Expérimentations diverses non catégorisées

Dialectique ? Postmodernisme ? Trumpisme ?…

Enjoy the free world, don’t mind about privacy. Sois serein, embrasse le stress. Cherish your rights, don’t think anyone owes you anything. Sois toi-même, sois dompté. Pursue your own happiness, conform. Soumets-toi, sois créatif. Développe ton potentiel, n’oublie pas que tu es de la merde. Sois le meilleur, aie l’esprit d’équipe. Cherche un emploi à ta mesure, n’espère pas en trouver. Sois rationnel, laisse-toi guider par l’invisible. Sois rationnel, fais comme si l’Invisible n’existait pas. Suis l’exemple des téléstars, maîtrise tes émotions. Fais l’amour, chéris la mort. Laisse Mère-Grand tranquille, ne l’abandonne pas. Sois vrai, sois plastique. Sois digne, sois retors. Man up, sois ouvert et tolérant. Dis non à la drogue, consomme des antidépresseurs. Let’s legalize medicinal marijuana, let’s not forget how bad it is for public health. Question authority, get in line. Renonce aux incivilités, élude l’impôt. In climate change we believe, in God we trust. Sois politiquement correct, sois humainement juste. Blow the whistle, face the consequences. Speak freely, shut up. Sois un bon musulman, ne sois pas musulman. Que rien de ce qui est étranger ne te soit humain, love thy neighbor like thyself. Refuse le statut de victime, ne te radicalise pas. Remember any resistance is futile, so fight ! Dénonce les attentats, admire les bombes. Que rien de ce qui est humain ne te soit étranger, paix sur la Terre ! Sois confiant, intériorise la terreur. Cueille le jour, laisse-toi cueillir…


Catégories : Expérimentations diverses non catégorisées | Étiquettes : , | Poster un commentaire

Show me your hole, boy…

I met this boy once. There was something about him. That made him different from the rest. He had this really splendid orifice, you see. One that was asking to be filled. So me and my friend. The one I talked to you about. We would do just that. For an entire afternoon. That and much more. We were hungry. In so many ways, the three of us. The boy had made pasta. We slipped it through his hole. My love took one end, I the other. As we got closer, we looked into each other’s eyes. Until finally the tips of our tongues met in ecstasy. Again and again. One spaghetto at a time. The boy’s hole had become our bond. And it was as sacred as any other. It went to the bathroom for a while. My love rolled a joint. The boy came back. We were half high. My love took a mouthful of THC. Didn’t inhale. We got closer to his hole. Sealed it with our lips. You can imagine the rest. What about me ? The boy asked. We gave him his due. For it was a communion. Then we grabbed a ball of wool. Pink wool. Because it’s softer. Kinkier. Vanilla-like. I took my straw. And made a knot. Then slipped the thread through his orifice. Two meters of it. At least. We count in meters here. It was so tight. My friend took his log. And made a knot. The boy was hot. I said hello to his nose. Then his upper lip. My friend was busy at the back. Back and forth it went. The thread. On both sides. And after a while… Oosh… Oosh. No, not yet, my love… We swapped places. The boy was feeling better. Less pressure on his back. And back and forth again. Until we stopped. To try something new. I freed my straw. My love his log. We were hungry still. We grabbed the boy by the root. And made a knot. And again through his gaping openness. The thread went. I took the extremity in my mouth. And as my love leaned forward. I pulled it back. Try to catch, babe. I said. Oops, missed again ! The boy smiled. Come closer. He said. Yeah, you too. And the three of us kissed. For what seemed to be an eternity. I love you, honeypot. The love of my life told me. And I you. Sweetie pie. I said to the boy. While tickling his hole. My babe was about to explode. And it wasn’t out of jealousy. Wait, I said. There’s so much we haven’t tried. I know. He replied. But a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. Just a minute. I said. I went to the fridge. Grabbed the Nutella. Came back. And rubbed it on the boy’s hole. Until the hole vanished. The whipped cream is courtesy of the house. I told him, lie down. Soon, his whole ear would be covered with it. And as soon as my babe had had his portion of dessert. And the boy’s orifice was visible again. My straw got close. His mouth as well. Never say : fountain… Ready to take it, babe ? And take he did. Good boy. The boy looked at us. And said. Want some of mine ? Give it to him. I said. He’ll give it to me. And I’ll give every drop back to you. Then we’ll kiss again. The boy was turning into a volcano. My hand softly caressed the lower part of his belly. While my love put a Nutella-stained finger in his hole. His creamy chocolate skin was so soft. A true delight. I’ll spare you the details about the fireworks. You should have been there. Suffice it to say. It wasn’t disappointing. The three of us then took a shower. And went for a walk. On our way was a flower shop. That pink rose would suit my hole very well. The boy said. So we bought it to him. But there was something. I wanted to know. You being exclusive and all. I asked. Did you ask permission for that hole ? Or is your body yours still ?…

Catégories : Expérimentations diverses non catégorisées | Poster un commentaire

I had no reply, so I just asked the sky…

After David Lynch, we continue our amazing series of imaginary interviews of contemporary art icons. Today, The Iguana himself, aka Mr. Biggie (and I saw it !), Vice style. But first, I owe it to my readers to disclose my close personal relationship with the enfant terrible of glam pop music : for years, a giant American Caesar stared at me up close in my teenage bedroom. But I’m doing better now. So, without further ado, let’s jump into it…


Howdy, Sir Pop. I was fifteen when I first saw you live. It was at the Brielpoort in the small Belgian city of Deinze. And it was unforgettable. A few years later, I went to an Henry Rollins gig. With him you share, among other things, the habit of displaying your body on stage. His is covered with tattoos front and back, yours isn’t. Regardless of any easily forgivable self-attraction, do you think of your body as a work of art ?


By 1967, when The Stooges’ first album came out, color made its first significant breakthrough on national television. But the minds were still largely black and white. With its raw energy and provocative lasciviousness, the band was like a colorful explosion in Pleasantville. It definitely broke the musical codes of that time.

As I grew up with that music, that and Led Zeppelin’s, then Sonic Youth’s, one of your rightful heirs somehow, and quite some The Cure as well, I’ll always remain emotionally attached to it, it’ll never lose its power, and it’ll always remain avant-garde to me, as I think it can be to new generations too, particularly considering the amount of commercial trash being produced these days, which has not only become panoramic compared to what it was in the seventies, but is also a lot – and I mean a lot ! – shittier than any of the P&L stuff major labels could come up with back then : “cultural treason” is everywhere now !

But, despite a clear resurgence of puritanism, both in the US and in Europe, sex – or the marketing thereof – is now omnipresent : some fringe rock and rap bands even invite couples to fuck on stage. There’s a ‘been there, done that’ feeling to it. The energy The Stooges were able to produce, which was a direct reflection of how they were dealing with their hormones as teenagers, others might genuinely try to channel and reproduce (and, to some extent, a lot have), but that too would amount to déjà vu. Last but not least, whereas, for better or worse, musical trends were very affirmed in the sixties and seventies, in part due to the majors’ influence, the era of musical fashions is over. In other words, there can never be another Iggy and The Stooges.

If they were in their late teens today, and equally inspired, what music (in any possible genre) could they, could you, produce that would have the same immediate and lasting effect on people and society in general ? How could they challenge their audience between a rock of repetition and a soft place of mellow intimacy ? Where would true rebellion – or just coolness – lie in music these days for “absolute beginners” ? And can it emerge against both what some – maybe even yourself – would call the excesses of the past and the new political correctness ?


Several times, drugs (some a lot more than others) had a nefarious effect on the band throughout its existence. During your press conference in Cannes last year, you encouraged (young) people to leave drugs aside. Is that something one has to say when addressing the flock in a church like Cannes ? Did you mean it ? Would The Stooges have been The Stooges without them ?


What was worse for you ? The drugs or you suddenly being sucked into the celebrity machine as a kid from Michigan who grew up in a trailer ?


Looking back at your Arista years and even later on, how much of your music during that period, if any, do you consider to be a concession to “cultural traitors” ? I guess what I’m asking is : did you lose your edge of your own volition ? Were you coerced financially ? It must have been very hard for you to be asked to perform Stooges songs alone and in playback on TV…


In Cannes – or was it during your Times Talks interview ? – you said language should be as spontaneous as possible. If the other questions didn’t bore you already, this one sure will : generally speaking, in how far can spontaneity be accuracy ? And in how far is it any different from empty automatism ?


The next one is a bit surreal, but I’m going to ask it anyway… I also remember you saying you saw to it Stooges songs were always very parsimonious with words in order to be more efficient and to the point. What about purely instrumental music ? Could Iggy ever have done an act with the same passion without vocals at all ?


I agree with you about Igor, but I know you’re open to all kinds of music. What do you make of the original Detroit techno scene ? Could there be room for guitar or voice inserts in there ? Names like Mad Mike or Jeff Mills ring a bell ?

Throughout your musical career, you embraced several genres, but always remained within the rock, and later pop realm. Can the future of music be anything else than a fusion of genres (in fact, as many as the artistic mind is able to conceive) that would ultimately get rid of established ones and allow creators to explore the entire musical realm as they go without obfuscating their audiences ?


They had to wait for over forty years, but in 2010 The Stooges were formally inducted into the Rock ‘n’ Roll Hall of Fame. To anyone who knows anything about rock music however, this was a mere formality. How important was it to you ? And how important was it to Junior Jim ?


Mr. Osterberg, I want to thank you for this interview, and I wish you many more albums to come.

Do I wanna see it again ? C’mon on, man, you could be my dad… Okay then, a quick glimpse…

Catégories : Expérimentations diverses non catégorisées, Musiques | Étiquettes : , | Poster un commentaire

Dégueulasse !






William Burroughs, Towers, Open Fire
Catégories : Expérimentations diverses non catégorisées | Étiquettes : | Poster un commentaire

Who asks these questions anyway ? And who’d fucking answer them ?!

David LynchMeditation, Creativity, Peace; Documentary of a 16-Country Tour [OFFICIAL], David Lynch Foundation, 2012



You’re using the hook metaphor. Do ideas, once they’re hooked, become proprietary ? And is writing them down the hook ?


Sometimes, an idea crosses your mind, giving you an epiphany, true or false. But, whether because you’re too tired or your thoughts are too volatile or multidirectional, you let it float again, like you would pollen landing on your clothes on a Spring day. Maybe it’ll come back, maybe it won’t. Was that idea destined for you ? Is it destined for someone within a small group of people with whom you unwittingly share a certain idiosyncrasy ? For anyone ?


Can a hooked idea be satisfied with its status ? Is it bound to die out ?


How do you explain that once popular ideas – movies, songs – have successfully passed the test of time, while others have rapidly faded out ?


What do you think dreams were like before the great technological leap ?


What are your thoughts on (mass) manufacturing dreams, as a promise of the near future ?


If military and geopolitical aspects are to be disregarded in this “invincibility”, why would or should a practice resting on the universality of mankind and the possibility of enlightenment of every human being keep taking the concept of nation-State into account ?


Is it future or is it past ? Are you inferring Yoda was or will be inspired by The Maharishi ?


Are those what Dougie is drawing on his casefiles ?


Are you referring to “the theory of everything”, which, to my knowledge is much more recent, and is just that for now, namely a theory, gravity remaining the troublemaker ?


What would you tell any Buddhist who’d argue something cannot come out of nothing ? Could you elaborate on the notion of no-thingness, as opposed to nothingness ?


Is the realm of the infinitely small here and now necessarily symmetric to the realm of the gigantic as it was and will appear ? And is it fair to say that seeking unity (understood as essentiality) in the former implies digging, hence dividing, ever further ?


Is speculation knowledge ? Is intuition (always) truth ? Is meditation thought ?


So, mind is not matter ?


This specific ?

Do we really need a guru for that ?


I say : mushrooms ! Just not the kind displayed in episode 8, which are transcendental too, only in a bad way… Mine are true bliss. With moderation, of course, for as another proselytic visionary might have said in a different set of circumstances : once tuned in, we wouldn’t want to drop out entirely, would we ? Why in Totality’s name won’t you bow to the Divine Mushroom ? Are there rules you need to publicly follow to keep your DWP award ? Do psychedelics happen to be a Higher-Degree monopoly ? And why would you associate Jerry Horne’s spliff with sadness and disorientation ?


Looking carefully at the following painting while sober, then casually while mildly stoned, what can you tell me ? Let’s do the test…

Umberto Boccioni, Materia (1912)


Do you have any common grounds with Aldous Huxley ?


Yet there’s so little light in the universe it might be considered as the absence of darkness, might it not ?


Why is it that, so far, the road to Twin Peaks is ever darker, instead of brighter ? Is your doppelganger to blame for that ? If so, what is your relation to him deep down ? Is he what you need to expurgate in order to feel “pure consciousness” or is he, on the contrary, an unmissable part of it ?


These days, film recordings are digital, which renders the very word ‘film’ inaccurate. Yet, we’re still talking about a medium for a screened fiction. And a screened fiction is supposed to remain a negative. Does “the other world” [23:15] affect the actual one in a transcendental way ? And, if any, what is the respective impact on reality, both common and individual (the actors’, the director’s), of a negative negative and a positive negative in today’s society ?


The long scene of a guy sweeping the floor at the end of episode 7 of course carries a symbolic value directly related to the script : he’s cleaning up his boss’s mess. But perhaps it also reveals a more profound symbolism : method and organization are central to every occupation. And the least one could say is that the sweeper is methodical. Furthermore, what he’s doing is bringing scattered pieces, albeit pieces of dirt, together to form a whole. Would I be going too far if I said the apparent incongruity of this scene in terms of time – any other director would have cut it after two seconds – is actually a token of respect. And, if so, is it respect for the man or for the job ?


Don’t you think a lot of jobs are utterly worthless to the people who exert them, in that the mechanical repetitiveness of the tasks they’re required to perform doesn’t allow any room for mind expansion, let alone creativity : they’re mind numbing. Aren’t you speaking from a highly privileged position ?


In his 1867 Reasoned Proposal to the Central Committee of the League for Peace and Freedom, precisely fifty years before the Redvolution, Russian Anarchist Mikhail Bakunin said : “we are convinced that freedom without Socialism is privilege and injustice; and that Socialism without freedom is slavery and brutality.” Among your foundation’s wealthy trustees, we find UBS Private Wealth Management managing director Mark Axelowitz. Roman emperor Vespasian is said to have claimed “money has no smell”. You mention the toilet cleaner’s boss. Anarchy not your thing ?


A few years ago, one of my high-school history teachers vigorously opposed the construction of a Belgian Maharishi center in his town : http://www.sauveznil.be/docs/argumentaire/argumentaire.html.

The move coincided with your 16-Country Tour.

One of the reasons he put forward was this quote (hereafter translated back into English from a French translation) he had found in a Maharishi International University publication : “there is no place for the weak, and there can be none. The strong must lead and if the weak don’t follow, there can be no place for them. […] The ignorant must let the elite of the wise enlighten them. In nature itself, the weak disappear. The non-existence of the weak is a law of nature.

As a high-ranking Maharishi scholar, how would you define “weak” in this context ?


Another of his complaints pertained to the very (very !) lucrative side of Maharishi’s business. This grievance was echoed by award-winning British journalist David Jones in a 2008 article he wrote about The Beatles’ relation to the Maharishi : http://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-512747/Lennon-right-The-Giggling-Guru-shameless-old-fraud.html.

For argument’s sake, let’s say Larry Jacoby’s radio-broadcasted rant in episode 5 was positive-minded. Isn’t the fact almost every spiritual, philosophical or political message has become a mere vector for goods to sell (which is to say the act of selling takes precedence over the message and is in fact the actual message) the mud humanity needs (regular) “shit-digging shovels” to dig itself out of ? What happened to the ‘Guru Devs’ of the world ?…


Let’s go back a couple of questions : can anarchy fit in a creative process involving dozens if not hundreds of collaborators ? Is the artist God in his “other worlds” ? How flexible can your vision be ?


Did hierarchy, ABC’s for instance, ever (seek to) limit your creativity ? To what extent were young film directors without (financial) connections able to safeguard their artistic integrity when you started in the business ? Has the Internet as a means of self-distribution actually levelled the playing field ?


Can those qualities be detached from the environment in which individuals evolve ? For instance, can one get rid of stress in a business environment in which it has become the supreme management mode ? Can a dasein be harmonious if the mitsein is structured to be antagonistic and hollow ? If said qualities form a new language, what is an Untouchable to do if he finds no other speakers ? And are they a path to genuineness or to objective interest fulfillment ?


This reminds me of David Cronenberg’s “eXistenZ”. Our hardware exists, of course, but that, like all other animals, we perceive through our sensitivity. When we speak of consciousness, we refer to our dasein. But isn’t it possible our software is merely a projection onto us ?


Are you a possessive man, Mr. Lynch ?


Would you say Dougie, at this stage, is contemplative ? How would you define the state he’s in ? In how far does it differ from Carl’s when he’s sitting on a bench watching trees in episode 6 ? They both seem to be able to relate to younger minds, but they do so in different ways, don’t they ? What’s the difference ?


Would you agree that, due to the way they are conceived, none of the forms of society humans have experimented with until now, with the exception of a few interludes here and there maybe, could have tolerated for that ability to be extended beyond a restricted circle of happy few ? And if it were, are you saying A Brave New World would actually be viable ?


Isn’t that a very reactionary thing to say ? All of them, while advocating totality, sowed the seeds of totalitarianism; some still do. How can you reconcile your idea of enlightenment with the very obscurantism the Enlightenment rose to crush ? And when implemented in the City, when does the quest for totality start to flirt with despotism ?


A sheer matter of perception, perhaps ?


Yet, not every consequence for an individual is a result of an action by that individual : was the horrifying fate of the little boy ran over by Richard Horne’s truck a manifestation of karma ? Conversely, when one looks at how easily the 2008 banksters got away with nearly lighting the fuse of a new world war – worse yet, how they got promoted and their bonuses skyrocketed –, can’t this hope for cosmic retribution act as a deterrent for those who might otherwise join an offensive struggle for secular justice ? What is sometimes referred to as magical thinking is not necessarily systematically irrational : unless it’s pure fantasy, it may rely on processes scientists are simply unable to grasp at a given time, yet no less real. But what is more fundamental to you : karma law or human justice ?


What room would there be for individual dissent (a.k.a. creativity) as to the evidently very narrow newspeak framework, some elements of the technique, or the morality of the method, not to mention the (democratic) sustainability of the assigned objective itself ? Is TM a technique, as you repeatedly said, or more of a discipline ? Can the mind of an individual be enlightened by anything else than its own critical thinking ? And can critical thinking occur within a hive ?


Two things come to mind here : Gramsci’s cultural revolution (subversion through entryism) on the one hand, etymological fascism (> Italian ‘fascio’, meaning ‘beam’) on the other hand. To the legions of young nazi soldiers subjugated by Hitler’s inflamed speeches, did the latter contain anything but positivity and hope, the hope to transcend the humiliation imposed by the Treaty of Versailles ? What about the free will of the recipients of positive energy ?


If, as I posited earlier in our conversation, film remains a negative, so in some ways does the mind, doesn’t it ? Supposing this grand scheme is motivated by good intentions, isn’t the road to hell paved with them ?


Statements like “everybody knows that” don’t come close to scientific evidence. And while I perfectly understand the primacy of intuition as a powerful, legitimate and necessary structuring force from an artistic standpoint, I worry about expanding that idea and its implications to the political environment. Could it be science (which is to say facts that can be demonstrated and are undisputed for a period of time) is (again) a political hindrance ? Should we hold a Twitter contest about it ? Is it present or is it past ?


But it is, isn’t it ? At least insofar as it religat, as it binds [people] together.


What you’re describing here as the epilogue of evolution (“It gets to the point where […]”) also happens to be Rousseau’s state-of-nature prologue. Do you feel the irony ?


As such, this sentence is a little scary, considering how various new technologies were used by “the old way of thinking” (starting with electroshock so-called therapy). Did you mean ‘the techniques’ ? Is « what happens » necessarily the same from one individual to another ? Should they, if possible, be applied synchronously to everyone ? Would that appease people ? And, once again : never do you mention inequality as the major cause for war… Could it be one man’s bottom of the well is another man’s surface ?

Spasiba very much for your candid answers, Mr. Lynch. I’m a big admirer of yours. Which one of you, though, I don’t quite know…

Catégories : Eclairage cinématographique, Expérimentations diverses non catégorisées, Philo de comptoir, Politique / Société | Étiquettes : , , , | Poster un commentaire

Donald, this is from me to you…

They’re everywhere, man. But only you can see them. It’s a parallel world. And it’s not just the spooks. It’s the journalists too. They’ve got those devices. They can listen in to all your conversations through the mic inside your TV or your PC. Trust no one ! And be thankful to Wikileaks (once more)…

Take me, for instance : the other day, I farted while writing an online application for some stupid job. The next day, my favorite talk show host dedicated his monologue to fat people farting. Can you believe it ? Then he winked while looking straight at me through the camera. Coincidence ?

Another one : I’ve had this beef with Nicole lately. It’s well documented. And there’s, like, this closet at my grandma’s house containing objects from my childhood, as well as my teenage and college years. I’ve never mentioned it to anyone. Among those is a book I was very fond of as a kid. It’s called « Rox & Rooky« . It’s about the adventures of a fox and his canine friend. Well now, believe it or not : one day, a few months ago, I tuned in to this morning show I sometimes listen to. There’s an imitator in it. Quite talented but very bitchy. Didn’t he find a way to fucking mention that fucking book everyone else must have forgotten by now ?! He did it twice, the motherfucker, in case I hadn’t heard it the first time !!! Coincidence ?

Those people invite themselves into your living room, man, your oval office, your hotel, your beach resort, or whatever, depending on your lifestyle. Literally. And if you move, they move with you. They’ve got spies all over the place. They pay your friends and relatives to gather confidential stuff about you, which they then distillate in their shows for your ears only to make you feel uncomfortable. And you don’t know them. You’ve never met them. But they seem to know you. They know no boundaries whatsoever, and they don’t have the slightest dignity. A new form of GesTaPo unlike any of its predecessors, I’m telling you. The enemy of the people, man. True that ! There’s no other way of putting it…

A few years ago, I went to this gay spa, where I sucked some huge black cock. The guy looked a lot like Devon Lebron, but with an even bigger dick and a set of impressive low hangers. The next day, Omar Sy (you know, from “X-Men, Apocalypse”) appeared on TV denying his alleged homosexuality. And the list goes on, and on and on : no place to hide… Sometimes, like Pink Floyd, I feel like singing “What Do You Want From Me ?”. Because they’re clearly expecting something, goddammit !!! But what good would that do ?

I also had this shady deal with some corrupt notary public of Russian descent. It’s been going on for over two years now. The guy owes me two million bucks in exchange for a few kilos of coke and some stolen goods. Refuses to pay. That’s because he knows I’m being watched, and all my contacts with me ! I mean, I can’t even kidnap him and remove one or two of his fingernails. Do you fucking realize what this is doing to my street rep ?!

So, I’m with you on this, buddy. Hang in there ! And don’t utter a word… cause they’re around, believe me !

Catégories : Expérimentations diverses non catégorisées, Lettres ouvertes des plus surréalistes... | Poster un commentaire

Fusionnisme textuel (sur fond de mélancolie combative) : une entrée en matière

Si vous pensez que faire société, c’est d’abord et avant tout parler, échanger, avec les autres, c’est

Comment l’anonyme qui, malgré des efforts surhumains, ne parvient à entamer avec ses semblables

qu’il a dû vous échapper que nos collectivités ont mis en place toute une série de protocoles aussi

aucune conversation d’intérêt sur les sujets sociaux qui lui sont chers, pourrait-il, homme ou femme

invisibles que totalitaires destinés non pas simplement à contrôler et encadrer – c’est-à-dire à

publique, espérer trouver auprès de ses auditeurs, oreilles attentives et esprits féconds ? Quel espoir

appauvrir –  la parole, mais à en conditionner préalablement l’exercice à une soumission totale à

de salut intellectuel et d’échange social l’autre côté du filtre peut-il donner à celui qui ne s’est que

l’ordre social en son éblouissante féodalité, quitte à faire de celle-ci le véritable sésame de la

trop familiarisé avec les étendues désertiques qui, sous son impulsion frénétique, n’a cessé, de ce

participation à la société, quand bien même l’on n’a strictement rien à dire et se perd ce qui doit être

côté-ci, de gagner du terrain, si forger l’opinion l’écœure, et stimuler l’éclosion de pensées propres

dit ! C’est dans cette exigence, qui ne s’édicte jamais, jusqu’à présent, que par stimuli subliminaux

par euthanasie de tous les catéchismes paraît chaque jour plus improbable ?

dans des contextes sans le moindre rapport avec les objets de dispute que vous abordez, que doit se

chercher l’origine première de la tragédie humaine contemporaine : vous n’êtes invités à vous

exprimer qu’à propos de  ce dont on vous intime de parler, dans le cadre et la hiérarchie que l’on

vous impose. Aussi n’entrez- vous pas, si vous y consentez, dans la société des hommes, où chaque

individu dispose en principe de droits inaliénables, mais prenez-vous place, au gré d’évaluations

clichées de compétences et de potentialités auxquelles vous soumettent des inconnus qui ne

fonctionnent que par compartimentations génériques irrémédiablement calquées sur un appareil

productif professionnel désuet qui se moque pareillement de qui vous êtes et de ce que vous voulez,

au sein d’une structure collective froide comme métal, pesante, bruyante, insensée et toujours plus

vile. Dans la société patriarcale classique, vous étiez appelé à garder cette place toute votre vie. De

nos jours, le leitmotiv du changement vous impose une plus grande flexibilité, au sein de la strate

hiérarchique à laquelle vous appartenez, un peu au-delà si vous avez de la chance. Qu’il semble

difficile de faire comprendre aux hommes et femmes a priori de bonne volonté qu’il ne peut y avoir

de changement que de la structure elle-même, que le monde nouveau et encore inconnu de Gramsci

Par égarement, il m’arrive encore parfois de me dire qu’il n’est pas exclu que la grosse masse des

dont on nous rebat les oreilles, qui peine tant à s’extirper de la brume qui l’enveloppe, ne pourra

abrutis, pour lesquels la sensibilité est une tare, se rendent enfin compte qu’il n’est de tarés qu’eux,

émerger qu’à cette condition et que tout ce qui s’y oppose, à commencer par l’artifice du

qu’un éclair de lucidité les amène à comprendre que, sans moins maudire la mièvrerie, faire le choix

changement, ne vise qu’à pérenniser l’existant : sans tourner le dos à la loterie sociale, naguère

de la sensibilité comme principe social structurant seul porteur d’épanouissement pacifique

métaphorisée par l’ascenseur, qui n’a jamais eu pour but de rendre la société meilleure dans son

commun, et demeurer sensible malgré les coups et l’ignorance, parce que rien dans l’absurdité d’une

ensemble, mais simplement de starifier quelques idiots utiles grassement rémunérés pour leur

existence – ni les plans de carrière, ni le besoin de reconnaissance, ni la quantité de relations, ni la

idiotie complaisante comme on s’empare de l’une ou l’autre peluche dans un Luna Park, en ne se

peur du rejet – ne justifie le refoulement de cette sensibilité, et que tout, au contraire, à commencer

souciant guère du sort de celles qui sont vouées à rester dans leur bocal, sans rompre radicalement

par l’émerveillement et la plénitude auxquelles elle donne accès, ainsi que la satisfaction de rester

avec la société du passé, ses préceptes hiérarchiques éculés, et sa fabrique de pulsions sordides et de

debout, appelle à chérir, est œuvre de gladiateur moderne. Oui, l’humilité sensible est une force face

passions vaines, on ne fait jamais que se mettre à son service, pour s’étonner plus tard que ne

à laquelle pâlit le conformisme destructeur cher aux esprits chétifs, le nihilisme des cyniques, et

change pas ce que l’on contribue à entretenir…

même les pulsions d’apocalypse de ceux qui confondent encore enfance et puérilité…

Catégories : Expérimentations diverses non catégorisées | Poster un commentaire

Grand Mage, que voyez-vous ?

– Je vois de sombres nuages coloniser le ciel, des nuages pourpres, lourds, d’où ne s’échappent encore que quelques gouttelettes, je vois un parterre qui applaudit, la fin du rire, je vois, je vois, un grand chaos, oui c’est ça, un grand chaos !

– L’anarchie ?

– Non, un grand chaos…

– Revenez un peu en arrière. Que voyez-vous ?

– Une rangée d’hommes, des soldats qui les trient, l’angoisse. Mon heure est-elle venue ?

– Reprenez vos esprits. Vous êtes en sécurité. Continuez.

– Je vois, je vois un tigre en cage. Des inscriptions sur les barreaux. On dirait des tags… Attendez, oui, je parviens à les lire : presse, rébellion, juridisme… Le tigre est en train de ronger les barreaux. L’un d’eux est déjà sur le point de céder.

– Décrivez le tigre.

– Il a l’air vieux, marqué par la rancœur. Il est debout, la gueule ouverte. Il parle : « Savage friends, we’ve got your backs ». Un grand bâtiment, oui, un grand bâtiment en flammes… Je crois le reconnaître, mais je ne suis pas sûr.

– Que dit-il d’autre ?

– Il est muet à présent. Non, attendez… Il chuchote quelque chose, oui : « ce n’est pas le hasard, c’est le fruit d’une volonté »…

– Bien, grand mage, à présent je vais décompter de trois à un. Lorsque vous entendrez ‘un’…


Ferme naguère, la terre, pour toutes sortes de raisons, l’acidité la première, l’absence d’irrigation, était devenue austère.

Dessous la terre, une chose s’agitait : « let me out !!! »

Catégories : Expérimentations diverses non catégorisées | Poster un commentaire

Tachyons are great…

exhibit-aThe day before yesterday, I saw some ten-year old walking like a miniature Charlie Chaplin down Pennsylvania Avenue, gawkily saluting the crowd with his alien right hand amid a cold indifferent emptiness. There was a man with him, and a woman too, but neither one bothered to look at him. Through the screen, the air smelled like plastic, it was suffocating. They were playing their parts, seemingly failing to even notice his presence. You could almost feel their shame. Or was it just disdain ? Not a word, not a comforting hug. An addition of units far, so far from a circle of three. But I thought : nothing is written, the kid might very well not become a psychopath, a more perfect union is still possible…

Last November, the boy’s science project, involving tachyon-related time travel, was selected by the National Board of Charter Schools. Academically, it is so groundbreaking the intelligence community immediately signaled its interest. As a result, the boy addressed some spooks yesterday, loud, cheering ones. He looked so fresh, his flawless face shining with orange youth. It is well documented kids his age can barely concentrate for more than five minutes in a row : hormones are loose cannons in a teen’s body. As he was trying to fill in the blanks by distracting his audience with some personal anecdotes, like the one about his uncle pissing in the Delaware river nearby Hope Creek and watching his urine turn as fluorescent green as the kiwi sodas they serve in Moscow, his presentation appeared a bit clumsy, to say the least. Could his project, once implemented in Pompeiopolis by the single consul, allow the agency to go back in time and terminate whistleblowers even before they speak, or rogue agents like Hector to start a romance with wannabe jihadists ? Against all odds, I thought : nothing is written, tachyons are great. And when I heard the kid conclude his speech with a prepubescent “I love you”, I really knew he meant well…


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machine sociale vs. Progrès social

J’argumente. Ils m’opposent l’arrogance du non-sens.

Je cherche l’échange. Ils veulent m’embrigader.

Je les considère comme ils sont. Ils veulent me façonner.

Il y a une opposition rédhibitoire entre la soumission inconditionnelle à une société telle qu’elle est, exigée par l’establishment de chacun de ceux qui sont nés hors-la-cour mais ambitionnent, pour autant que l’expression ait un sens, de gravir les échelons sociaux, et la conviction établie que c’est l’argumentation égalitaire (c’est-à-dire la reconnaissance universelle préalable de l’autre, indépendamment de tout carcan, de toute tribu, de tout rôle assigné, de tout réseau supposé), laquelle ne souffre aucune exigence de soumission, qui fait projet social.

Sinon du conservatisme, de quoi enfermer un individu dans ses relations antérieures, quand bien même il répète à l’envi qu’il les a reniées ou inversement, des relations qui n’étaient souvent dues qu’au déterminisme, ainsi que le confiner à des environnements contraints tels que l’emploi, supposés générer automatiquement de nouvelles relations, relève-t-il ?

Ils laissent aux gens le choix entre laisser parler leurs nerfs sur des futilités centrées sur les personnalités de pacotille qu’ils leur imposent, et se taire. Dans les deux cas, ils les condamnent. Faites leur comprendre que vous avez compris leur manège, que vous ne comptez y prendre aucune part, argumentez, itérez et réitérez jusqu’à plus soif un discours rationnel, ou tout simplement humain, privilégiez les sujets de fond et détournez-vous d’eux : toujours et inlassablement, sans essayer le moins du monde de vous convaincre autrement que par l’induction d’une nécessité vitale de mimétisme, ils s’interposeront entre la lumière et vous, et vous ramèneront à ces deux options.

Affirmer haut et fort que je fume du cannabis revient-il à dire : je vous emmerde, je fais ce que je veux, ou à défendre, contre l’idéologie productiviste asservissante et contre un nouveau puritanisme hygiéniste malsain, une exigence d’humanité en rappelant qu’être humain n’est pas être automate, et que tension suppose détente ? Ne pas le revendiquer serait abdiquer son humanité.

Je leur dévoile mon visage. Ils me montrent leurs masques de mépris.

Je leur parle de justice. Ils s’esclaffent.

Je leur parle de respect. Ils me répondent : néant.

Je leur parle de conscience. Ils me parlent d’argent.

Je leur parle d’ambitions. Ils me parlent de carrière.

Je leur parle d’Humanité. Ils me parlent de rouages.

Que ne m’ignorent-ils !

Ils s’imaginent qu’ils sont vivants. Pourquoi ne pas les maudire tous ?

Catégories : Expérimentations diverses non catégorisées | Poster un commentaire

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