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| Hypnagogies | 1977/2006 | © Pierre Wayser 2006 |
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Original french version

What? It is possible that the image is reduced and does not have any more the rights of its reproduction. Since, there is secession on all our reflections. The madness reconstructrice of alive pictures. We at such point are isolated. The saddest camping of the coast. With the inhabitants of his own wax museum. Men of a dye of mucous membrane. That returns insidiously, dully. At the first hot nights of concerns. A handkerchief on the face, against the flies. Midnight on the plait, heat awakes me. Impression that somebody knocks on the wall. An elliptic movement in the shade. Complex and hemmed stylization. With the surprisingly clear and remote sounds on the surface of water. Illuminated sampans, the evening in summer. Red lanterns, frightened pleasures. Fall in line on the bridge. Metal and rattle-snake, above the boats. And odor nauseating of the durian on the quays. Surrounded mysterious and solidified observers. It is necessary to go down over there, on the beach, near the cages of bamboos. Encircled by the night trains and the buzzing palm plantations. A gigantic arena where the ordinary life is pushed back. An immoderate use of the cameras of monitoring. An obsessional
passion for the shows. A pitiless observation of television. The martial law is there required each night. All is rewritten by this woman, as soon as I fall asleep. On her white handkerchief, mirror of her honor. Then the future is stretched in front of me. With the dumb gleams of the summer lightning. And I sink in the torpor, until the invention of accelerated. Then, dreams still and still. Through the eyelids the light of the dawn arrives to me. Dead angle where I cannot penetrate. Vociferating the top of its soft stem. Dripping dew. The hour, therefore, and time that it defines. This completely burlesque idea disconcerts me. Sweat, the cup of tea and sandals. My wet face of sweat to very the ground. I can hear the rumour of grass! The irrepressible sudden appearance of the words. The titles, the sentences descend in my head. I hear the detached words of their direction. Sound chiselling intricate. Its voice seems all to embrace. It is excused to have acted as a man who returns from the other world. The coffin of the prince squeaks! He understands in vain that a smoke requires a fire. Then his daughters decide to count the leaves of acacias. As the favorable ritual which numeration gets. Traces feverish and quivering. Level zero from which altitude is measured. A all small lead female soldier, splendid, reveals hers emotions. She claims a new costume, she complains. A red and black uniform, with the brilliant buttons. They are nothing any more but proposals of hots airs unstable. Plays insidiously lustful, crawling murmurs. The distance is found by the square of servants divided by two. And then comes chaos so much awaited. I remember, then, the plugging clouds. Energetic decisions, very out of white marble. “You do not hear me?” she says to low voice. I make it clear my lack of voice. On innumerable lines of empty seats. You stammer abruptly full with shame. On the estrade, the scraping of the empty chairs. Follow-up of a omerta of the armchairs of the floor. All that it remains to do. Poison mancenillier of our dreams. To record motionless time, to measure space with large knots. To drink a "parrot" in terrace, a child with the eyes in drink. The day is not raised yet. Its single proof is itself. The dubious border which it founds. All seems to go on the side of limpidity. In the shade violet of the pillow. See my subcutaneous expression. With the black and dumb lips. A wrapped body of dried ground crusts. Moistness between the shoulders works for you. I transfer myself onto new grounds of insomnia. In the compartment sleepwalker, a dormant robber. The strange repetitive moon shape! With a puppy barking at the foot of the ladder. I go down to this quiet and night station. The passengers wait on the quay, a thing which is already there! That one promises to present to me later. She will not acknowledge me the reasons of its step. Of her dress spout out acid petals of pinks and dusty. After nauseating heat and the velvet scent. The narrator is reached of a strange evil. No effort is made in the direction of logic. The orchestra resounds of a clearness in the good evening. When he awakes after his drunkness. One of these terrible laugh force. I recognize her with her impeccable lipstick. The people sing with closed mouth. Solemnly, is held all the day with the grids of palate. At six hours, with the crossroads, the machine-guns are installed. It is the curfew, end of the monotonous chant. It is necessary to return by the tram under the blue flashes. Jolting, we roll towards the set ablaze west. By the squeaky ways with the mysterious semaphores. It seems that we left only day before yesterday chaos. It is also the kind of impressing shortened which it can to invent. One night, we return from the river. Of sparkling beetles buzzing under our steps. And from so electric caresses move away invisible the image. Under the stripes of the storm lantern. All the bungalow wavers, unreal. The door under the porch closed with key. Tears in close-up on television. Disappearing in broad petals indigos. Motionless and green Gecko, stuck to the light plait. Immersed in an intense sensual experiment. The compulsive friction of her ring to the major one. And heat, with-outside, bad cold-lungs. A flood of anecdotes returns to her to the spirit. To the maximum recognizable with their characteristics so singular. A more realistic version of the world will be presented tomorrow, with the one of the newspapers. I let escape a semi-mocking smile, semi-constrained. It, I know it, the others, I believe them. Under the mosquito net to observe her deadened. Half-opened lips, nose above the armpit discovered. The video monitor defies me with its irritated stripes. A direction of oppression dominates the image. And then this music of metal clotheshangers breaks my ears! The repetitive stanza essential to the fanatics. The crackling and snuffling voices. Nothing on radio! Disorientated, I feel myself infinitely disorientated. The recourse to the phantasm becomes the single exit. The mouth with the enamelled teeth of betelnut. They make me eat their best horse. Out of the fog, extended under the lemon tree. She reveals a stupefied conscience. Sometimes in front of an audience of most enigmatic. I survey some lanes before presenting to me. I will sleep in a large hall filled with iron bedsteads superimposed. Two guards bar me again the passage. “Summers you of deaths?” their I asked. Both with mouth of burst make mine plead my cause. Hundreds of people carry my shoes! Isn't this surprising? A long radio operator silence follows. One should borrow another more discrete way. Framed by a high curtain of poplars of Italy. A very small striped sailor, attached on the bridge of sound boat. A good man with a violet wig. A pelican lowered on the boards. The television stuck under the barded neon ceiling. With the odors of greasy hair raised by boarders. The sourness of cloths and the large cockroaches like inch. The girl of the weather wants obviously to piss. Useless information, and still drops on the chart. I integrate it in my local geography. Presence of beads of sweat to my face. A salt archipelago on the skin. The walls appear as porous as those of a brothel. Lengthened on the bed, I listen to the noises of the city. Flies thrown into a panic in the turbid air. They incline with an oneiric insanity. Serpentine and leprous dance of isolated from the world. The clear and sound silence of the streets. The obscure way where the fatty flowers hatch. The tearing of the summer lightning. They do not realize, they do not have time. Crumbling of movements to the idle. Maintaining my members still push back. It was not my idea to go to dance! Once again, you cling to my chest… Your rageous nails tickling my scapula. Melanesian dance with mushrooms. And for once nobody says anything! Especially on her buttocks temptresses. A Dutch farm gross or of Switzerland. Causing random meetings. She crosses in the pedestrian passing when the silhouette is green. And a long wick of hair pressed between her upper lip and her nose. Although her perversions do not equalize her measurements. A generous support for all the poor ones. All the women of this sizeable court will sleep with all the stablemen of Asia. She murmurs me that I am a free man. A man whom one can thus forget. Fixed with social substances controlled by industry. The milk of the nation, the syrup of the street. A sisal plant with the spines of martyr turned towards the sky. A road of silk embracing dust. And then everything goes down, all is ruined. A garden with the amber color, the blue nape of the neck. The collapse, the intimate fall. A repetitive choreography like the slapping of one train. The noisy effervescence of the aspirin. One will be re-examined with difficulty. Death conceals it with my recognition! This stone has a strange history that I will tell you later. Arrival at the station sinks with the windows with open-type screen, the damning up. Where shine a succession of green and white lamps. Then I play with her feelings. In her center, the invaluable carapace appears. All this mechanical, optical and luminous unit. Then I offer a new black and square object to her. With glory, the extension of our borders, the sensitivity, fragile bond. I express my irritation by repeating the same gesture. It is true that I need initially a rising. A mud intimates that it is necessary me to divide. The disorder mooing of the deep swell. In a dramatic glance, she disappears. Between the black and wet legs of the dark pontoon. In this moment color of forget-me-not. By where begin-you one, then? Always by light technics, according to the theory of colors. By decking with flags and human remains the streets. Between the set fire to boxes, I appear, after the massacre. Still another dark panting figure. It is necessary to leave the bodies exposed to the sun, said the captain. By the fluid of widespread embalming. His idols are, then, oiled and covered with tar. Only antidote able to wash elastic pavements. At this point in time he draws from his pocket a wire. Which is distinguished from all the others by its metallic aspect. It is necessary to remain behind for all to include/understand. He also, brings civilization at the end of the torches. Or then he destroys a bridge, a city to avoid a bloody combat. With secret gloves manufactured in a kind of silk radioactive. A remainder of distrust wakes up at the bottom of his heart. We compare our scars. Good-byes once again, it should be done quickly. There are pines and the odor of the Mediterranean sea, the evening. Popular balls and huts with chips. To avoid the curfew, we live hidden in Jay-Jay Inn. Dumb matron, corridors pale blue. Parts of failures between false missionaries. Magniolia and Sampaguita. All the tables are covered with white tablecloths. Undertaking and feet out of black wooden. A wound open in the black heights. The dilation of the movement is extended to the landscape. The green golf and the bay-trees in flowers ensure the illusion. The rough one and afflicting alarm clock of all that, during this crossing, slept in me. Another liquid element comes to confirm the irrational one slip. Sweeping the filaments of water streaming of the ceiling. On the walls, photographs of enormous waves with surfers. A well dried up with the liquid walls. To remain sitted in a hotel room, on this island. Recent experiments of earthquakes, it remain nothing. The large ones, idiots, sex maniac, well swindled girls, worrying tradesmen. As many coarsely outlined characters lives universe. Closed curtain, new version of reality. Slow and grotesque dislocation. When the doors of the two rooms are simultaneously opened, I see a body without head. A black silk handkerchief on the mouth. Glare snot of the sea in the tail of the typhoon. I go down towards the port. Pickle and pilchards over the roofs. Buffaloes mooing hoisted by hoists. The yelling passengers hasten on the bridge of Tampomas. Snuffling conversations on the telephone. The line is duplicated, the circle irradiates gently. We take our coffee in her cabin. But this night, I am not any more very sure to finish my small stories. She knocks again on the door. Here, these cries do not let to me sleep. She should be followed on her sand bank. The report/ratio of distance is, still, improbable there. What is confiscated with the passengers of the cargo liner. Disappeared ground odor. Wet salt on rambardes. The salt of your thin lips. And then still the acute whistle of the swallow. I affirm to her that I never dream of it! I am unaware of the pretence doubly. The soft resistance of a shining body. The humming of the boat in the saline air. The presence of this anxious banner. All these telephone numbers printed in green. The thing is held of itself along the wake. The prime coat indicates the corporate name of company. Red like the blood of oxen. Carmine shade of the eyelids turned towards the sun. During this time, I sit down in circle around her. So that she never goes but to the top of the chimneys. Two chimneys discharging of the floods of black smoke. Opulent chest and careens majestic. A passion as luminous as the day. This old travelling cargo liner in the indigo, trembling of rust. The sun lengthens now, on the sea slack. And this change of direction so suddenly. One dubious present whose the protagonists are grabbed towards a future. First notes of the orchestra of dangdut, on bridge, obstinate sweetness. A sound flood of reverberation drowns the docks of Tanjung Priok. I touch Java and his fireflies in the rice plantations. The countryside is black, sleek and sown stars. Stones variegated on bank, with lower part this insect with the copper élytres. The acidulous savour of the tamarinier. Do we go where turn the ventilators? The breathing of the steam trains, covered with yellow posters. Extreme air, the wooden bench and dark legs of passengers. Our knees are touched, the train panting. Remote, trembling and pink volcanos. The soft and pale morning, and ankylosis. The men rub the cheeks, showing their new beards. The girls support the blue of my glance. The saleswoman of tea undulates in the span. Do you remember my voice? I am held at the top of the hill. Choosing to erase me behind the image. Will you remain in the plains until September? A long sinuous road of mountain leads us here. Rice plantations in terraces to the first clouds. With its eyes folded in the rear view mirror. You can ask the taxi driver to leave us there ? His/her colleagues speak to the driver lengthily. I test a disastrous itching to cross to them… to less word. Two tedious forms to fill, baksheesh included/understood. A meticulous document describing of an obsolete society life. Packing of sandwiches of the mark “The Beatles” on sit. And I readjust the shooting of my perception. This zone has a small noisy and night district. I ask for asylum before wanting to make half-turn. Striped light, reddish glow of the flame. A din beyond this scarlet door. General environment is a colonial splendour and tropical faded. The furniture of the room is as the remainder of house. A cheap losmen, rats under the wash-hand basin. The parquet floor with the large sleek black blades. A man dances and rubs, the foot on a half bark of coconut. An old Minister for the furnace bridges, freed from the bonds of darkness. The draft of a distracted Buddha, a beauty worrying. This spiral staircase is the figuration of the lie. Following the example making feel guilty torsion of the body. The lady shakes its keys. The warlike melody of the drums. A forerunning flame, fire of the engagements ignites in my youthful eyes. Three friends exchange their radioactivity mysteriously close friend. The buzzing head, ice-teas, cloves. With this perfume of flower of orange tree on the floor. A red wire crosses the covers, curtains and the majority of the wallpapers. With the outside, balcony lazy and sight on the school. It is the end of the rain season. Typhoons and strewn with coconuts on the ground. Extreme fume saffron color. Some share close to the apartment, so furious lusts. The most spiritual ladies and most pleasant of city. A local entrepenor builds his own network TV. There I smell a whole existence of surface and parade. The day, soon moist of the fallen night. How does the transition between a plait and a bed occur? “Welcome” proclaims the door mat. A message not as subtle as that! Even if, by much of aspects, it became everywhere social standard. A small side cathedral. Then how to reinforce the scarcity, or rather the perception of the scarcity? “We do not have a subsidiary company” declares the single one restoring Indian. With the human decoration equipped with memory. Photographs of a poor cane armchair. A motionless old man in plastic sandals. It sells equipment to trace the blows of telephone. That you believe in the messages depends only on authority of the transmitter. One should not only cross, but run to save its life. You do not think only this Mister who goes, there, is living. I am held quietly out of his sight. One finally fell on this exhibition of moleskine. Similar to open thoraxes of dead animals. An extraordinary glove compartment. Oysters twice the week! But they are the poor places, over there. One can always introduce a danger along the roads. One moment ago, with the opening of the door of the plane, where the air of the country is presented. Enigmatic object which is palpable only from outside. And heat like a wall comes. Ridiculous character of this kind of factitious continent reserved for the leisures. Organized, managed by insolents servants, scoffers and dull. Mountains fringing the wet night of stars. This evening, it is harder to remain with the outside. To reduce the friction of the transaction to the minimum. On another scale, a foxtrot with the idle. Lips burned by nut of arec. A whole constellation of authentic women in birdcage. They accentuate the impression of a fixed loneliness. Then, to have a small base for the small things. In the presence of something moreover tightened, close friend. The desire to stop time is related to the fear of relaxing. To eat that which is fertilized inadvertently. This one, you probably will forget. Especially if its own voice becomes the people. Taking an invisible way in high grasses. Carring along the moon in the rumouring bamboos. Here thus, depth of field! Later, with the rain, any bulge towards the edges of court. Bay-trees placed symmetrically at the bottom of a staircase. Thirty minutes to be passed among the dark stems. It is exactly there that I see you, of astonishment struck. Sexy and very funny. Descending the dry bed from a river. Trailing the imperial splendour of your bum. This part of the city does not escape the feeling from vacuum. Once passed the bridge, it comes to our meeting. Play of the love and the swordfish. A crowd bathes, involved gives rhythm some by the undertow of an artificial wave. Mixdown, slappings of teeth and hen odor wet. “Sir, says me it his voice more cherishing, you do not carry against him; he likes me. “ The beds are always made during our absence. A rise in the morning, an achievement of the evening. The closed eyes and a cup of extreme coffee in their hands. Can you keep an eye on our collaborators? That they are not lost any more in the meanders of these cellars. To each turn of wheel, enormous flames emerge. Vociferations around the boiler. As for these objects, they are sentimental substitutes. Who can believe a cordless phone? Data transmitter gloves. A handshake, and, hop! a medical file. All in bottom, close to code-bars, the figures. Anonymities, grains of another kind of musical policy. Conversations on the telephone, noise of broken glass. Her uncle prefers the buzz of the bees. Thus, you are after me like the she-cat of the neighbor. To the edge of what is only one swimming pool. The liquid tomb offers to my alarm clock the portrait of that which I like. She shows unexpected moments of resistance. Until bursting in a fulgurating precipitation. Why, then, you do not leave me quiet? It is undoubtedly because she solved to return one to me after the other all the goods which I lost. But for this night, I want to finish the tale. A morbid petrification of the fiction. Reads stone, mineral sleep. A fever trembling with fantastic concretions. Bitter fume and burn-perfume. Why did I cross iron and bronze oceans? The trains however transport one object. They have the advantage of being motionless and favourable with repetition. All is held at the edge of the shade of the ways. And then, there are all these thousands of autumns. Electricity, pylons and mass-media. A whole electric cruelty. A promise of fluorescent beauty. She finds me and carries me on the quays. Time presses, the river is in rising. River race of a drolery absurdity. We take again the sea on the Leon, a cargo liner for Philippines. Out of the rainy sky drawing the deafened shore. Hushing of the inexorable wake. Double buzz of the propeller and the ventilator. Reflection of the moon below the skittle. And all these boat-peoples adrift. Once passed Corregidor, Manila draws aside the thighs. In a celebration of its desire of possession. Horns of the jeepneys and murmurs discharged. To retain the object of its agitation and to give air-conditioning. On another side, I feel the adorable clearness the broad one. Phosphorescent sea, its dolphins and its pirates. Vapor whistles padded by the distance. Carriole with the large squeaky wheels travelling towards the port, with the call of the pilot. And here is that the day ends in a chance which is renewed almost the every day. Outside, it is a lace landscape corroded by the rain. There is that which comes to run up against our nape of the neck. That which works us and curves us. Wet and pitiless sovereign. It vaporizes in contact with extreme dust. Stumbling on the ground which is concealed. Unexpected divagation this evening. Paralysis of the fault and ignorance. There is a kind of unwritten protocol. One should not too much insist, blued flower of innocence. The good manners are often taken with serious by the policies. The village idiot, wire of good family, seized the throne. Headless republic and gathering of mangos. The governor tyrannizes his former nurses. Marking the tragically imperceptible character of the vacancy. His wife, all with her machine-made exaltation. Hardly modifying moving and iridescent surface. The wind whistles the young grooms and the old maids. Pathetic “a local beauty contest”. Those which still have their reason die. In enlightened alleys, they meet, and make mean and faded plans. And then, one ends up seeing them narrowing in the half-light. Because, you know it, I see without sun! I see a house with the curtains of sorrows. Where it was made her first piercings. A really extraordinary self-mutilation. That made on her back like tiny ripples. Deeply rooted in the treason of her childhood. It is a kind of beauty which one tastes enough in the country. Here, at the top of the mountain. Just a few kilometers of her birthplace. With small coals in the water of the flowers. The television which is stuttering its electric innocence. And two large rivers encircling the forest. A million small bluish atoms play in light. A nostalgic threat for the rest of the world. Above the heads, baskets full of black meats. A deaf and secret formula. The splendour of the movement of stars. A breath with the borders of darkness of the empire. Where all is held, suspended on the edge of the unknown. Merry pygmies under the volcano. Sharp teeth and the palm under the rain. Vital cries in faussets vibrating. Where one sees nothing any more but the unobtrusive charts of nothing. New-born wrapped bark with the protective designs. The spontaneous oscillation of the skin and the flesh. The dome of leaves, réticulé and mottled, of the hut. I smile foolishly with the speech of the chief in smoke. Among the meat, thin straps of smoked stag. The brevity of the scenes made up of dry notes. All these forests shaven, wet and smoking. The time of honey came. I hear it well, me also this call. Oh, wait one minute! When the radio is announced of a large noisy sound. Sunny banana trees and quite swaying vahines. A physical joy, a carnal spasm! A reverberation monster. Million ears sponges in judicious laconisms. You dissolve the cream of the universal thought. Sections and pieces. When I will be able to cease waiting? I left her in the room, more insane and more been obstinated than ever. Consequence of a kind of new distance. Thrown into a panic quiet. In front of her reality, I set up a critical balcony. Because like the moments, the bodies are limited. With me to provide her the means of running the world. All joinings feel the remord. And to face reality, to feel to spend the minutes. Oh, I remember it now! Thanks to the imprisoned sound trace. Nearer still to the speaker. An impetuous flow with the rich person hesitations. To say only one precise thing which however escapes to us. Then the enigmatic character gains in relief. With a broad amount of pales landscape to the gray pavement. It is necessary to compress the signal in the field of audible, she says. That it manages now! The objects are transfigured according to the magnetism of people who approach them. To embrace the potential émancipatoire conveniences of civilization. Narrow passages, bicycles and bells. Passages of scratchings and extreme singing exercises. And her hair floods me again, plugs me the face. Quite fresh ears. Very of shared quietude. Music of a mime absurdity. A crumb of truth in a large dish of silly things. Testing the unstitched and fragmentary character of her obsessional life. From one country to another, coast to coast even. When I look by the window the overflow of light. Intrigued by the idea of landscape in which you wait perpetually. Thinner, darker and flattened in its center. Well! You plants of rice, plums and the pinks now ? Nails full of ground and mud with the knee. There but one remains, planted to look at the leaded horizon. Extatic, impatient of the first storms. Childish perception opened with the unforeseen one. Why do you want that I rise? The sun become the red giant. Distinction between her body and landscape. She would have deserved her place in Greek mythology as well. Do you always like my bosom? Like clouds driven out by a pretty wind of the North-East. And my neck with the bluish veins? The neck of a cow, a jolting orchestra. With the circular and parallel practices of the wizard. A strict observance of ritual pagan of fruitfulness. A bridge trembling above her body. Absolutely fascinated by the transplantation of bodies. Geography of a lung cancer. Exact reproduction of the chart of the Cantal. Hills out of billiard cloth and chocolate squares as cows. And what arrive-you it with these paradisiac grounds? These intergalactic collisions, explosions? Confusions undoubtedly have some relationship. Cases of a strangeness almost also surprising. I have you interview, once, with the gleam of the torches. In white bonnet, whimpering and mocker! Your glance more turbid than muddy water. The voices of grass move away, now. The children are always wary of the ass. During years, they dig to find more large root taken in a pipe. What a joke! It is your life, after all! Who will return these flown away hours to me? It is a trap which places a grelot at the neck of the animal. And then, at the end of one moment, she takes again sound monologue. An undulation divinement voluptuous. Woven flesh of human. It mistakes me because I do not know the play. As if I must all include/understand before dying. What imports is the escape, disobedience, the escape. But also to put a little disorder, to see, for example. To wear yellow plastic suits. The steel coat to the shiny meshes of the knight. To fight the subtle dragon with the taste of opium. That gives me desire for pretending the absence. You got to go, now! Very far, in frozen sands of Gobi, or the mines of the Ural. A cable is rolled up partly around the handlebar. A pathetic fall in water salts port of Singapore. Piteous return to the pension, Tanjong Pagar Road. The adult order and its humiliating interrogations. You appear a saw licking a front shaft it to bite. The landlady calls the service of rat extermination, sometimes. Seven of a blow! A history which it initially told with her husband. He, taking care on its collection of bottles behind the curtain. A rack where one distinguishes the green glare from the foetus bathing in formol. One is accustomed to going up towards the place, together. The rise of the belfry reveals the madness of the jealous husband. Seven photographers dispute a so invaluable man. How one lets it sleep, it is all! Hours to be moved with the idle, sitted in terrace. The family python disappears under the bath-tub. Then accompanies us to the sea where it drowns. The multicoloured lanterns light the masts of one big top. It is a circus Napolitan, or German, on the place. A microscope for elephant, a pastis for his/her parents. More frightening figures, more mocking laughs. Sunday, the sea burns my eyelids. Nailed memories of coloured fevers. Definitively out-field, moreover.
A fore-mentioned girl Renate howls has each flash. And, to her eloquence, I raise my glass. It is satisfied to exchange banal words. But
you are the queen of the moon, of the moon. And you also, Pam, the sexy chair! Why me leashes you not go with you? Overpowering of thousand questions which it forgets to answer. Shade! What do you want? What orders you? A tomb ? A monument? Of a cruelty about as dull as holds it. Say maintaining to me if you close the eyes. How will you agree? There is nothing any more but the sleep under the fever. Facing the ocean, she starts finally to speaking. All her actions are, nevertheless, in fall. She strikes me several times, initially gently, then much more extremely. All choose timidly a handshake. This large feeling of agreed horror. Worthy rabble! but you would have killed me like a dog. All is in perpetual disturbance. With the kingdoms of the demolished brains. Dialogues stopped by the winds of north. Icons with full arms. The ritual complicated ones to finish moreover it. Billion faithful to spread itself in payers. Mushrooms of space to our range. Putrid and barren. By the dreadful sun which blackens grass. Freeze crushed and Balinese dysentery. To meet its interior mole. With the incapacity to have a decent level of activity. With all this series of visible spinal columns. End of the crackling of radio transmissions. If that is, it will awake. Once in the life, exactly similar. To take again the whole at the base. While entering gradually water until to disappear. There is water in bottom of the ocean, I know it. What to fill the giant thimble of Glumdalglitch. Naked feet vague, a man with a paper bag on the head. But according to scientists, the Hominides emerged because of a change in food. An experiment which raises questions. It always misses something. With judging some with the fossils found in cliff. It would be more difficult to survive as a gorilla. But a fifth of the reasons represent small teeth. Look at its hands, its claws, its two fitted feet of yellow skin. The kind of head hunters extremely civilized! Without noticing the nonsense of these last words. And the flows are alarming this night. Black and oily edges. Violent odors, noises of brawls, barkings of dog. A man passes in front of me without me to run up, without anything to say, without me to see. The oiled machete beats its side. Red gums. And all the soot of the burned clearings. The paramount woodland expression. With the sounds of the toothings-stone of engraved bamboos. Wild nudity and memories of the brought back heads. Always illuminated full-fire. There is cruelty to delay so a long time the hour of the dinner. I undertake here the veracious enumeration of all the dishes. One, two, three, and the house burns! The application seeks to quit us. A wheel chair covered with false white frost. That feels the interior of a second-hand car. Old plastic covers and faded lavender. With this direction of trembled noble and the draped generous one. Unknown and atrocious pleasures. I now die not to take my share more. I give up myself with works mercenaries. It does not matter that it is only for this night. With the attack of the ramparts of the revived city. Mewings with the hollow of the wall. In the half-light of the large staircase. All these night women with with the belt a velvet wolf. Their body like a dark lily. The room with the cut out wallpaper. With a little practice, the scissors can become very addictive. They authorize, by contact, the delivery. To protest the contradictory nature of separation. But the censorship remains always active. It is similar with moving sands. Recluse subsidence. Nihilism by the withdrawal. Which shade visits me in this hour of sleep? The encouraging one with the practice of her demons, rumours and secrecies. She is repeated constantly, having only one small quantity of forms. Especially those of the subculture. The minute which follows appears her a length extraordinary. Nobody eats, nobody does not speak. She blows in its cup like a dolphin in The Bosphorus. She is presented followed by ten thousand elephants. She was made explain the use of these large wire which run on posts all along the way. Running the steppes, amount with vintage. She hates the transparency of the life of the others. I must fold paper hankies white. Until brown clay fills up my orbits. Portions of rats and pieces of dogs. A potato sheet in epitaph. Posed on the expenses humus. However she is held with the corner of the street, hidden by heavy bunches. Meditation stopped by the sound of an unknown language. All animals reincarnated out of insane grasses. And the gleam of the eyes, at the edge of the eyelids. Fragile, gracious and splendid enters two spaces. With leaving a populated compartment of islanders. Her clothing, her hairstyle and of course her attitude being wary. Wounded lovingly, she can nothing say the pleasant one. Vociferated parts of a dishevelled speech. Far from stating that her eyes look at. Eyelids folded again of trouble. Diving in black water, revealing tepid. Before reappearing with the waked up life. By cherishing me the face of her electric hand. Similar to thin luminous eels. Teenagers howl of insanities. I flee in the dugout. Curious feeling of freedom. I paddle light like a dragonfly. The other bank of a multicoloured tumble of boards. And I accost a kind of long terrace. Old legends of crimes attached to the landing stage. The men die in vain; they are replaced with the identical one. A print of foot on the beach. Traces the human ones on this green island and sinks. A border much more meaning that that supposed to oppose the sea and the fiction. The island resists the legend which it wants to put in scene. It has been how much years that you are here? There are not other shelters under ground. All these old men escaped from the Japanese bombardments. To see itself tearing off all the teeth by clippers of charlatans. At this point in time the system starts to change. Then I must, again, put the scar each morning. I noticed it among the absurd and wet sighs. But after a first movement of irritation, one feeling of pure present. I always was where you see me, with multiple distances. Hands in the pockets, in the search of a hotel room. “I do not know any more!” the night watchman answers me. Obviously a way of resisting flows, of taking time. A clear beach strewn with dry palms. From which the surface deserted cannot isolate the action any more. All these natural phenomena with regular intervals. The marvellous unauthenticity of art. With all these cables which pass under the oceans. It remains suspended, motionless filled with wonder. Full with sound kisses on an old skin of flower of orange tree. By two women, with the painted eyes. And whose gilded nudity shows through in the light air. Entirely covered with a cloth, except a naked leg. Do not rebuild the vowels, Miss! I observed the others and now they change me. Not only one furtive glance in my direction. They me of want because I am here. Me, which attends if little people. The lies have small legs. To be precise, there is certainly something of truth in it. I will breathe a freer air and will piss on the temple of Glory before putting myself at the bed. As if the house had been opened with the four winds. And you return from under the ground to greet us. Here are your own traces of step, silt of the rivers. But observes with more close negligible crawling which pullulate. The visible communion with the natural environment. The same white, always remote figure. It exhales an odor of garden. Cold sweat and the bay-tree fallen with your hand! And later, a sun plugging with the terrible immobility. Which resists its own reflection. At the edge of a quite simply scintillating river bright of beauty. The country is cultivated for the pleasure. But which could see us well? She makes a sign toward a little black suit clerk. Who smokes his pipe, the rough fabric of the knees mackled. A pathological field which is incarnated in human flesh. We walk during days. To make short, it is incredibly disorganized. We make visits at the dumb houses. There is a bread crust mildewed with the moistened lips. With angels baroques full racks. And your bérêt color of plum, green feathers. A memory which crossed the threshold of obscene. She indicates a kind of mattress to the dubious stripes. Emblems pink and sinople. Even the shown photograph is different each time. Her favorite reason is a heap of branches, the faggot. Roots of the trees down by the storm. A hut where the peasants put fire. A garden with the diffuse paths. Perspicacious, she notices that the sun lies down. All that we have is now. We always return in Circular Quay. On the ferry, I pass behind her while looking at intensely her hair. The step, swaying walk, manner of accouder. Never, neither front nor afterwards, she knew such a freedom. Do you want that I look at these scribblings? You who cut me a pair of boots in the skin of unfortunate Zephyr! Then four poets eat a Chinese character. With rice on the moustache. Get-up of a grotesque costume, the eye on fire. They burst of laughing, while roars a brass band. A realism almost evanescent. A small garden of three meters square planted of uniform flowers. Truncated images emerging from the abyss of the river native. Tiny colored boats. With all their small petty treasons. The negotiated crossing of the river. Obscure ground softened by monsoons. A public kingdom reduced to misery. Luxury spread out like a proclamation. Modern comfort with the bathroom of the barbarian. They engage in a vast corridor. Revealing undergrounds with the improbable hopes. Where do you want to go? We cannot about it any more, we walked enough. Whispered a funeral lament of lips in lips. Which seductions for a worship of beautiful. Intertwined bodies, tattooed arms, charged of gold rings. A whole circus of small confession hasty. All insolents with spittles iconoclasts. Comic lamentations under a weeping willow. A gesticulation which you compare to the nihilism. Because they pushed the negation until the human sacrifice. All is so precarious that no one does not speak about the future. You see also the wounds of nature. Then begin the world riped open. It is statistical, it is erotic. A true passion for the distance. It is sarcastic, it is ironic. It is the country where all is well. She is not satisfied with the beauty of the natural lights of the sun. It is a product of call. I see an empty boat on the shore. Or must I move away from the coast to the stroke? That was a long and dizzy period. A long feverish night. You know, the lights will die out. Transitory glares, weak candle ends on the green line. Do not awake her! And in a wink, she disappears in the ground. You missed me little this morning. Sorry, sorry!

Pierre Wayser 2006 © meta-holott.org 2006


© meta-holott.org 2006