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singing in your sleep and they fall from the sky and wash up on the shore "Woyzeck What's wrong, Doctor? Doctor I saw it, Woyzeck, you pissed on the street, pissed on the wall like a dog. And you get two cents a day. Woyzeck, that's bad. The world is getting bad, very bad. Woyzeck But the call of nature, Doctor..." - Georg Büchner, Woyzeck “Ask the Outsider what he ultimately wants, and he will admit he doesn't know. Why? Because he wants it instinctively, and it is not always possible to tell what your instincts are driving towards.” - Colin Wilson, The Outsider “Once upon a time there was a poor child with no father and no mother everything was dead and no one was left in the whole world. Everything was dead and it went and searched day and night And since nobody was left on the earth it wanted to go up to the heavens and the moon was looking at it so friendly and when it finally got to the moon the moon was a piece of rotten wood and then it went to the sun and when it got there the sun was a wilted sunflower and when it got to the stars they were little golden flies stuck up there like the shrike sticks 'em on the blackthorn and when it wanted to go back down to earth the earth was an overturned piss pot! and was all alone.” - Georg Büchner, Woyzeck "It's not really my problem if they think I'm weird." - Sid Vicious "Blakean Bum/Time is Honey", "Blackswan" & "Kamikaze" by © Henrik Aeshna
BLAKEAN BUM / TIME IS HONEY "don't spend time beating on a wall hoping to transform it into a door", coco chanel said - i kick off the week sipping life's sweet & sour (dew & debris) as if tasting a bottle of champagne for breakfast calmly enjoying my honeymoon w/ madness BLACKSWAN i’ve got two stripes of vertigo in place of the eyebrows smile carved by knife & nytroglycerin tongue i’ve got you in my sky necklace as a Morning-Starlike pendant KAMIKAZE first time we made love i heard a nova in the sky with honeysuckle stars swandiving into my fishbowl * EN FRANCAIS: CLOCHARD DE BLAKE / TIME IS HONEY « ne gaspilles pas ton temps à frapper un mur en espérant le transformer en une porte », disait coco chanel - je débute la semaine en goûtant le doux & l'amer de la vie (rosée & débris) comme si c'était une bouteille de champagne au p’tit déj' en profitant calmement de ma lune de miel avec la folie CYGNE NOIR j’ai deux rayures de vertige à la place des sourcils le sourire taillé au couteau & une langue de nitroglycérine tu es dans mon collier de ciel comme un pendentif de l’étoile du matin KAMIKAZE la première fois que nous avons fait l’amour j’ai entendu une nova dans le ciel & des étoiles de chèvrefeuille se précipiter dans mon aquarium "I am watching them churn the last milk they'll ever get from me. They are waiting for me to die; They want to make buttons out of my bones." - Gregory Corso, excerpt from "The Mad Yak" What is your current state of mind? Pregnant. (Votre état d’esprit actuel ? Enceint.) - DAVID BOWIE, the Proust questionnaire, Vanity Fair, August 1998 Tous les soirs quand je suis seule Je te raconte ma tendresse Et j’étrangle une fleur. Le feu lentement se meure Contracté de tristesse Et dans le miroir où dort mon ombre Des papillons demeurent. Tous les soirs quand je suis seule Je lis l’avenir dans les yeux des moribonds Je mêle mon haleine au sang des hiboux Et mon cœur court crescendo avec les fous. - JOYCE MANSOUR, Déchirures (1955) CAT RUNS COUNTRYSIDE Come down in hard drops/ unfamiliar suburb /jeans hot and sticky and cigarette smoke stranger turnaround and pull the bastard humming mid-70s Dylan tracks on baby stuck fantasy/ Macbeth is showing tonight at theatre fools in disguise/ we hit the loud city running orange light operation Henry Miller in pocket stand with onions fried and wandering lot in big city/ never trust you out of sight again/ black-leather jacket youth on strong and hide smell of falling-apart Charley Lamb/ off the red bus winding its way through never left home/ cat runs countryside upstairs with long-haired hippy in overheated bookstore in the reeds without any oxygen/ bright-eyed bleeding bleak skies and rain-torn police street straight into burger stand/ just a teenager lost in beatnik station and night arrest for daring to breathe - GARY CUMMISKEY, from Truncated biopsy, cut-ups * Gary Cummiskey is a South African poet and publisher living in Johannesburg. He is the editor of Dye Hard Press, which he started in 1994. He is the author of several poetry chapbooks, including Romancing the Dead (Tearoom Books, Durban 2009), Sky Dreaming (Graffiti Kolkata, India 2011) and I Remain Indoors (Tearoom Books, Stockholm 2013). In 2009, he published Who was Sinclair Beiles?, a collection of writings about the South African Beat poet, co-edited with Eva Kowalska. An expanded and revised edition of the book was published in 2014. Also in 2009, Cummiskey compiled Beauty Comes Grovelling Forward, a selection of South African poetry and prose published on the US literary website Big Bridge. His debut collection of short fiction, Off-ramp, was published in 2013 and was short-listed for the Nadine Gordimer Short Story Award in 2014. His work has been translated into French, Greek and Bangla. He was editor of the South African literary journal New Coin from 2013 to 2016. Appelle-moi par mon dernier nom. Accroche mes vêtements aux planètes aux étoiles. Que mes jambes sans issue marchent sur la terre En semant mon désespoir dans les cœurs des animaux Que mes dernières réponses sonnent comme des glas Pour appeler les hommes à l'absolution. JOYCE MANSOUR, Cris (1953) THE MUSE IS ON THE LOOSE The Muse is on the loose and wastes herself away on some cretin. A severe goer through everyday scandals. It is well worth risking a damnation or two. Almost anything stumbles upon its quest. Try to imagine the absence of your voice. La Grande Messe Des Mots resumes next to nothing. It is only a gradual misconceiving that alerts the beginning and the end of the days. The widths of the most important poet of your neighborhood eradicate the rest of the absolutions. (2009) * Yannis Livadas is a contemporary Greek poet, born in 1969. Livadas' aesthetic position, both in his poems and his essays, constitutes the idea of experimentalism based on «organic antimetathesis» - the scaling indeterminacy of meaning, of syntactic comparisons and structural contradistinction. He is also an editor; essayist, translator, of more than fifty books of American poetry and prose; an independent scholar with specialization on modernism, beat literature, postmodernism and haiku. He is also a columnist and freelancer contributor to various literary magazines, both in Greece and other countries. His poems and essays have been translated in eight languages. He lives in Paris, France. "La faculté de rêverie est une faculté divine et mystérieuse ; car c'est par le rêve que l'homme communique avec le monde ténébreux dont il est environné." Charles BAUDELAIRE PATRICK MODIANO It was this and that and the other. It was another of those dog day August afternoons in Paris. The streets emptied and those last-known addresses with their outstretched ghosts. It was those empty Metro stops in the midnight hour. Those clanging auto shoppes. Young girls skipping rope. Who was the first to die? Who was the last if such a last would come undone, but for an instant. So many names go up in smoke. So many sidewalks reflect the smoke. So many times we’ve settled at the Flore exchanging anecdotes until it’s time for turning corners, heading home, buffeted by darkened rains, by whirling shadows GERARD MALANGA, from Whisper Sweet Nothings & Other Poems (Bottle of Smoke Press, 2017) About the Author Gerard Malanga was born in the Bronx in 1943. His previous books of poetry are No Respect: New & Selected Poems 1964-2000 (Black Sparrow Press, 2001), and Archives Malanga (Waverly Press, 2011), a 4-volume set of fanzines comprising new poems and non-fiction. An accomplished photographer as well, his first monograph, Resistance to Memory , appeared in 1998 with an introductory essay by Ben Maddow, and a poem by Thurston Moore, followed by Screen Tests Portraits Nudes 1964-1996 (2000), Someone’s Life (2009), Souls (2010), Ghostly Berms (2012) and Photobooths (2013). Long Day's Journey into the Past, Gunnar B. Kvaran Speaks with Gerard Malanga, was published by the Astrup Fearnley Museum of Modern Art & Skira in Oslo (2008), and Gerard Malanga, a biography by Lars Movin was published in Copenhagen (2011). He is presently at work on his memoirs, In Remembrance of Things Past. Gerard Malanga lives with his cats, Sasha, Zazie, Xena and Mishkin in upstate New York. His website is gerardmalanga.net Poet/collagist STEVE DALACHINSKY was born in Brooklyn after the last big war and has managed to survive lots of little wars. His book The Final Nite (Ugly Duckling Presse) won the PEN Oakland National Book Award. His most recent books are Fools Gold (2014 feral press), a superintendent's eyes (revised and expanded 2013/14 - unbearable/autonomedia) and flying home, a collaboration with German visual artist Sig Bang Schmidt (Paris Lit Up Press 2015). His latest cds are The Fallout of Dreams with Dave Liebman and Richie Beirach (Roguart 2014) and ec(H)o-system with the French art-rock group, the Snobs (Bambalam 2015). He has received both the Kafka and Acker Awards and is a 2014 recipient of a Chevalier D’ le Ordre des Artes et Lettres. His poem “Particle Fever” was nominated for a 2015 Pushcart Prize. Forthcoming from Overpass Press “The Invisible Ray” with artwork by Shalom Neuman. TSUNAMI GANG: a wild art & poetry zine edited by Henrik Aeshna/Eros en Feu Tsunami bOOKS Paris "i like the slowest poisons, the most bitter drinks, the most powerful drugs, the craziest ideas, the most complex thoughts & the strongest feelings. my appetite is voracious and my hallucinations even crazier. you can even throw me off a cliff, i'll say: - so what? i love to fly"
(clarice lispector) Fête J'ai déplié mon orphelinage sur la table comme une carte. J'ai dessiné l'itinéraire vers mon pays au vent. Ceux qui viennent ne me trouvent pas. Ceux que j'attends n'existent pas. Et j'ai bu des liqueurs furieuses pour transmuer les visages en anges, en verre vides. Alejandra PIZARNIK (1936-1972) "Avant de poursuivre sur la nature réelle de ce monde visionnaire intérieur, laissez-moi vous dire quelques mots sur les moyens d'accès à ce monde. Certains s'y rendent spontanément; ils semblent capables d'aller et venir sans difficulté entre le monde visionnaire et le monde biologique, utile, le monde quotidien de notre expérience ordinaire. Vous avez des gens comme William Blake, par exemple, qui se déplacent constamment entre les deux mondes. Blake traversa une période vers le milieu de sa vie où il était incapable de visiter le monde visionnaire. Pendant une vingtaine d'années il ne l'a pas vu. Il avait l'habitude de le voir dans sa jeunesse et puis, en vieillissant, il put à nouveau y entrer tout à fait librement. Et nous avons, je crois, bien des cas de poètes et d'artistes qui ont sans cesse voyagé d'un monde à l'autre. Nous avons ces descriptions très belles et très détaillées du monde visionnaire accordé au poète irlandais George Russell — qui écrivait sous le nom de A. E. — où il raconte ses expériences d'allers et retours dans ce monde lumineux à l'intérieur de l'esprit." -Aldous Huxley, in L'expérience visionnaire La Prophétie D’une place de Paris jaillira une si claire fontaine Que le sang des vierges et les ruisseaux des glaciers Près d’elle paraîtront opaques. Les étoiles sortiront en essaim de leurs ruches lointaines Et s’aggloméreront pour se mirer dans ses eaux près de la Tour Saint-Jacques. D’une place de Paris jaillira une si claire fontaine Qu’on viendra s’y baigner, en cachette, dès l’aurore. Sainte Opportune et ses lavandières seront ses marraines Et ses eaux couleront vers le sud venant du nord. Un grand marronnier rouge fleurit à la place Où coulera la fontaine future, Peut-être dans mon grand âge Entendrai-je son murmure ; Or le chant est si doux de la claire fontaine Qu’il baigne déjà mes yeux et mon cœur. Ce sera le plus bel affluent de la Seine, Le gage le plus sûr des printemps à venir, de leurs oiseaux et de leurs fleurs. Robert Desnos Photograph of Ted Joans, Joyce Mansour and Nanos Valaoritis with Alain Jouffroy reflected in the mirror at “A la cloche des halles" in Paris by Marion Kalter. "La force mystérieuse de la métamorphose agit dans un nom ; comme un anneau au doigt, il semble de prime abord pur hasard, sans conséquence, mais avant que l’on ait conscience de sa puissance magique il se développe en vous, sous votre peau, et s’unit, sceau du destin, à l’existence spirituelle d’un être." Stefan Zweig, L'ivresse de la métamorphose "Il y a deux routes qui mènent à la vie. L'une est la route ordinaire, directe et honnête. L'autre est dangereuse, elle prend le chemin de la mort, et c'est la route géniale." * "Oh! l'amour n'est rien, s'il n'est pas de folie, une chose insensée, défendue et une aventure dans le mal. Autrement c'est une banalité agréable, bonne pour en faire de petites chansons paisibles dans les plaines." Citations: Thomas Mann, La Montagne Magique Photo: Leonard Freed
"It is increasingly apparent to me that the philosopher, who is necessarily a man of tomorrow and the day after, has in every age found and had to find himself in contradiction to his today: his enemy every time was the ideal of the day." F. Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil "I've lived out my melancholy youth. I don't give a fuck anymore what's behind me, or what's ahead of me. I'm healthy. Incurably healthy. No sorrows, no regrets. No past, no future. The present is enough for me. Day by day." * "I tell you, struggle is what is missing in the lives of most young people today. If they think I'm going to support them while they create great works of art, then they've missed the point of my work, of my life! In the process of becoming a writer or an artist one has to be willing to starve. Struggle is the most invaluable experience of all. Suffering seems to be the inevitable fate of the creative sensitive types. Poverty, disease, death, unrequited love affairs, and disappointments of every sort fan the flame of the artistic spirit. The greatest works of art were not created by spoiled brats. They were born for the most part out of a sense of despair, and if not despair then just plain hard work. Somewhere along the line the artist learns the art of transformation." HENRY MILLER |
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May 2018
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