mercredi 31 décembre 2008

The roted satisfactions.

Fragments of my head have reached the sky of red torments.
Elongated in long flaming threads of green brain texture,
Synapsis of pounded connectivity
I hear the screaming of iron twisting on roosted bases.
When from heaven fall the angels of electronic metal
The ground echoes from the deflagrations
Linking up to world global government’s lines
I collapse on this true reality of sacrificed citizens,
Planed dead at the profit of some grasping blokes.

Fragment of peace blown out by the lock of our jails
We run in circle around the temples of lust
Selling brain condoms, and come back home
Pockets full of insanities hard covered
As books of dead religions.
I hear the screech of the expensive cars
Rushing the night from club to club,
Murdering at the same time some homeless
Too cold to jumps out the pavement they got for bed.

Fragments of my eternity float in spasms
On the ocean of alcoholic’s vomits,
Stopping for a while their laughing
For some meth sniffs gracefully offered,
Official dealers of human’s agonies
Allocate greetings and blame, according
If everybody walks in line or not.
And I hear the groan of feudal slaves
Walking on the knee to beg to stay
Half dead but still in the rules.

Fragments of my mind,
Drifting away
To the coast of
A voluntary isolation
Check the underneath wreck
Of purple chickens
Calling themselves
The glorious
And sanctified
Human race.

Fuck new year's day.


Dogs of War in the Plains

Les chiens de guerre crachent sur nos jours
Leur obscure vision d’une vie acide.
De leurs canons et leurs fusils
Répandent leur déjections sur nos douceurs
Et nos rêves.
Je ne rêve plus.
J’ai trop peur qu’ils entrent en moi
Et sème leur terreur
dans le creux de mes espoirs.

The dogs of war spit over our days
Their obscure vision of an acid life.
Their guns and their rifles
Spread their dejections on our softness
And our dreams.
I do not dream any more.
I am too afraid they can enter me
And their terror sows
in the hollow of my hopes.

Les chiens de guerres
Envahissent mes plaines, mon sang,
Pour y violer la lumière.
Ces fous contrôlent mon monde
Sans un murmure de tristesse,
Renversent les cendres
De milliers de prières.
Je ne respire plus.
De peur d’inhaler leur puanteur contagieuse.

Dogs of wars
My plains, my blood invade,
To violate the light there.
These fools control my world
Without a murmur of sadness,
Overthrow Ashes
Thousands of prayers.
I do not breathe any more.
In fear of inhaling their contagious stink.

Les chiens de guerres ont laissé à terre
Mes mères, mes sœurs, sanglantes de hontes,
Eteintes de stupeur.
Et mes pères et frères de rejoindre leur rang
Pour à leur tour, éteindre d’autres mères,
D’autres sœurs.
Je n’enfante plus,
De peur de faire le mal
Par l’arrogance du mâle.

The dogs of wars left with ground
My mothers, my sisters, bloody of shames,
Switched off of stupor.
And my fathers and brothers to join their row
For in their turn, to extinguish other mothers,
other sisters.
I do not give birth any more,
In fear of making the evil
By the arrogance of the male.

Les chiens de guerre me font voir
Au fond de leurs yeux glauques
Les cauchemars millénaires de leur impuissance.
Ils sèment la mort sur mon lit d’amour
Ils crachent du feu faute de cracher du sperme.
Leur phallus d’acier baisant l’horizon.
Je ne jouie plus,
De peur de leur ressembler
dans leurs obscènes orgasmes.

The dogs of war make me see
At the bottom of their shabby eyes
Thousand-year-old nightmares of their impotence.
They sow death on my bed of love
They spit of fire for lack of spitting their sperm
Their steel phallus fucking the horizon.
I come no more,
In fear of resembling to them
in their lewd orgasms.

Les chiens de guerre ont envahit ma vie.
Pour ne pas être des leurs, je me suis détesté.
Ils ont saigné mon cœur de me savoir un homme.
Et je n’ai plus souri
Et je n’ai plus aimé
Et je n’ai plus voulu.

Alors une femme m’a conquis
Une mère, une sœur, une épouse.
Et j’ai à nouveau aimé.

The dogs of war have invaded my life.
Not to be theirs, I hated myself.
They bled my heart to know me a man.
And I did not smiled anymore
And I did not loved any more
And I did not wanted any more.

Then a woman conquered me
A mother, a sister, a wife.
And I loved again.

Note: Today is the last day of year 2008. nearly everywhere in the the world, people gonna celebrate the new year's day.
"Happy new year" everyone gonna sing.
Wish you can give at least five minutes of your new year to come to do something for those who gonna sing tonight "One more new year of blood"

mardi 30 décembre 2008

Body Electric

Mon corps électrique
Sommeille en moi.
Je le rêve, la nuit
Et le sens vibrer le jour.

My electric body
Slumbers in me.
Dream of it at night
And feel it vibrating during the day.

Mon corps électrique
S’est réveille en moi.
Il vibre et tourbillonne
Autour de mes bras tendus.
Il étend ses faisceaux
Par delà les murs et le océans
Navigue s’en cesse
Sur les flots de l’universel.

My electric body awaked in me.
It vibrates and swirls
Around my tense arms.
It spreads its beams
hereafter walls and oceans
Navigates on the streams of the universal.

Mon corps électrique
A rejoint l’univers.
Il le traverse
A la vitesse de la lumière.
Il se mêle aux vents solaires
Et aux pluies d’électrons.
Atteignant la fusion
Mon corps électrique sait…

My electric body
Joined the universe.
It crosses it
A the speed of light.
It gets involved in the solar winds
And in the rains of electrons.
Reaching the fusion
My electric body knows …

Chakra est un mot Sanscrit qui signifie la roue ou le disque et se réfère aux sept centres d'énergie majeurs dans le corps (l'organisme). Ces sept centres sont placés le long de l'épine dorsale et lorsque sain, permettent un flux équilibré d'énergie entre les aspects physiques, mentaux, émotionnels et spirituels de notre être. Garder nos chakras fonctionnant correctement est extrêmement important pour notre santé, comme les ruptures dans le flux d'énergie peuvent mener à la maladie et la dépression.

Chakra is a Sanskrit word that means wheel or disk and refers to the seven major energy centers in the body. These seven centers are positioned along the spine and when healthy, allow a balanced flow of energy between the physical, mental, emotional and spiritual aspects of our being. Keeping the chakras properly functioning is vitally important
to our health, as disruptions in the energy flow can lead to illness and depression.

lundi 29 décembre 2008

KAMA SUTRA - a tale of love

Set in 16th century India, the movie depicts the story of two girls, Maya and Tara, who were raised together even though they come from different social classes. Tara (Sarita Choudhury) is an upper-caste princess while Maya (Indira Varma) is her beautiful servant. The two girls are best of friends and have been treated the same, until they get old enough for marriage. At this point Tara is treated as a future princess being readied to marry Prince Raj Singh (Naveen Andrews) but Maya is forced into the role of her servant, which culminates into an argument where Tara reminds Maya of her lowly position in life. Being resentful of the inferiority she is made to feel, Maya exacts her revenge by sleeping with Prince Raj on the wedding night. Prince Raj himself is delighted with the opportunity since he is an opium smoking playboy who loves sex, drinks, and nearly naked gladiator type fights. When Maya's actions are discovered by Tara's brother, he develops an intense amount of lust for her. When she refuses him, he brands her as a whore, and she is banished from her house.

Maya is forced to wander around on her own. She eventually meets many free-spirited people, including an older sensuous woman named Rasa Devi (Rekha) who is a teacher of the Kama Sutra, the ancient art of seduction that takes into account dancing, singing, costumes, as well as the art of making love. While a student there, Maya also meets a young stone sculptor named Jai Kumar (Ramon Tikaram) and the two begin a romantic relationship until one day Raj, now the king, shows up wanting to commission some statues for his pleasure. He immediately recognizes that some of the statues look just like the only woman he now desires, the outcast Maya, setting up a gladiator type contest between the two men. What culminates is an intensely homoerotic 'friendly' competition in which the two, nearly naked, grapple and dance in a male-bonding wrestling match without the intention of hurting each other. Even so, Kumar wisely allows King Raj to beat him and in doing so he receives many favors and gold, but he loses the right to see Maya. On top of that, King Raj is descending deeper into debauchery and opium delirium with no interest or inclination of bedding his own Queen, even for the sake of procreation. However, the blame for the lack of an heir is not placed on the King. Instead, it is Queen Tara who is scorned for not being able to seduce her own husband.

Maya finally realizes that she must make difficult choices as she finds herself in the position to either accept her role as concubine to King Raj or to help the people she loves who are all headed down towards their own paths of destruction, all because of her presence in their lives.

Source: Wikipedia

I took a step outside
The land was flat and covered
By a strange white glow.
From far, I saw a yellow veil
Floating in the brushing wind.

I approached.
And met a young woman
Of smooth gilded clothes

Daughter of heaven and earth
She was there, holding a planet,
A blue one with clouds around.

“Dear yellow nymph, is that a real planet,
That in your hands floats softly?”

“Dear odd, it is a real planet I am holding yet.
And I have in charge to keep the memories
Of the living there. But all those memories are quite sad…”

She had these strange face expression
Of someone wondering a dream but not knowing which.

“Dear veiled lady, is that the reason
Your smile seems to be gone?”

“Dear questioner, the last time I have smiled,
There was only two livings on this planet,
And their thoughts were crystal clear to my ear.
But today they did grow in number to a multitude.
Their memories sound so weird and perturbed,
That I feel with the despair of being able
To engender there the slightest sun.”

Wondering how I could dry the fairy’s tears,
I plunged a hand in the bag on my side
And pulled out a pocket of old fashion papers.

“Dear enigmatic, with a pen and those old paper,
Why don’t you write down such memories
In a whole story of strange and unusual words.
Linking so together each plot to the bank of your river…?”

She turned on me her glance of clear water,
And I saw a flame in the hollow of those eyes…

“Dear wonderer, I take your advice for good wisdom
And I will write this book of thousand and one whispers.
The tales of those human’s flaws turned into a flaming cathedral.
And in this temple of all perversions and straying
I will light a dream for all memories the golden one finding”

And she sat and wrote.
One page a day and so after a thousand days and one,
There was a thousand pages and one
And she called her book “Aphorism of the desire”
Where each page was described one fail and one shelter.
The ending word being written down,
She turned her head once again to me.

“Dear patient man, haven’t we met before?”

“Dear sublime, we did met a thousand time and one…”

dimanche 28 décembre 2008

Pain Of The Burning Land

The horizon of black being at the death’s door
Scratchs my pain on the Gaza’s pavements…
Today I cry for the brothers killing their brothers.
No one is innocent but no one deserve to die
Under a rain of anger that blow off
My hopeful dreams of a wise humanity.
Today I cry on children that look out the window
Seeing, screaming, for a mother that flows
From the blood of a shamed expectation,
To dream of a peacefulness freedom,
A license to breath under a blue sky

Today I cry coz my earth is bleeding
Of million wonderful scarified,
A street to wear the footsteps
Of the sacrificed anonymous, guilty
To be not living on the good bank
Of this river of hate
That floods human history.

Today I cry on the body of a teenage school girl
Tackled at the dark fate
Of misery’s promises…

samedi 27 décembre 2008



A masterpiece.
Un chef d'oeuvre
"Woman in the Dunes (砂の女, Suna no onna?, also translated as Woman of the Dunes) is a novel by Kobo Abe and a film based on the novel directed by Hiroshi Teshigahara. The novel was published in 1962, and the film was released in 1964. Kobo Abe also wrote the screenplay for the film version.

The surreal and, at times, absurd nature of Woman in the Dunes has been compared to existentialist works such as Sartre's No Exit and Beckett's Happy Days. Aside from its intriguing premise, this film is notable for the life that Teshigahara brings to the ever shifting sand, which almost becomes a character in its own right.
The film adaptation of Woman in the Dunes won the Special Jury Prize at the 1964 Cannes film festival and, somewhat unusually for an avant-garde film, was nominated for the Best Foreign Language Film Oscar in the same year"

I dream of an erotic moment with you having such magic, such depth, such light...
I dream of our two bodies, magnified by the golden ray of an evening sun...
I dream you and me, isolated in a vast forest, in a house of dream and skin...
I dream of you, ondulating on me, curving in me, circulating round my dizziness...
I dream your eyes, half open on a penumbra of warm room...
I dream of our glance crossing in murmur a river of desire...
I dream, all the time I dream...
Of you.

Nacht und Nebel

A long line of spooky faces
Eyes lost in a nowhere land.
They walk holding a suitcase,
The last wealth they gonna lose
In a moment to stand finally naked.

The first time I saw this movie
At the end I found myself
With tears on my cheeks
Flooding that world’s misery.

A long line of what humanity
Is able to engender.
Atrocity as an outlet
For chaos attraction.
A long line of those who will die.

At the end of the movie
I was crying
But it gave me the strength
to stay vigilant
for this to never happen again.

Did I failed ?

No Title

Note: I received 2 days ago an email from a friend of mine who didn't made a sign since two years.
Now she regrets the time we were best friends...

She was away on a far island, and the only news I got from her was some collective emails where nothing was said.
Then she came back in France and for more than a year, I heard nothing about her. I did called her once, asking to meet, but nothing.
So I said to myself: "let it go ! It was maybe time for stopping this relationship..."
and then, her email, where she try to rebuild this relationship.
I am maybe hard-hearted, but this sounds like she come to me because in need for some help.
I did help her, as she helped me, for the time we were friends. But today, I am disappointed by her behavior.
Ignoring me when time was sweet, and remembering me when time become harder...
So I answered...

Who can say what life is about, what it holds.

Life goes on. Up to us to fill what will go in the beneficial direction.
Silence does not inconvenience me.
Where silence is that there is nothing to say, maybe ...
But I live in the same place, even if much has changed, and well.
I think when you left to your island, it marked the end of a cycle.
Beautiful things have happened to me since, and continues today.
I think myself closer to my inner peace.
And it has influenced the course of events, more than surprising.

I will probably leave France for two months and may be more.
I am leaving for a far country.
Where is waiting for me a Princess. With her, I touch to perfection, she, me, us.
The winds of fate calls me and it is time that I follow.
You see, my friend, each of our tests is that the door which opens onto the next step of our awakening.
Facing closes the door, Understanding opens.
Understand what?
The answer of the hardship is one piece of a great puzzle.
The test itself is nothing. But it is part of a whole.
And I can tell you this: if you understand the place of the test in the chain of enlightenment, while all around you get lighted..
If nothing clears, it is likely that you do not yet capture the essence of this test.
I give you a key: the fifth chakra - The true word - opens doors.

The path to enlightenment is not to fight to get there, but to accept the teaching of suffering.
And to receive such education require our soul to get bared. Of everything.
So everything we are given.

"I fell very down, the confines of my nil. And when I did was nothing, a princess came, took me by hand and offered me everything ..."

So, dear friend, do not worry if life changes your plan, sail and what you deserve you will get.

vendredi 26 décembre 2008

Planet of my Self

There is a hole I’ve been falling in
A tunnel of red and bargained sin
A long corridor running under my skin
To rupture the continuum of my spin.

There is a dark dreamer in the pillow
Of my following nights, ten feet below
My smile that melts in the endless flaw
Of an immense and lonely sorrow.

But even in the hell of the negations
Survive a light as a good reason
A light of thousands equations
Of a blessing salvation.

There is a large and quiet ocean
Bathing my feet as a golden talisman
Carrying for me the message of a shaman
White quietness in the eyes of a man.

mercredi 24 décembre 2008

Where Is The Wild World ?

Anger is by nature designed for waging war with the demons and for struggling with every kind of sinful pleasure. Therefore angels, arousing spiritual pleasure in us and giving us to taste its blessedness, incline us to direct our anger against the demons. But the demons, enticing us towards worldly lusts, make us use anger to fight with men, which is against nature, so that the mind, thus stupefied and darkened, should become a traitor to virtues. - Abba Evagrius the Monk

Glittering women being agglutinated
To their red lipstick toys
Before to make
A first step outside.
And they fascinate
Of their silver eyeliners
For a fake troubling glance
To the next sex partner.

To the men rushing
Their social performances
But finally excelling
In home absence.
And in the solitude
Of a light marriage
They make love prelude
Thinking of their next car's voltage.

Man and woman together ending
In a couple of kids
Gratifying years of diners
At the parent’s house.
And the kids to grow up
At the nipples of the TV screen
Sucking their milk
Of alienating Paris H puppet.

Where is the wild world?
Where is the wild world?

Both dogs and cats
Shaking their tails
For a tin of aliments
Made of brothers and sons.
Cultivated in nice plastic box
The race of the animals
Finally find their use
In the women’s fur coats.

“Where do the milk comes from?”
“From the supermarket!”
Answer in all together
The kids of the school.
And the forest to die
To give a chance to those kids
To still use a car
For a race shopping milk.

Where is the wild world?
Where is the wild world?

And the marketplaces,
Wall Street and CAC40,
Self erected as the only God
Organize collective payers
At the Fox News’ hour,
Between the desert and a belch
Just before Saturday night porn
For masses’ satisfaction.

Finally all emotional surplus
End in a TV’s war
Pictures of green glowing
For a night strike’s award.
And as millions of innocents die
Under GI’s rockets,
Hollywood the saint
Repent at the box presets

Where is the wild world?
Where is the wild world?

In a way or another,
We are all some kind of whore
Crucifying human's dignity
At the castle
Of our own self-satisfaction.
By the way I said “we”
But I really don’t feel concern.

What’s about you ?...

Where is the wild world?
Where is the wild world?
Lost in the path
Of all illusions…

mardi 23 décembre 2008

Sankai Juku "TOBARI"


I want walk the land of banned dreams
To lay my skin at the edge of the day
And throw my flesh at the light’ speed
Across the bitter air of an ancient cave
To lay at the road of a nowhere destination
naked as the first breath of a new born
Waiting here till a wheel fuse the soul-crack.

I want to rock the lane of white emotions
Bordered of phallus-trees erected up
to the sky of an eternal fuck.
Lay my skin to the water of a “in between”
Warmed at the sun of its entrancing trigger
To poor out the source of an ephemeral water
Sleeping for more than too long in the past

I want to fly the green domain of the purple thoughts
Overcome the weight of the weird color from some past youth
That densify so the air of a bedroom morning
That the orchids turn their silky petals
To the darker horizon of nightmare’s territories
To lay my vitality for a rest on a wooden bridge
Where the dancer appears through the thick fog.

I want to stop at this bridge of smoky whispers
And watch for hours of endless volutes
One voluptuous dancer hypnotizing my eyes
Nailing my memory to forget even my heartbeat
To interrupt Ad Vitam Eternam the fall of the seasons
On that magical thread that links the two shores
Of one attractive evanescent air-sculptress.

And finally, at the shadow of Neptune
I will cross to the end the sheltering bridge
At the border line of my grounded mind
Cover that glowing shade from my sweat
Light fully the cosmic align
In the ‘in between” plunge a rain of golden stars
And fuck immensely the galaxies of her eyes

I wanna walk the land of banned hopes
To lay my skin at the edge of the night
And throw my flesh as a T-ray of sun
Across the sweet air of a magic next
To lay at the road of one only destination
naked as the first breath of a new smile
And to nestle in the arm of the land’s Goddess.

lundi 22 décembre 2008

Drops of Love


Une magnifique salope se réveilla un jour avec une idée saugrenue: avoir un bébé bien à elle.
Elle décida alors de se rendre au centre des bébés trouvés.
Un assistant lui présentait les bébés actuellement disponibles lorsque son attention fut attiré par des pleurs.
Se dirigeant vers cet endroit, elle découvrit un bébé en larme.
« Pourquoi donc pleures-tu, petit bébé ? » demanda la femme.
« Je pleure car je n’ai pas de maman… » répondit le petit être.
Attendrie par les larmes du bambin, la femme le choisit pour être son bébé bien à elle.
Arrivés à la maison, le bébé pleurait toujours.
« Pourquoi pleures-tu encore, petit bébé ? N’es-tu pas content de m’avoir comme maman ? »
« Mais tu ne ressembles pas à une maman, alors je me sens toujours orphelin »
Notre toute nouvelle mère décida donc de lui préparer une belle chambre. Elle courut les magasins et revint chargée de beaux jouets et de nombreux vêtements.
Mais le bébé pleurait toujours.
Alors elle le baigna, le langea, lui fit elle*même ses repas de bon légumes, le berça tendrement, lui chanta mille contines… mais rien n’y fit.
Elle changea alors de garde robe, moins clinquante, se maquilla plus légèrement, adoucit son langage et resta sagement à leur maison, mais toujours sans succès.
Le bébé pleurait toutes les larmes de son corps, répétant : « je n’ai pas de maman, je n’ai pas de maman…. »
Dépitée par cet océan de chagrin, la salope prit le bébé dans ses bras et le serra sur sa poitrine. Elle embrassait la petite tête tout en lui parlant tout doucement. Elle sentit même une larme couler sur sa joue.
Et le bébé cessa de pleurer et s’endormit doucement…

Le bébé avait désormais une maman et la salope avait un bébé bien à elle…

Quelques goute d’amour… et tout devient possible.


A splendid slut awoke one day with an absurd idea: to have a baby only for her.
She then decided to go to the found babies’ office.
An assistant introduced to her babies currently available when her attention was drawn by tears.
Moving towards this place, she discovered a crying baby.
Why thus you cry, little baby? ” asked the woman.
I cry because I do not have a mom…” answered the little being.
Tenderized by the tears of the child, the woman chose him to be her baby to her alone.
back to the house, the baby always cried.
Why do you still cry, little baby? Aren't you glad to have me as mom?
But you do not look as a mom, then I feel always orphan
Our very new mother thus decided to prepare a beautiful room to him. She ran the stores and returned charged with beautiful toys and many clothing.
But the baby always cried.
Then she bathed him, changed the baby’s nappy, made him herself meals of good vegetables, rocked him tenderly, sang thousand lullabies to him… but nothing worked there.
She changed her clothes’ style, less flashy, used more slightly make up, softens her language and remained wisely at their house, but always without success.
The baby cried all the tears of his body, always saying: “I do not have a mom, I do not have a mom…. ”
Greatly frustrated by this ocean of sorrow, the slut woman took the baby in her arms and tightened it on her chest. She embraced the small head gently while speaking softly. She felt even a tear to run on her cheek.
And the baby ceased crying and fell asleep gently…

The baby have had there a mom and the slut had become a mother…

With some drops of love… everything’s possible.

The Realm Of The Abyss


What sadly moved me the most, went to be the day I understood, every one of us contain a Golden Part. But when looking to our now world, I notice that nothing drives us, to get conscious of that. Nor to get a single start, of sufferance’s meaning.
And humanity to spill, in a lake of complains, creating the Evil, to explain the misfortune they lay in. So being separated, the Good and the Bad becomes antagonist forces that battle the human heart.
Then let’s look at what pornography is.
Is two bodies having sexual relations, whatever the practice, mean pornography? Where do stand the limit between the spice and the perversion? Isn’t it in the way we live it? Make it? Dream it? So pornography does exist only in eyes of a porn consumer… Pornography is just a sample of the emotional drift of men’s behaviors.
But many others can reveal the same.
Putting forward an hypothesis: Good is the safe ground, and Bad the abyss. By knowing well were stand the Evil, we know the limit between both. But Good and Bad are two parts of one life. So avoiding the Abyss shall be as to cut life by two. And what to do with an Abyss?
To fall in or fly above.
And to learn how to fly above, we must know what the Abyss is made of, so fall in…

… and come back.

When DarShi Cries

From the crushed dusts of ancient defences,
Where old times have seen glories of hope
Falling in the vanity’s pyres
For a pocketful of perverted games,
I have started rains of rages,
Dropping from angry heavens,
To wash by floods of ages
The increasing rustles

From men’s invocating chants
Of falsified faith to a God
That never have existed,
Elsewhere than in human’s pride,
I have started a ceremonial
Earth trembling to collapse
At the ground of humbleness
The faked vision of Gold.

From all rotted behaviors
Collected at the mankind’s feet,
The humanity’s tree
Wearing henceforth solely
Pornoïd brown leathes,
I have started one world aridity
In the erratic emotions of a crowd
In the coward chickens’ yard.

From all qualities inherited,
Men have built a city of lewdness,
Where males erect
As females are asked to suck,
So I started a great swindle,
To confuse senses
in a baroque whorehouse
Where lust the only glow.

I am DharShi
God of the deliverance
Keeper of the white level
And I failed to protect
Paradise from barbarians
So I started a great screaming
From my own throat raised
And melted an ocean of tears

dimanche 21 décembre 2008


once I was a porno
I wore all degusts
Humanity can hold.
With my rotted flesh
I did consumed
All body dancers
In my broken arms
I did carried
All soul breakers.
In this porno life
Of self-disasters
I wore all insanity
Life could have hold to me.
With my rotted thoughts
I did consume
My body dance
I did became
My own soul breaker.

"Am I a soft man, in the vapors of one soul that looks for her rest? Devils and Angels have battled in my chest for so many times that I sometimes feel as nothing resting…
Am I a fragile man, in the perfume of his child’s heartbeat that wonder for no more war but to drown in a bath of milk? Am I me, as I dream to be, a pure angel that finally overcame the duality of a human purgatory? Am I laying down, on a mellow carpet, facing a wooden fire that warm my watered bones ? Am I ?"

Once I’ve been a flame,
green of a soft glow.
I shown at night time
The lakes’ surface
And played with
My own reflection.
I was stargazer
Ant the puppets’ keeper.
Of my transparent hands
I caressed
The wounded cheeks
With the ointment
Of my own scars.
I hoped they could cure
Those broken soul
Those heartbroken.

"Am I a light, this green one floating above the dark water? Am I gentle enough so each of my touch can heal without being known doing so? Have my face the warm smile I refused for long that tells “I am ,early in peace” ? Does my hands draw angels’ breathes above the tree of one beloved’s leaf? Am I the soft dream of someone else that never hurt but warm? Am I pure enough to cancel forever and definitely the mean rustle of human’s temptations?"

Once I was a porno
And a green flame…


In the large corridor
I hear vociferating voices.
Their decadent rules
Looking at me,
They start to sing…

“you may change !
Coz you’re not like us
You must change !
Coz you’re too dangerous
You gonna change !
To be one of us…”

Nooooooooooooo !
I don’t want to bend
To your sacrificial line
Be one of you a slave
Is not my plan.
As your ephemeral style
Smell rotted and the rain
That falls from the tears
Of your lonely kids
Rust forever
The iron of your heart.
I start to sing

“No I won’t change!
Coz my difference is me
No I can’t change!
Coz I could die of it
I will not change !
But I will surely be”

From pain to pain,
From tears to tears,
I built a kingdom,
From every wound
I rooted out each
Drops of dream,
A spiritual silver
That turns
to vaporous gold
as one sun
came to shine on me.
And that realm will never surrender.
So a voice starts to sing

“Don’t change !
Just be different
Don’t change
But increase your talent
Don’t change
But leave useless torments”

It is 4:39 AM
Sitting outside
I looks to the sky.
The stars according to me
I don’t need other agreement.

samedi 20 décembre 2008

A brief passage in human Timing

Harassée d’informations et de network, sous le joug d’une survivance orchestrée, l’humanité est en train de perdre tout contact avec sa mystique. Les codes universelles sombrent peu à peu sous les eaux troubles des croyances matérialistes.
Les quêtes de l’éternel se joue sur l’échiquier mondiale de la finance spéculative où l’or noir remplace désormais la foi.
Et l’homme sage meurt.
Il faisait sombre lorsque je pris mon premier trip. Personne autour de moi. Seul mon ami me veillait. La monté fut vertigineuse, presque brutale. Ce qui m’entourait calmement se mis à s’agiter de soubresauts erratique. Mon sang lui-même devenait vertigineux. Je le sentais en moi affluer en longues tornades spiroïdales. Mon corps s’affaissait à mesure que mon esprit s’envolait vers….
L’homme sage se meurt car il ne trouve plus matière à sa sagesse. Le rythme trépident des machines outils automatisées crépitent en lui comme la guerre jadis, ravageait les territoires lointains. Pourtant, l’homme sage sait. Et plus que jamais, l’humanité fut en situation de manquer de savoir. Savoir ancestral de l’équilibre des forces qui maintiennent l’équilibre global. Plus que jamais, l’homme devrait se retourner vers son sacré, vers sa dimension extra-humaine, pour y retrouver sa véritable essence.
Et l’homme moderne meurt.
Ce fut une fusion. Une fusion avec le tout. Indescriptible savoir que je traversais, émerveillé par la cohérente beauté de la logique universelle à l’état pure.
T.O.U.T.. E.T.A.I.T.. A.. S.A..P.L.A.C.E.
Et même moi, petit engin spatial au cœur de l’infini, je me mouvais avec la grâce de l’innocence.
Et lorsque j’en revins. Lorsque ce voyage s’acheva. Tout se qu’il m’en resta fut….
Un sourire.

Exhausted from information and of network, under the yoke of an orchestrated survival, humanity is losing any contact with its mystic. The universal codes sink little by little under turbid water of the materialist beliefs.
The searches of the eternal is played on the world affairs’ scene of speculative finance where the black gold replaces from now on the faith.
And the wise man dies.

It was was dark when I taken my first trip. Nobody around me. Only my friend took care me. Gone up was vertiginous, almost brutal. What surrounded me calmly put to be agitated suddenly by erratic starts. My blood itself became vertiginous. I felt it in me to flow in long spiroid tornadoes. My body subsided as my spirit flew away towards….
The wise man dies because it does not find any more matter with its wisdom. The rate/rhythm vibrate of the automated machine tools rattle in him like the war formerly devastated far territories. However, the wise man knows. And more than ever, humanity is in situation to miss knowing. Ancestral knowledge about the balance of forces which maintain the global balance. More than ever, the man should turned over towards its sacred, towards his extra-human dimension, to find his genuine essence there.
And the modern man dies.

It was a fusion. A fusion with the whole. Indescribable knowledge that I crossed, filled with wonder by the coherent beauty at universal logic to the state pure.
And even me, small space engine in the middle of infinite, I was driven with the grace of innocence.
And when I returned from there. When this voyage was completed. All that it me remained about it was….
A smile.

vendredi 19 décembre 2008


Experimental pictures by Jeffe


by Terence McKenna

If the truth can be told so as to be understood, it will be believed.

Human history represents such a radical break with the natural systems of biological organization that preceded it, that it must be the response to a kind of attractor, or dwell point that lies ahead in the temporal dimension. Persistently Western religions have integrated into their theologies the notion of a kind of end of the world, and I think that a lot of psychedelic experimentation sort of confirms this intuition, I mean, it isn't going to happen according to any of the scenarios of orthodox religion, but the basic intuition, that the universe seeks closure in a kind of omega point of transcendance, is confirmed, it's almost as though this object in hyperspace, glittering in hyperspace, throws off reflections of itself, which actually ricochet into the past, illuminating this mystic, inspiring that saint or visionary, and that out of these fragmentary glimpses of eternity we can build a kind of map, of not only the past of the universe, and the evolutionary egression into novelty, but a kind of map of the future, this is what shamanism is always been about, a shaman is someone who has been to the end, it's someone who knows how the world really works, and knowing how the world really works means to have risen outside, above, beyond the dimensions of ordinary space, time, and casuistry, and actually seen the wiring under the board, stepped outside the confines of learned culture and learned and embedded language, into the domain of what Wittgenstein called "the unspeakable," the transcendental presense of the other, which can be absanctioned, in various ways, to yield systems of knowledge which can be brought back into ordinary social space for the good of the community, so in the context of ninety percent of human culture, the shaman has been the agent of evolution, because the shaman learns the techniques to go between ordinary reality and the domain of the ideas, this higher dimensional continuum that is somehow parallel to us, available to us, and yet ordinarily occluded by cultural convention out of fear of the mystery I believe, and what shamans are, I believe, are people who have been able to de-condition themselves from the community's instinctual distrust of the mystery, and to go into it, to go into this bewildering higher dimension, and gain knowledge, recover the jewel lost at the beginning of time, to save souls, cure, commune with the ancestors and so forth and so on. Shamanism is not a religion, it's a set of techniques, and the principal technique is the use of psychedelic plants. What psychedelics do is they dissolve boundaries, and in the presence of dissolved boundaries, one cannot continue to close one's eyes to the ruination of the earth, the poisoning of the seas, and the consequences of two thousand years of unchallenged dominator culture, based on monotheism, hatred of nature, suppression of the female, and so forth and so on. So, what shamans have to do is act as exemplars, by making this cosmic journey to the domain of the Gaian ideas, and then bringing them back in the form of art to the struggle to save the world. The planet has a kind of intelligence, that it can actually open a channel of communication with an individual human being. The message that nature sends is, transform your language through a synergy between electronic culture and the psychedelic imagination, a synergy between dance and idea, a synergy between understanding and intuition, and dissolve the boundaries that your culture has sanctioned between you, to become part of this Gaian supermind, I mean I think it's fairly profound, it's fairly apocalyptic. History is ending. I mean, we are to be the generation that witnesses the revelation of the purpose of the cosmos. History is the shock wave of the eschaton. History is the shock wave of eschatology, and what this means for those of us who will live through this transition into hyperspace, is that we will be privileged to see the greatest release of compressed change probably since the birth of the universe. The twentieth century is the shudder that announces the approaching cataracts of time over which our species and the destiny of this planet is about to be swept.

If the truth can be told so as to be understood, it will be believed.

The emphasis in house music and rave culture on physiologically compatible rhythms and this sort of thing is really the rediscovery of the art of natural magic with sound, that sound, properly understood, especially percussive sound, can actually change neurological states, and large groups of people getting together in the presence of this kind of music are creating a telepathic community of bonding that hopefully will be strong enough that it can carry the vision out into the mainstream of society. I think that the youth culture that is emerging in the nineties is an end of the millenium culture that is actually summing up Western civilization and pointing us in an entirely different direction, that we're going to arrive in the third millenium, in the middle of an archaic revival, which will mean a revival of these physiologically empowering rhythm signatures, a new art, a new social vision, a new relationship to nature, to feminism, to ego. All of these things are taking hold, and not a moment too soon.

Terence McKenna Land
The Deoxyribonucleic Hyperdimension


Music from the Shamen - Video by Jeffe


I am here
Long train
of gold dust
pilded up
by centuries.
Silence surounds
my thoughts.
I have no more thoughts.
No other places
fit me so deliciously.
I am here and
I wait for dawn.
The sun prepare
its glorious evening light
Is it for me ?
Let me believe that...

In a while
I will capture
one more secret...


I am Adam.
God created me.
I was knowing nothing
about my Creator.
And the day I met my Father,
I betrayed him…

who would say I am a fool ?
As battling against my own reflection,
I dig the ground in search of my roots
and find there only sins of desolation.
So for my penance,
I get isolation to fill
my questioning.

Who do I hear ?
seating by laughing at the corner
of their restricted visions.
That they hear nothing
of the somber shouts the deported souls have.
But I hear those screams
deep in the ground I sink.

At the edge of a disintegrating land
that you will call Paradise,
I fall in emptiness of a brain surgery
Collapsing certitudes of a virgin mind
at the floor of the rusted mankind to come.
I am born of God wishes
but men will grow from my sins.

Humanity, crucify me !
I am the sin father of all of you.
I feel your scathing glance
pointing at me the last judgment
as expiation to the golden meaning's dust.
Crucify me and forget me.

I am Adam,
I am God’ son.
And today,
I die
For men’s multiplication.


Je suis Adam.
Dieu m'a créé.
Je ne savais rien
au sujet de mon créateur.
Et le jour j'ai rencontré mon père,
Je l'ai trahi…

Qui dira que je suis un imbécile ?
Comme luttant contre ma propre réflexion,
Je creuse la terre à la recherche de mes racines
et je n'y trouve seulement que les pêchés de la désolation.
Alors pour ma expiation,
J'obtiens l'isolement pour emplir
mon questionnement.

Qui est-ce que j'entends ?
Assis en riant du coin
de leurs visions restreintes.
Qu'ils n'entendent rien
des cris sombres que les âmes déportées ont.
Mais j'entends ces gémissements
profondément dans le sol que je coule .

Au bord d'une terre en désintégration
que vous appellerez le paradis,
Je tombe dans le vide d'une chirurgie cérébrale
Certitudes s'effondrant d'un esprit vierge
au parterre d'une l'humanité rouillée à venir.
Je suis né des souhaits de Dieu
mais les hommes se répandront de mes péchés.

L'humanité, crucifie-moi !
Je suis le père des péchés de vous tous.
Je sens votre regard virulent
dirigeant vers moi le dernier jugement
comme expiation à la poussière sur la sens d'or.
Crucifie-moi et oublie-moi.

Je suis Adam,
Je suis fils de Dieu.
Et aujourd'hui,
Je meurs
Pour la multiplication des hommes.