what's wrong with a zoo?

grand dark feeling of emptiness chante bonnie prince billy
je ne me sens pas vide
je me sens juste loin
j aime les rues qui m entourent

que les distances soient plus facile a traverser, c est tout

internet le fait bien

un pont

quelques pierres dans l eau sur lesquelles sautiller

sentir les buttes chaumont tout pres

la place de menilmontant

les jardins du palais royal

un peu plus de confort que cet ajustement precaire: marcher sur wabansia et envier les fenetres qui brillent avec les meubles epais dedans
d une fenetre se tient stoique un gigantesque zebre en bois

mais est ce trahir ma bicoque cherie que de reluquer ces avatars bourgeois? peu t on trahir un objet? comment savoir ou est chez soi? et cette maison sur l annonce qui me parlait tant

ne pas avoir de voisins de dessus et de cote

et deja peut etre bientot bruxelles

et l appartement de paris est il jaloux lui aussi?

ici est temporaire, la -bas le sera aussi surement

les vetements sont des maisons minuscules qui nous abritent des mini ciels qui se refletent en nous

marcher avec des chaussures trop plates mais trop belles pour etre abandonnées

a thousand leaves

infrastructures

une perennite

you say that you are lost
he say that he's not sure
i say that i don't know


you forced me
he wanted her
j'aimerai savoir


quoi croire





i think you are wrong
he think i am wrong
you think i am wrong, as well




one day when i was on the bicycle
i thought for one moment that if i can gig ten times with my eyes closed
something will happen to me , something good, something happy
i thought i had to do this if i didn't i have nothing after
kind of scared of the cars passing by
the sky blue in the full afternoon

i found myself in green
no pain
i fall on the grass
i was laughing alone then went home




yesterday i felt the same necessary to see the ocean


i wanted to take the train in the passed time
the desir my needing was dissapired
like a wind


tonight on the floor there were the piece of glass
little dog wanted to play with
the sound of the glass broken
sound of tv in another room


suddenly it comes to me


silence


to work is all like prostitute in this system of society she said even in art she said
to have better condition for work to meet people who can give better work
maybe to be nice with people who can give the work
without thinking without having time to think without to see without to love
time goes on so quick with too much information in everyday life
then what

in this system how people trust each other and what


so what


why not



ca fait long temps

someone who i forgot talk to me on msn


i didn't answer but it doesn't matter in this system




culture without pencil neither paper





easier to talk with everybody





small love without the reality








- i was looked by the man in front of my appartment when i was sleeping with a man
- yes?
- but he never talked to me in the street




-sometimes i just wanted to go out to see the river in the dark alone
just to stand by the river and watch it alone and maybe cry


-when i was a child i was really alone so i can understand why i sometimes feel like i am far from everything
like my soul is not here when i am with another people


-because of i separated from my boyfriend, i feel so lost ,, i need love but i can't find it, you are so kind to me, thank you
maybe you want to come to my house?


- please don't talk to me now, i am tired and sleepy, i just want to see the tv in calme

-i am depressed , i want to talk with you tonight


-i hope it will be fine tomorrow

farniente

love letter by sylvia plath

LOVE LETTER

not easy to state the change you made.
if i 'm alive now, then i was dead,
though, like a stone, unbothered by it,
staying put according to habit.
you didn't just toe me an inch, no-
nor leave me to set my small bald eye
skyward again, without hope, of course,
of apprehending blueness, or stars.

that wasn't it. I slept, say: a snake
masked among black rocks as a black rock
in the white hiatus of winter-
like my neighbours, taking no pleasure
in the million perfectly-chiselled
cheeks alighting each moment to melt
my cheek of basalt. They turned to tears,
angels weeping over dull natures,
but didn't convince me. those tears froze.
each dead head a visor of ice.

and i slept on like a bent finger.
the first thing i saw sheer air
and the locked drops rising in a dew
limpid as spirits. Many stones lay
dense and expressionless round about.
i didn't know what to make of it.
i shone, mica-scaled, and unfolded
to pour myself out like a fluid
among bird feet and the stems of plants.
i wasn't fooled. i knew you at once.

tree and stone glittered, without shadows.
my fingers-lenght grew lucent as glass.
i started to bud like a March twig:
an arm and a leg, an arm, a leg.
from stone to cloud, so i ascended.
now i resemble a sort of god
floating through the air in my soul-shift
pure as a pane of ice. It's a gift.

SYLVIA PLATH
" love letter" in "crossing the water".