Les harpies

Les harpies planent en cercle sous un ciel de coton

Leurs cris me parviennent dans un souffle de vent

L'air chaud à trancher au couteau

La sécheresse fait craindre le feu de brousse

Dans chaque buisson des criquets bruissent

Et cavalant comme des folles là-haut

Elles jouent à se jeter de serre à serre le corps d'une enfant

Leurs sordides gloussements me donnent des frissons.

Les voilà caquetant, la mère implorant,

Mais l'on ne retrouvera rien, pas même du sang,

Ou seuls de fins lambeaux de vêtements

Voletant dans l'air nébuleux du matin

Qui témoigneront encore quelques temps

Du passage des harpies sous un soleil de satin.

T ∩ X, Y, Z

"You can't do anything about the length of your life, but you can do something about its width and depth."

H.L. Mencken, writer, editor, and critic (1880-1956)

Blessed are the poor in spirits

"Happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing I know."

Ernest Hemingway, author and journalist, Nobel laureate (1899-1961)

Ficstitious

“Truth is stranger than fiction, but it is because Fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities; Truth isn't.”

Samuel Langhorne Clemens, aka Mark Twain, writer (18350 - 1910)

Insincerity is to genuineness what zirconium is to diamond

"The great enemy of clear language is insincerity."

George Orwell, writer (1903-1950)

. . .

Eyes follow dot-dot-dot
Tongue touch lip
Shaky pencil birth dinosaur

Intellectual eremiticism

"The more powerful and original a mind, the more it will incline towards the religion of solitude."

Aldous Huxley, novelist (1894-1963)

Intellect vs Senses

"Interpretation is the revenge of the intellect upon art."

Susan Sontag, author and critic (1933-2004)

Skyscraper

 

I am the world disincarnate

no sound no taste

no sound

no taste

and my spirit rises from the molten tar

skin and bones slightly ajar

slithers past the turds of the dogs

the masses used to revere me as a god

haze among haze I brush past elbows

the space between people narrows

and I pass through the passers-by

and I hover shoulder-high

and I gaze in people's gaze

and the smouldering heat anaesthetises

them their blank stare akin to a tundra desert

inert, so inert

lighter than the air full of mosquitoes

I shell heads by the thousands

like a shower of torpedoes

yet with the net weight of inverted mountains

and I quasar in the glare of the sun

quasi-mirror to its reflection

I skim along the shard of lights which

shake me, shake me

Skyscraper

I remember a Mongol king whose eyes

pierced the distance like the falcon's

and he squinted when I blurred the horizon's line

and even then he doubted,

that I am as old as the sun

ghost, I am a ghost,

and they're the host,

glutting on the Fausts,

and their faults

and the skyscrapers like lances

and I like a harpoon of light

pierce in deadly dances

men's eyes kept in dreary human night

Mosquito Song (Queens of the Stone Age) acoustic cover