684+01:00devant un film, j'ai l'impression d'être devant quelque chose vivant. Est-ce seule la question du mouvement? Flux des images?il y a une présence: il y a une vie dont dépend mon 'je', en ce moment, et qui dépend de moi, de quelque sorte.qui sait, d'ailleurs, lequel passe?ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-79448476296959877572010-02-08T23:20:00.002+01:002010-02-08T23:20:59.992+01:00- It's not your day...- Then whose day is it?ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-6785387517182540532010-02-06T17:39:00.003+01:002010-02-06T21:14:08.813+01:00peut-être je me suis mise dans un trou, sans moyens et sans promesses, dans la privation de la beauté même, afin de me faire m'en sortir par la seule voie qui me reste accessible: la voie d'encreailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-86981434583885524172010-02-03T23:47:00.005+01:002010-05-31T10:47:56.659+02:00dream
Crouching on a balcony with my father who is observing something in the distance through binoculars. I can't see that far, and am looking up in the branches of the tree right above. A bird: sky-blue, the color children paint the sky, with white and navy-blue spots on its belly; then another: with a smooth, yellow crest on top of its head; and another: with a fine, hooked beak; and then a larger ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-23255957084709011652010-01-06T20:29:00.000+01:002010-01-06T20:30:00.264+01:00she wrote her first snow draftailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-34752921100951379812009-12-14T08:23:00.004+01:002010-05-31T10:48:13.778+02:00
tonight I dreamed a dream which wasn't mine. I can't remember the details. It wasn't mine. Someone said to me, 'I dreamed you were going to die a tragic death'. But the dream wasn't mine.ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-30142055923829093842009-11-27T00:46:00.005+01:002010-01-11T07:56:16.225+01:00a note on narcissism, or an abrupt post-scriptum to an encounterA compliment paid reveals but what one desires, and a criticism brings to light what, within oneself, one most fears or reviles. The truth of one's remark lies, perhaps, only in the varying degrees of the generosity of the soul.There is no generosity without self-knowledge. For only one able to view the world as independent of one's own self -- not indifferent but invested with responsibility -- ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-80685820564171438172009-11-18T01:45:00.000+01:002009-11-18T01:46:05.286+01:00... the deadline was a deafline... and this only made the matters worse!ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-83259669380279065312009-11-08T15:38:00.006+01:002011-06-27T03:52:20.831+02:0007.11.09
solitary walk. Rather than
a crowd colorful explosions a rock band --
water winds round my waist:
if I had a Guide for each of my False steps
and satin sleeves to pass over their heads as I pass --
"the night is still young"
the wind lies in wait
his face lights up, purple, in an instant
I turn --
ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-13526875376478018442009-10-28T18:20:00.000+01:002009-10-28T18:21:12.967+01:00Time fliesmultiplyslowerthanother flies.ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-33883140503295858532009-10-28T15:38:00.003+01:002009-10-28T15:43:43.180+01:00Scripta manent verba volant."The written word stays, the spoken word flies," said the sage."The written word says, the spoken word lies," noted his disciple.ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-67060268496393486002009-10-25T12:32:00.007+01:002011-06-28T21:52:50.720+02:00in the margins of a Peter Hutton film
The film tore just where
the glass spilled Cleft
thinner than a mica leaf
Calmer than l A wraith-
note
Sung in slow tide Round
under my tongue No more
but so? Of winter blossoms
lace-leaf & thale cress
spoke
ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-12566521982493194152009-10-16T00:30:00.002+02:002009-10-16T00:39:12.377+02:00A warm evening in the Heath. Gossamer bridges between blades of dry grass. The oak above my head alive with the flutter of wings, bird quarrels and terrors. The sun going down behind the line of trees: shadows grow taller and cold. I bike over the hilltop. A green woodpecker , hidden in the grass, takes fright at the approach of two large wheels, and rests on a sunlit tree trunk. Colored fungi ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-57429666910885349012009-10-06T02:10:00.001+02:002009-10-06T02:10:56.632+02:00"so much insomnia, and what more do I know of humanity?"ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-1457274052066030622009-10-06T02:09:00.000+02:002009-10-06T02:10:19.215+02:00dream phrase:green pearl huntersailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-31881746825479556162009-08-12T12:22:00.002+02:002009-08-12T12:30:22.338+02:00the subversive nature of poetry: the last wealth in poverty, the resistance of grass in a stormailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-45087392332725581412009-08-06T20:52:00.000+02:002009-08-07T13:53:07.788+02:00the hour when windows turn into mirrorsailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-27757555812147373032009-07-27T23:48:00.002+02:002009-07-28T00:12:19.383+02:00Quitter la ville: quitter l'absence de quelqu'un qui n'est nulle part aussi absent qu'ici. Est-ce pour la chercher, cette absence, ailleurs? Ou, au contraire, s'agit-il de la quitter, elle aussi; l'abandonner comme la ville, et à la ville, afin de chercher, plutôt, l'absence de cette absence?Ce qui manque, c'est une présence, dit-on. Une présence qui désormais hante les rêves; une présence ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-23138398394744242472009-07-26T19:19:00.000+02:002009-07-28T00:31:57.907+02:00An imp of flânerie must have prompted us to follow a woman on rue de la Volta through a shabby unlocked door. I thought it would lead into one of those secret courtyards, so frequent in Paris. Instead, we found ourselves at an AA meeting, held at the headquarters of a Communist party. Gathered in a room lit only by tea candles, round a long table covered with white table cloth, were middle-aged ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-33620872230364501832009-07-11T02:03:00.000+02:002009-07-18T16:41:04.253+02:00fatal accident: unpremeditated suicideailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-73731919487475737602009-07-10T17:13:00.000+02:002009-07-18T16:35:26.850+02:00pain is always experienced as an injusticeailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-69366696009445394252009-07-08T17:05:00.001+02:002009-07-08T17:07:41.468+02:00La parole des vrais amis est comme de l'air frais à quelqu'un qui a mal à respirer. Parole, poésie: la santé... Est-ce qu'il y a vraiment des corps si robustes qu'ils n'ont pas besoin de l'un pour pouvoir profiter de l'autre?(from a letter to a friend)ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-9502425061255621872009-07-08T13:05:00.002+02:002009-07-08T17:04:12.379+02:00Two sources of writing: the urgent response to an experience (which, regardless of its apparent nature, is an experience of beauty); or the patience of the pen moving across the page, waiting for something, a shard of beauty, to appear. The plentiful source and the arid source. Both equally invaluable.ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-56256317631333774492009-07-08T12:59:00.002+02:002009-07-08T13:07:04.823+02:00On attend. Il devrait arriver quelque chose qui résoudrait l'attente, lui donnerait un sens et annulerait le mur, ou au moins découvrirait qu'il n'est pas insurmontable. Un événement, un accident, quelque chose, on se contenterait de peu, sans que l'on puisse deviner ce que cela pourrait être. On écrit donc en attendant mieux, sans savoir ce qui viendra, pour être là quand cela se produira, pour ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-50809020676079658072009-07-08T12:20:00.002+02:002009-07-08T12:57:52.359+02:00il y a des êtres incapables de sortir d'eux-mêmes: même pour aimer. ainsi, ils attendent en vain que quelque chose leur arrive, vienne du dehors, qui percerait une issue.un jour de pluie, le miracle passe inaperçu.ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-63921991943384517042009-05-28T02:38:00.002+02:002009-05-28T02:42:21.400+02:00chemin étroit,au bord des larmes,n'aura jamais aucun raccourciailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-22751044816610494042009-05-23T12:59:00.004+02:002010-05-28T23:10:37.989+02:00Guillotine makes a good headline.
ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-26335519351157156622009-05-22T22:37:00.004+02:002009-05-22T22:41:47.103+02:00NO COMMENTailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-32080400025947510992009-05-17T11:00:00.009+02:002010-05-31T10:49:59.463+02:00a thieving dreamI was a thief's "girlfriend"--an "honorable thief's"--and was bound to him by respect and a high code of loyalty. Vague scenes of hotel lobbies or shopping mall window displays, with models (not sure whether live women or mannequins [interchangeable in Fr]). The "thief" had no physical presence in the dream. Suddenly, however, I became aware that the police were after him. A state of crisis. Yetailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-3587186088198603052009-04-29T22:21:00.000+02:002009-04-29T22:22:07.387+02:00il pleut et j'écoute tomber des petits soleilsailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-53387885784414235702009-04-29T16:35:00.000+02:002009-04-29T21:37:26.005+02:00the rustling of syllables, a serpent in the grass: a fleck of color, immobility and rapid flightailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-5937484167321349742009-04-25T14:18:00.008+02:002010-05-31T10:47:03.945+02:00an impish dream
The heavy door was locked and students were at the mercy of a wicked school mistress, robed in grey like a nun, yet whose dress combined strange austerity with Victorian lace. She ordered everyone to climb the stairs. I was among the students, yet without feeling I belonged there. The stairwell was made of wood: beautiful carved balustrades, tall columns at each bend, warm wooden paneling with ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-26499629583707236942009-04-19T00:08:00.002+02:002009-04-19T00:13:36.944+02:00A beginning is a rare thing.ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-13370620128869612992009-04-15T23:53:00.000+02:002009-04-16T03:42:55.736+02:00Rip what you sew.ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-56675330691548925152009-04-07T03:58:00.007+02:002010-05-31T10:47:33.923+02:00dream of tongues
On an ocean shore, or rather, a small bay: one can see both the calm open sea, and what looks like a narrow tongue of sand separating it from the bay. A Wild Girl makes her way across the shallow water, tearing off her clothes. Countless animals, mostly grizzly bears, approach from the other side, trying to reach the mainland. The Girl inadvertently vexes one of the bears, and might have gotten ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-86136649063781336092009-04-05T12:12:00.008+02:002009-04-07T16:40:04.871+02:00Ładny dzień (A Nice Day) by Jan Jakub KolskiHow and why certain things make their way into our lives is mysterious. That they come to occupy an important place in it might not perhaps be even as marvelous as the fact that the place had not existed there before, and yet as soon as it had opened up, 'before' ceased to exist.*Impossible to stop watching Jan Jakub Kolski's A Nice Day. The 17-minute film is a day-long night-long poem, with an ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-36301919998340429782009-03-10T17:17:00.007+01:002009-03-18T02:48:21.475+01:00Films by Peter Hutton (Cinéma du réel, Centre Pompidou)(1)"The world within reach": these words, uttered by Gaston Méliès in reference to the movie camera, are carved onto a little plastic plaque attached to Peter Hutton's camera. They are synonymous with another phrase: "to inhabit the world poetically." The poetic camera is not a "window onto the world"; it doesn't open onto the foreign, the unfamiliar, onto a promise of exotic variety amidst ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-62051187870440502602009-02-23T22:37:00.002+01:002009-02-23T23:06:27.678+01:00perhaps observing a child in a libraryAimless life. A simple statement. Even as in defiance of metaphors a red oil crayon held awkwardly and as if by accident traces discontinuous curves, lines, zigzags, elipses, indifferent to the distinction between the paper and the table, disrupting any continuity, and then breaks, tearing the paper, the tear and the break do not mean death. A concentration of saliva exacerbates the redness of ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-12103499022152525902009-02-15T02:13:00.000+01:002009-02-19T02:14:31.601+01:00who dissertateth shall lose his fondest marblesailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-41547778553550116982009-02-09T22:59:00.001+01:002009-02-17T23:04:35.326+01:00"Le matin de la pensée" (in reference to Heraclitus), "le matin de la civilisation" (commonplace). Useless mornings. Petty nostalgia sanctified by linguistic cliché for a time when a finger pointing at the sun directed the gaze toward something previously unseen.ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-26739652645660778722009-02-03T09:06:00.002+01:002010-05-31T10:44:02.471+02:00dreami agreed to handle a snake. the snake was deadly, poisonous, despite its age and the fact that it could move using only two vertebrae. in order to transfer it, they injected it with a paralyzing agent. it was going to wear off within 10 minutes. i held the snake at the end of a stick and transferred it into a large plastic bag. there was some soil at the bottom, with plants growing out of it. butailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-81930548576242504262009-01-12T17:09:00.001+01:002009-02-17T23:10:20.135+01:00for Alina O.ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-49774497080387330452009-01-05T23:50:00.000+01:002009-02-17T22:31:04.044+01:00for Marcel Duchampailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-42082750466134184542008-11-09T01:32:00.000+01:002009-02-17T22:40:30.578+01:00critique de la chronologie, d'après Paul ValéryLa chronologie est falsifiante.Elle consiste à ranger des éléments--événements par AVANT et APRÈS, sur une ligne pourvue de sens.Or, nous n'avons d'AVANT ET APRÈS qu'une notion qui exige un MÊME FOURNI PAR L'INSTANT.Charlemagne après César?Donc, on introduit un Même de proche en proche--comme on quarre une courbe par une ligne brisée.César peut ignorer Salomon aussi bien que Salomon ignore César.ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-86770228177690682182008-10-22T10:10:00.001+02:002010-05-31T10:44:56.251+02:00dream
C & I are walking in a museum, absorbed in conversation, and don't notice when the museum gallery turns into a shopping mall. Children wielding ice-cream cones come up dangerously close. We decide to find the quickest way out. We are on the fourth and top floor and, as luck would have it, among three elevators at hand, one named "GENIUS" promises to take us directly to the exit. After a short ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-80212646814037538852008-10-21T01:24:00.000+02:002009-02-17T20:56:49.975+01:00hand-made insultsailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-6526277046602916492008-10-19T03:15:00.002+02:002009-02-17T20:53:03.563+01:00Détresse, c'est être privée d'amour. ~ Hölderlinailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-53061245073506630272008-09-23T00:05:00.000+02:002009-02-17T20:59:47.242+01:00The existence of lip-reading proves that there is more than one alphabet in a language.ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-74404686316011470112008-08-16T14:30:00.002+02:002009-02-17T22:07:02.049+01:00A scene witnessed on the metro: an older man, befriended by a little girl, getting back on board because she was all in tears to see him go. Two stops later, he really had to get off. The five-year-old cried and cried; her mom apologized all around, explaining that this was not her daddy... As far as I understood, he was just a stranger passing through.ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-36932182080276190382008-08-10T09:52:00.001+02:002010-05-31T10:45:22.695+02:00dream
T & I can't agree on where it is exactly that we are supposed to meet. We pore over some maps: Turkey, Armenia, Usbekistan; call out city names, possible rendez-vous coordinates, but nothing's clear, and as soon as one understand what the other's saying, the other has already changed his/her mind. Yet, as if an agreement has been reached independently of us, we find ourselves in the delta of theailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-21522739375196641612008-03-03T21:49:00.001+01:002009-02-17T21:50:24.713+01:00who are we when, unbeknownst to us, we enter other people's dreams?ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-66215991410293262582007-02-23T11:02:00.003+01:002010-05-31T10:45:41.905+02:00the "origami bug" dreamI'm at my parents' house. There's someone my mother calls my "boyfriend" and who is obviously gay, his hair died black, gesticulating wildly: my mother is charmed, my father is sitting in another room, disapproving, sullen. I flee the scene and go upstairs. In one of the rooms, there is a blue beetle hovering over the table. It alights on the edge. I recognize him: it's the origami bug. Its "ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-50480945178488596842007-02-20T21:03:00.006+01:002010-05-31T10:45:58.499+02:00dreamI was staying at a hotel. With a dog. I suspected the dog all along of trying to manage me. He gave me a bed in the center of the middle room, like an isolated island. With my glasses off, I observed strange movements taking place on another bed set against the wall, beneath a mirror. There were things crawling out from behind the mirror, from under the bed: tropical spiders, hairy, and swift if ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-1168025452828005862007-01-05T20:18:00.002+01:002010-05-31T10:46:14.427+02:00I was a wolf in this dream, escorted by others to an appointment at an old lady's house. The doorbell rang in changing sequences of repeated tones. I pressed it again, out of curiosity. The woman stood discontent in the doorway as the bell chimed its melodies till the end. The wall and the door were covered with szlaczki* and, trying to relieve the tense atmosphere, I mumbled something about the ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-1165187861212033862006-12-04T00:16:00.000+01:002006-12-04T17:50:07.716+01:00serait-il possible que, après la saison de la mort, vienne la saison du vivant?ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-1165161655076907572006-12-03T16:52:00.000+01:002006-12-03T20:46:51.666+01:00... saved from the censorship of a museum custodian at Maison européenne de la photographie, a shot through the negative of one of the three photos by André Kertész, exhibited, like the same model in different poses, in different contexts ...**ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-1165133606163608262006-12-03T09:04:00.000+01:002006-12-03T09:13:26.406+01:00i said, i will give you voice. i will give my voice to you, and i will have none. speech, let now speech flow from your lips, speech your tongue shudders, tingles with sounds not your own, sweet bitter fruit, peel it, speech under its skin. i will utter, my voice in your throat, speech pulp between your teeth, swallow, my voice in your throat. i said, and i had none.ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-1165123710566788782006-12-03T06:22:00.000+01:002006-12-03T06:28:30.906+01:00fragility of sleep: a plastic bag, stretched to line my waste basket, collapses under the weight of orange peels, inch by inch, settles at the bottom, crinkling, rustling plastic bag, teases me awakeailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-1165079515424091852006-12-02T17:34:00.000+01:002006-12-02T18:11:55.893+01:00écrire à partir de rien. du rien qui m'habite. (le rien, c'est un vide d'émotion. soit que l'émotion habite à mon côté comme un petit animal mal-nourri. et cela dure. cela peut durer des mois. l'animal, c'est la peau et les os. surtout les os. je n'ose pas le toucher. il se meut encore, cet animal, mais je suis sûre qu'il ne me reconnaît plus.) écrire à partir du rien. pourquoi "à partir"? ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-1164034278907513132006-11-20T15:46:00.000+01:002006-11-20T15:51:19.370+01:00nous n'avonsrien à nousdiresi ce n'estce rien que nousavonsà redire commece qui en nousappellela paroleailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-1164031114371467312006-11-20T14:57:00.000+01:002006-11-20T14:58:34.716+01:00i will tie my hair with a typewriter ribbonailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-1163866707100846202006-11-18T17:18:00.000+01:002006-11-18T17:18:28.483+01:00l'art des rues :ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-1163866599537976582006-11-18T17:15:00.000+01:002006-11-18T17:16:39.676+01:00ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-1163866544332911872006-11-18T17:14:00.000+01:002006-11-18T17:15:44.466+01:00ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-1163866468171242502006-11-18T17:13:00.000+01:002006-11-18T17:14:28.226+01:00ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-1163866390268569392006-11-18T17:12:00.000+01:002006-11-18T17:13:10.380+01:00ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-1163866326195242972006-11-18T17:10:00.000+01:002006-11-18T17:12:06.486+01:00ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-1163459665877943662006-11-13T23:59:00.000+01:002006-11-15T18:31:50.240+01:00affectionnéle jouroù, à côté de moi, s'est tue la parolepuis-je l'être différemmenthaut dans les rueshurlantmon taire, éclaté, au boutde la languesoitétale solitudetout près, à côté de moi,ici, blessure aride,pourtant habitable comme une larmeà mon insucoulant, ou suspendueà côté de moi, tout près, mise à côté de moicomme courirhurlantdans les ruesinouïeparler comme s'est tue, tout près, à côté ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-1162917802726319442006-11-07T17:38:00.000+01:002006-11-07T17:43:23.873+01:00on page 188 of Mallarmé's oeuvres complètes, inserted among his youth poems is this small note:10MA BIBLIOTHÈQUE[Manque].~ * ~ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-1162493560753209962006-11-02T19:52:00.000+01:002006-11-02T19:52:41.180+01:00being in pain is one of the modes of "living in the moment"ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-1157672027456119272006-09-08T01:30:00.000+02:002006-09-09T14:37:17.460+02:00ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-1156186778156126092006-08-21T20:59:00.000+02:002006-08-21T21:01:10.693+02:00several consecutive viewings of Herzog's The Grizzly Man.(Herzog is one of my favorite directors: der Bruno in Stroszek and Kaspar Hauser, the world of deaf-blind in Silence and Darkness... His love for rich worlds existing on the banks of the "mainstream"...)in the Grizzly Man, most moving is the dialogue of two film-makers. Only one accustomed to observing the world through a lense may ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-1154906387975287902006-08-07T01:09:00.000+02:002006-08-21T19:52:32.010+02:00On ProcrastinationThe thing deferred is sometimes the very thing we are eager to do immediately: write a letter to a friend; or a poem: the dragonfly stopped here like a comma; craft a collage... We put it off out of a sense of duty to get done what is necessary: may it even be the work we have picked so joyfully. And both are left untouched. The postponement of the first thing works like magicalailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-1151202996328769902006-06-25T04:31:00.000+02:002006-06-25T04:36:43.036+02:00In the history of foreign occupations, American occupation of Iraq distinguishes itself by outward demand for "free speech and expression." The belief in abolition of former repression often brings about the censorship of any voice to the contrary. The new "freedom" comes with a user's manual: the "freedom of speech" may be used only to oppose the old regime while letting the occupant preserve ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-1150852833801428872006-06-21T03:16:00.000+02:002006-06-21T03:21:40.936+02:00If the first sentence were only the birth of the next one, setting it down on paper would not be so difficult. The reason for my avoidance is rather that it shuts the door to a number of other sentences, a moment earlier still possible. Possible, yet not known to me, and so, equally impossible. And yet, that first sentence -- each sentence, since each is first -- is the death of a next one. The ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-1150852260691104882006-06-21T03:08:00.000+02:002006-11-05T19:28:31.020+01:00If I write a sentence, it is because I shrink from writing another one elsewhere. The first sentence. Because the first has already half-given birth to the next, and, it seems, if I write one here, instead, I will have escaped the deadly choice.ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-1150852062463008112006-06-21T02:59:00.000+02:002006-06-21T03:07:42.876+02:00Frost and dream are formed of the same matter. I freeze, zamarzam, and cold dissolves the diphtong, "r" and "z" chatter as teeth. Marzę, and the dream dissolves the glacial brume. Sleeping body lies frozen in the ice sheets. Marznę, I am cold, and refuse to awake. The dream holds me captive. It has its seasons.ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-1147919225490883302006-05-18T04:26:00.000+02:002006-11-15T18:32:23.470+01:00le pays devient étale.le peuple habitait dans un bocal. les mots, aussitôt prononcés, s'écrasaient comme des mouches aveugles contre le verre.la langue me fait mal dans la bouche. je vais la mordre.ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-1147917562107526162006-05-18T03:59:00.000+02:002006-05-18T03:59:22.536+02:00"do you have a minute for the environment?" asks a youth on a street corner.i invent minute pills and distribute them to each inquirer. it's all fake, of course. i use aspirin tablets and with henna ink tattoo "1 minute" on each white button. i have pocketfulls of time. and because time is money, i try to trade it in the bank for green pills, but there definitely is some color discrimination ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-1145497527232467282006-04-20T03:44:00.000+02:002006-04-20T03:45:28.516+02:00ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-1145490709904980942006-04-20T01:51:00.000+02:002006-11-05T19:19:16.440+01:00Where? Over there. There, other than here, and yet not far from here. Where inhales, there exhales. Overhear. Over there. Not too far. However near. Insecure. Breathe, grieve. Sigh. Reprieve. Rhyme, skip. Wherever. While not here. It goes. It works. There, appears, separate. Nouns here, there verbs. Heave. Over. Here, hover. Breathless, lung pumps, bleeds air, or leaks, over there, closer, ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-1145160659878779852006-04-16T06:05:00.001+02:002010-05-31T10:40:44.851+02:00
in my dream, a priest wearing a plain mask of clay, colorless and without any features, barely with narrow slits for the eyes and a wider one for the mouth. behind the mask, deep darkness. the priest was giving a sermon to adolescents. i had followed him there (why in a church?). only i knew there was nothing under the mask. he gestured with his long fingers and, suddenly, addressing me, said: "ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-1144819778118474362006-04-12T07:27:00.000+02:002006-04-12T07:29:38.183+02:00ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-1144819652985449722006-04-12T07:21:00.000+02:002006-04-12T07:27:35.483+02:00i think one's life is in fact resistance to life. what i mean is resistance to its fragility, to its failure. in common terms, to poverty, to intertia as sheer existence, to this unwillingness to step out of what suffices or forgetting it in excess of things which efface that memory. everything self-destructs. i am not sure whether it is an instict of self-preservation or desire for suicide thatailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20604063.post-1144467840730994642006-04-08T05:10:00.000+02:002006-04-08T05:44:00.926+02:00intymność chmury na wysokości jedenastego piętra staje się w nieosiągalnej, złośliwej wręcz, chęci dotyku, poślizgu, niewyobrażalna. jak może być niewyobrażalnym coś co znajduje się tuż, co ociera się o drugą stronę muru, do szyby łasi się bezdźwięcznie, a w czego chwilowej szczelinie znajduję się właśnie? są słowa, takie jak to ostatnie, które czynią świat prostszym, słowa, które się zapominają ailevertehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17222198452701514110noreply@blogger.com0