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What we went through there, Another thing is that only this one night crossing of the suture evening and morning. Otherwise than through it, from one point to another, the path that carries the space. That's another place to be found, without other side upside down or place. We went, and we will.

What has brought with itself - all images we have seen, all words that can endorse them. Last night to write (we do not write only at night time because only permissible - but because she alone makes this possible): one line after another, it includes only this evening, last night (two months after the first), the figures that emerge.

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so irréductible_processus insurgency

A truth is not a view of the world but what keeps us connected to him so irreducible. A truth is not something that one holds but something that carries us. She did and I defeated, she is me and dismisses as an individual, it straying far m'apparente and those who experience it. Being isolated attached to it inevitably encounter some of his fellows. In fact, any process insurgency from a truth that we do not surrender.

the insurgency that has
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As everyone goes about his destiny

Small or large

As centuries Egyptian

Painfully

Crowd passing by slowed down as rain, and where I am stationed, the choreography seemed more weighed down incomprehensible not seem to go somewhere, yes, but the types under the cloaks disappear to be replaced by others. Wear thousand times its dot on the "i"

Under heat and downwind
In the sun or at night
You see these creatures?

Have stayed here a few minutes, looking for the laws of movement. Went unanswered. Others continue to watch for me. We will know one day.

We see little things that glow
These are people in folders
As during these centuries of the long night
In silence or in noise

a. bashung / g. manset_ "like a lego" (2008)

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out blindly at the surface



Hung facades, artificial lights that illuminate the surface of buildings, and under our feet, nothing but darkness - no shadow our bodies looked over the city, but the shadow of the town itself spread over the whole street. When advance is blind the eyes wide open facades aligned, and to march there, almost with hands outstretched in front of you, you think of missing an allegory of the world: the way we travels, we do not do differently on tightrope and truncated, and vacuum under the shadow of which seem not: yet. Yet those lights in the back who want here indicate a direction (three-star room, maybe more), here, we could hardly tell where they lead.

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What we will look in the picture - what is there. A match, not really so, but the question we ask ourselves, to ourselves, the days when the load is too heavy. On the surface, the answer is always, hollow, one that masks the depth to which it is made.

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silhouettes

What prints on the surface of reality is just the trace of erasure next, perhaps. When intercepting its light at the precise moment given by chance, get rid of what we see, fix the term of the framework here, right now. These faceless types, as in the dream, which run in the stillness, those guys who spend an imminent erasure. We could hardly walk around their silhouette. One could hardly know they are going to me, if they stray. It captures only the fingerprint. And the footprint is enough for me tonight to fix ghosts of my own weakness, then I'm going to (Tonight), it far enough I digress.

"without intent Draw, scribble mechanically, it almost always appears on the paper faces. Leading a life excessive facial, it is also in a perpetual fever of faces. As soon as I take a pencil, paintbrush, he'll come on paper, one after the other, ten, fifteen, twenty. And most wild. Is it me all these faces? What are others? What funds come from? Would it not simply the consciousness of my own head thinking? (Grins a second face, as well as the adult man who suffers stopped crying shame by in misfortune to be suffering more in the background, so he would have stopped grinning to become more inwardly grimacing.) Behind the featured face motionless, abandoned and become mere mask, another bubbly face superiorly Mobile , contracts, simmering in an unbearable climax. Behind the lines fixed, desperately seeking a way out, expressions like a bunch of dogs howling ... "

Michaux

The inner space

me, taking photos without a true intent, they are figures that come: are they me, these contours? Faceless, and without initiative, without direction or movement - yes, what funds come from and where they involve me. All figures which I think, that I found.

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plunging arm

Casting ink - it plunges back in the world. Three days off, away from the screen, in the city. And in return: the computer that opens like a book, and before him, the pen is revived (hers, that of others): Casting ink brutal this morning, the flow

again open the screen on his knees before one who writes all kinds of lines. What we did not seen, during these three days, and that goes back to itself, plunging the arm into the vertical pit bitumen. One learns to read - and this is the lesson. Say it's like every morning, before the feed: this thing we dare not say, but essential: the idea, fearful, joyful, that learns to read every morning. (And then, writing is something new every time, not in the arm movement, but in the research literature, those who began to move with the lines, those that have changed meaning, or those that do not recognize, then those who are lost: and all those arisen)

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sixth postulate Euclyde

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reading (continued)

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praise capoeira (the critical Bagnolet; reading to Mycroft)



Capoiera
: this martial art, perfect, terrible - just based on the movement mimicked the sudden dance performed for the gesture alone, without guidance no opponent. But every blow in a vacuum, it was on his way a body would be fatal.
Capoiera
: gesture
critical. Gesture of writing, not made secondary to the handwriting, but phantom of what happens in the writing: not vainly brought to the vacuum (Chatter opinions, appearances) - but reformualtion of literature in the movement towards what will destroy (and perform): writing. Review : This dance was running around, before facing

face to face.

Capoiera : the
reading. Voices of the writing, not before, but literally for me (at my place, to me). These readings of the evening in the tiny room that holds voice, phrases that are likely to first exposure to nearly forty people (forty-one). There will be one of the readers so just particular it is often looking up she will read at the end of a sentence often, as to find both out of breath; as to drop out of breath, especially as to perform with more perfection kata. Reading: this dance was running before, round bodies that are there to help.

afternoon - reflection and debate Bagnolet

on criticism (among others):
literature & internet, visiting apartments

( remue.net , poezibao ,
edition argol

and two
reviews) night - readings in the gallery Mycroft : the debutantes ball ( Pauline Klein, Marie-Alice Villaume, Anne Collongues, Nathalie Siek and Camille B.)