tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33446093767660713122024-03-21T14:18:05.241+01:00Zaz Zetoun MindSpirit Ov Zaz TunZaz Zetoun Mindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041431344876460149noreply@blogger.comBlogger611125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3344609376766071312.post-76381704138031748482023-12-22T11:57:00.002+01:002023-12-22T13:19:05.316+01:00Khuyackiy - Dostá Chingaripén (Free Dowload)<span style="font-family: times;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBuRqyTaBmyJkDhjuw6wh45HK7LydrTTGD13CNI4Uuv1l5PXmzFHGdNcDbjfn7wH1SRwub4JidCc_2v1FPj8C3Z3GgszeKXtO_QvcOQG0Crg7ei-4yM4-78FZ762usM5qxK_t4j22nRzKcIIZyHr5eHaKfcsAk2fBNhN5G30x7hyrB4SzP9FyeRqQ6xto/s1400/portada.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1400" data-original-width="1400" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBuRqyTaBmyJkDhjuw6wh45HK7LydrTTGD13CNI4Uuv1l5PXmzFHGdNcDbjfn7wH1SRwub4JidCc_2v1FPj8C3Z3GgszeKXtO_QvcOQG0Crg7ei-4yM4-78FZ762usM5qxK_t4j22nRzKcIIZyHr5eHaKfcsAk2fBNhN5G30x7hyrB4SzP9FyeRqQ6xto/s320/portada.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /></span><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">"<b>Dostá Chingaripén</b>" forma parte de la compilación "<b>Стоп!</b>"</span><div><span style="font-family: times;">gestionada por <b>Attenuation Circuit</b> para decir :</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">"<b>Paren todas las guerras</b>"</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><a href="https://emerge.bandcamp.com/album/--3" target="_blank">"Стоп!" compilation</a><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><div><b>Luz Gómez</b> : Voz</div><div><b>Zeta Tun</b> : Electronicos</div></div><div><br /></div><div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">Y sin embargo</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">Ocurre</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">Estallan las pupilas</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">Al borde del tiempo colmado de una tristeza gris</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">Metal y flores</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">Se tapan agujeros con los sonidos que jamás hemos escuchado</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">Voces apretadas, el inminente adiós a los amados </span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">nos situamos sobre un cielo enfurecido</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">y los ángeles endemoniados se tragan ciudades, como el mejor banquete de los poderosos hambrientos</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">Dios ya no vé, entonces</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">Callamos nuestros rezos y vomitamos</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">Las esperanzas de un nuevo día</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">Y sin embargo</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">La sangre sigue palpitando</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">Los amaneceres continúan coronando los cielos</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">Todo es confuso</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">Belleza y muerte</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">Exterminio de la palabra en la boca de los hombres, cosechando los nuevos silencios</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">que estan por venir.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">©Luz Gómez</span></div></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div></div>
<iframe seamless="" src="https://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/track=1192062744/size=large/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=333333/tracklist=false/transparent=true/" style="border: 0; height: 442px; width: 350px;"><a href="https://khuyachkiy.bandcamp.com/track/dost-chingarip-n">Dostá Chingaripén by Khuyachkiy</a></iframe><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://khuyachkiy.bandcamp.com/track/dost-chingarip-n" target="_blank">Free Download on Bandcamp</a><br /><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://archive.org/details/khuyackiy-dosta-chingaripen" target="_blank">Free Download on Internet Archive</a></div><div><br /></div></div>Zaz Zetoun Mindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041431344876460149noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3344609376766071312.post-81599102019327261102023-10-31T13:29:00.000+01:002023-10-31T13:29:17.452+01:00Khuyachkiy - Rachígoles<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrYv-IymzyZez2CQd98Fb5yaC2a7HSxHBxPDZgY0G58LUyn7guEjhNGIcxebURJsDQzeYLH8SIxF9U8pKk7eaPdLbIY64tF7ca_fbaJjzjJxqBUYGXH15Mbdk3DIspO-ofolrZAOZK0fMFEhgPZp28gt8wrGQngxd5SqSi_25cHx6wwoRyqylCa3ZzCjg/s1400/portada.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1400" data-original-width="1400" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrYv-IymzyZez2CQd98Fb5yaC2a7HSxHBxPDZgY0G58LUyn7guEjhNGIcxebURJsDQzeYLH8SIxF9U8pKk7eaPdLbIY64tF7ca_fbaJjzjJxqBUYGXH15Mbdk3DIspO-ofolrZAOZK0fMFEhgPZp28gt8wrGQngxd5SqSi_25cHx6wwoRyqylCa3ZzCjg/s320/portada.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><div><span style="font-family: times;"><b>Khuyachkiy - Rachígoles</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><b>Luz Gómez</b> : Voz, percusión</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><b>Zeta Tu</b>n : Electrónica, voz</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><b>Valentin Sosnitskiy</b> : Guitarra en "Ausencia"</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><b>Monika Gatt</b> : Harpa en "Incompleta"</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><b>Mariana Gómez</b> </span><span style="font-family: times;">©Foto trasera</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div></div>
<iframe seamless="" src="https://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=2127462871/size=large/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=333333/tracklist=false/transparent=true/" style="border: 0; height: 470px; width: 350px;"><a href="https://khuyachkiy.bandcamp.com/album/khuyachkiy-rach-goles">Khuyachkiy - Rachígoles by Khuyachkiy</a></iframe><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfvxrPyJr-XMzghFhjNTNElUq1peCrS69wY5hMRaehQOPFaFzt_TZC_MMASyYTciH_p1x3AoTrSQcZ955nwchFjpo3upZ80xiht0OWi2f13FRqvEZ2aoRo0W0cXl_kJ1AXiDElDO_2mnF-KnJg3ShTP08aEDlkRZt9YQ_db_JjVt5_L7-8XyAD7ga4LMs/s1300/trasera.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1300" data-original-width="1300" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfvxrPyJr-XMzghFhjNTNElUq1peCrS69wY5hMRaehQOPFaFzt_TZC_MMASyYTciH_p1x3AoTrSQcZ955nwchFjpo3upZ80xiht0OWi2f13FRqvEZ2aoRo0W0cXl_kJ1AXiDElDO_2mnF-KnJg3ShTP08aEDlkRZt9YQ_db_JjVt5_L7-8XyAD7ga4LMs/s320/trasera.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div>Zaz Zetoun Mindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041431344876460149noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3344609376766071312.post-43182074921047357312023-08-11T16:18:00.004+02:002023-08-12T13:11:49.350+02:00Georges Bataille - Onze poèmes retirés de "L'Archangélique" lus par Alain Cuny<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu03GNwAwp8DDNrHoSoIUV9piR2E0VdXXIHhVrJMKuxXbuvuXMiMyOpxBYNGq5DEudv_KT6Ds_-aGveLbv0BrL57PvgCGm0T3hWgLxn6xzBCPl7n-A3FbdTW0FbKHvWbd1gIHprwVmXnlxP3O2Bw-BJPRKEQD026dzvZu_0jlen8Wi-An9jtw5WfV3_Cc/s500/gb01.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="363" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu03GNwAwp8DDNrHoSoIUV9piR2E0VdXXIHhVrJMKuxXbuvuXMiMyOpxBYNGq5DEudv_KT6Ds_-aGveLbv0BrL57PvgCGm0T3hWgLxn6xzBCPl7n-A3FbdTW0FbKHvWbd1gIHprwVmXnlxP3O2Bw-BJPRKEQD026dzvZu_0jlen8Wi-An9jtw5WfV3_Cc/w290-h400/gb01.jpg" width="290" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Georges Bataille</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div> ma folie et ma peur</div><div> ont de grands yeux morts</div><div> la fixité de la fièvre</div><div><br /></div><div> ce qui regarde</div><div> est le néant de l’univers</div><div> mes yeux sont d’aveugles ciels</div><div><br /></div><div> dans mon impénétrable nuit</div><div> est l’impossible criant</div><div> tout s’effondre</div><div><br /></div><div> *</div><div><br /></div><div> almanach de lessive d’encre</div><div> immortalité de poète velu</div><div> poésie cimetière d’obésité</div><div><br /></div><div> adieu blanquettes grivoises</div><div> doux morts costumes en femmes nues</div><div><br /></div><div> adieu mensonge sommeils</div><div><br /></div><div> *</div><div><br /></div><div>prurit infini de fourmis arrestation</div><div>tri de papiers moustaches en poussière</div><div>wagonnets de fièvre</div><div><br /></div><div>colonnade de pluie folle</div><div>claquements de linceuls souilles</div><div>funèbre impudeur des humains os</div><div><br /></div><div>là une foule amoncelle des boites de peut‐être </div><div><br /></div><div>un gendarme en chemise du haut d’un toit</div><div>gesticule une faux le Démon</div><div><br /></div><div> *</div><div><br /></div><div>je t’égare dans le vent</div><div>je te compte chez les morts<br /></div><div>une corde nécessaire</div><div>entre le vent et le cœur</div><div><br /></div><div> *</div><div><br /></div><div>Je n’ai rien a faire en ce monde</div><div>sinon de brûler<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6iOURknv0vjv-Y1sR41eCovDV5dv_gsbU0qXry_INAZp_24F6nU9EOFdWeK8-6iizsKmMvtVT8vOlxgNltj1L1xKDprRMVbRoupvnm6RRpHDCCeSK3MRCH1463M9aTiUWyZm7t9xtPSFZ4Z5jEqyV_FkEW1Z2kU76FonteyUrjABHtMxQB2M-a27Uj88/s1372/Cuivres%20originaux%20de%20Jacques%20H%C3%A9rold..jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1372" data-original-width="1037" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6iOURknv0vjv-Y1sR41eCovDV5dv_gsbU0qXry_INAZp_24F6nU9EOFdWeK8-6iizsKmMvtVT8vOlxgNltj1L1xKDprRMVbRoupvnm6RRpHDCCeSK3MRCH1463M9aTiUWyZm7t9xtPSFZ4Z5jEqyV_FkEW1Z2kU76FonteyUrjABHtMxQB2M-a27Uj88/s320/Cuivres%20originaux%20de%20Jacques%20H%C3%A9rold..jpg" width="242" /></a></div></div><div>je t’aime a en mourir</div><div><br /></div><div>ton absence de repos</div><div>un vent fou siffle dans ta tête</div><div>tu es malade d’avoir ri</div><div>tu me fuis pour un vide amer</div><div>qui te déchire le cœur</div><div><br /></div><div>déchire‐moi si tu veux</div><div>mes yeux te trouvent dans la nuit</div><div>brûlés de fièvre.</div><div><br /></div><div> *</div><div><br /></div><div>J’ai froid au cœur je tremble</div><div>du fond de la douleur je t’appelle</div><div>avec un cri inhumain</div><div>comme si j’accouchais</div><div>tu m’étrangles comme la mort</div><div>je sais cela misérablement</div><div>je ne te trouve qu’agonissant</div><div>tu es belle comme la mort</div><div><br /></div><div>tous les mots m’étranglent</div><div><br /></div><div> *</div><div><br /></div><div>étoile perce le ciel</div><div>crie comme la mort</div><div>étrangle</div><div><br /></div><div>je ne veux pas la vie</div><div>m’étrangler c’est doux</div><div>l’étoile qui se lève</div><div>est froide comme une morte</div><div><br /></div><div> *</div><div><br /></div><div>bande‐moi les yeux</div><div>j’aime la nuit</div><div>mon cœur est noir</div><div><br /></div><div>pousses‐moi dans la nuit</div><div>tout est faux</div><div>je souffre</div><div>le monde sent la mort</div><div><br /></div><div>les oiseaux volent les yeux crevés <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi32W3tnBo4fbhHUvn8tfw_La2usTwY79y8yOqFb7cuQmhUQACygolpdp2jGgmDTgrUO1278kT2trPQ-yqOQZ-ATUOS_XeW8zAjq2VxxPn3bXzqJg2gS5LnGLLKLUtIMn4oVfum_awauYNVzHSf2rv0kViuu1lnKs_kiCpJe81Kul1EXmDbvchQa2oFS4A/s1369/Cuivres%20originaux%20de%20Jacques%20H%C3%A9rold%2002.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1369" data-original-width="1047" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi32W3tnBo4fbhHUvn8tfw_La2usTwY79y8yOqFb7cuQmhUQACygolpdp2jGgmDTgrUO1278kT2trPQ-yqOQZ-ATUOS_XeW8zAjq2VxxPn3bXzqJg2gS5LnGLLKLUtIMn4oVfum_awauYNVzHSf2rv0kViuu1lnKs_kiCpJe81Kul1EXmDbvchQa2oFS4A/s320/Cuivres%20originaux%20de%20Jacques%20H%C3%A9rold%2002.jpg" width="245" /></a></div></div><div>tu es sombre comme un ciel noir</div><div><br /></div><div> *</div><div><br /></div><div>la fête commencera</div><div>dans la boue et dans la peur</div><div><br /></div><div>les étoiles tomberont</div><div>quand la mort approchera.</div><div><br /></div><div> *</div><div><br /></div><div>Tu es l’horreur de la nuit</div><div>je t’aime comme on râle</div><div>tu es faible comme la mort</div><div><br /></div><div>je t’aime comme on délire</div><div>tu sais que ma tête meurt</div><div>tu es l’immensité la peur</div><div><br /></div><div>tu es belle comme on tue</div><div>la cœur démesuré j’étouffe</div><div>ton ventre est nu comme la nuit.</div><div><br /></div><div> *</div><div><br /></div><div>Tu me mènes droit vers la fin</div><div>l’agonie a commence</div><div>je n’ai plus rien a te dire</div><div>je parle de chez les morts</div><div>et les morts sont muets.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><br /></div></div><p></p>
<iframe allow="autoplay" frameborder="no" height="166" scrolling="no" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/1585548527&color=%23090706&auto_play=false&hide_related=false&show_comments=true&show_user=true&show_reposts=false&show_teaser=true" width="100%"></iframe><div style="color: #cccccc; font-family: Interstate, "Lucida Grande", "Lucida Sans Unicode", "Lucida Sans", Garuda, Verdana, Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 10px; font-weight: 100; line-break: anywhere; overflow: hidden; text-overflow: ellipsis; white-space: nowrap; word-break: normal;"><a href="https://soundcloud.com/orpheusz23" style="color: #cccccc; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank" title="Orpheusz">Orpheusz</a> · <a href="https://soundcloud.com/orpheusz23/alain-cuny-georges-bataille-onze-poemes-retires-de-larchangelique" style="color: #cccccc; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank" title="Alain Cuny - Georges Bataille - Onze poèmes retirés de L'Archangelique">Alain Cuny - Georges Bataille - Onze poèmes retirés de L'Archangelique</a></div><div style="color: #cccccc; font-family: Interstate, "Lucida Grande", "Lucida Sans Unicode", "Lucida Sans", Garuda, Verdana, Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 10px; font-weight: 100; line-break: anywhere; overflow: hidden; text-overflow: ellipsis; white-space: nowrap; word-break: normal;"><br /></div><br /><div style="color: #cccccc; font-family: Interstate, "Lucida Grande", "Lucida Sans Unicode", "Lucida Sans", Garuda, Verdana, Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 10px; font-weight: 100; line-break: anywhere; overflow: hidden; text-overflow: ellipsis; white-space: nowrap; word-break: normal;"><br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjibi1HINFJY_ayAP7vQ8KR5LgtEOLTrxMuuX2kzkUko5Xo14zSq7KKsCOTfR538bh4uEnsQ_pmTE_NQkFcUMQFqMVrMnj9_6F0uXoxkuoAME-w5MR7jOLt4VHzsQFjf__OEimK9aIrPnDxzgiLcAD_B2rkS7ZTqcPZdt0JF3BsHFbRrf8jzXFJcgLmFg/s1950/l'archag%C3%A9lique.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1950" data-original-width="1313" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjibi1HINFJY_ayAP7vQ8KR5LgtEOLTrxMuuX2kzkUko5Xo14zSq7KKsCOTfR538bh4uEnsQ_pmTE_NQkFcUMQFqMVrMnj9_6F0uXoxkuoAME-w5MR7jOLt4VHzsQFjf__OEimK9aIrPnDxzgiLcAD_B2rkS7ZTqcPZdt0JF3BsHFbRrf8jzXFJcgLmFg/s320/l'archag%C3%A9lique.jpg" width="215" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Georges Bataille, L’Archangélique, Paris, Messages, 1944</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><span face="Interstate, "Lucida Grande", "Lucida Sans Unicode", "Lucida Sans", Garuda, Verdana, Tahoma, sans-serif" style="color: #cccccc; font-size: 10px; text-wrap: nowrap;">Illustrations : Georges Bataille. L'Archangélique. Notes sur Georges Bataille par Patrick Waldberg. Cuivres originaux de Jacques Hérold. </span><div><span face="Interstate, Lucida Grande, Lucida Sans Unicode, Lucida Sans, Garuda, Verdana, Tahoma, sans-serif" style="color: #cccccc;"><span style="font-size: 10px; text-wrap: nowrap;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span face="Interstate, Lucida Grande, Lucida Sans Unicode, Lucida Sans, Garuda, Verdana, Tahoma, sans-serif" style="color: #cccccc;"><span style="font-size: 10px; text-wrap: nowrap;">Version PDF chez Maldoror Press <a href="https://maldoror.noblogs.org/files/2011/01/GeorgesBataille_Arcangelico.pdf" target="_blank">ICI</a><br /></span></span><br /></div>Zaz Zetoun Mindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041431344876460149noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3344609376766071312.post-71038339397622359362023-06-14T11:57:00.002+02:002023-10-31T13:30:14.355+01:00Khuyachkiy - Oltra Selva<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwLYlZxa-zRDvANCwG1DDl7QSriiIV7iI9cPnZNRmYUzrJp4-qGQ1f6stKuPKFPeBlHdu83drm5m0dDYlunzzSqM-Hn5MYEFptx4gboYsqgEgzfIM7Hodsknf6z7bNbj5JMYvSFBwWqAgcIcCetRYUt0GNZClUm7y6pFMCYR94iHui2qThA9pw3ddw/s1514/Oltra%20Selva%20(portada%20recto).jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1514" data-original-width="1514" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwLYlZxa-zRDvANCwG1DDl7QSriiIV7iI9cPnZNRmYUzrJp4-qGQ1f6stKuPKFPeBlHdu83drm5m0dDYlunzzSqM-Hn5MYEFptx4gboYsqgEgzfIM7Hodsknf6z7bNbj5JMYvSFBwWqAgcIcCetRYUt0GNZClUm7y6pFMCYR94iHui2qThA9pw3ddw/s320/Oltra%20Selva%20(portada%20recto).jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><div><div><span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: times;"><span style="background-color: #0b0a0a; font-size: 12px;"><b>Luz Gómez</b> : Poesía, voz, canto, percusión</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: times;"><span style="background-color: #0b0a0a; font-size: 12px;"><b>Zeta Tun</b> : Electrónica, flautas, voz</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: times;"><span style="background-color: #0b0a0a; font-size: 12px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: times;"><span style="background-color: #0b0a0a; font-size: 12px;">Duo compuesto por almas encontradas con inquietudes similares,</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: times;"><span style="background-color: #0b0a0a; font-size: 12px;">dando lugar a mundos donde se mezclan la palabra hecha poesia,</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: times;"><span style="background-color: #0b0a0a; font-size: 12px;">música electrónica, cantos y paisajes sonoros, </span></span></div><div><span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: times;"><span style="background-color: #0b0a0a; font-size: 12px;">recordando siempre sus propias raíces.</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: times;"><span style="background-color: #0b0a0a; font-size: 12px;">Hermanados, mas allá de las distancias, </span></span></div><div><span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: times;"><span style="background-color: #0b0a0a; font-size: 12px;">principalmente por el amor hacia la naturaleza.</span></span></div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><iframe seamless="" src="https://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=3597901753/size=large/bgcol=333333/linkcol=ffffff/tracklist=false/transparent=true/" style="border: 0; height: 470px; width: 350px;"><a href="https://khuyachkiy.bandcamp.com/album/khuyachkiy-oltra-selva">Khuyachkiy - Oltra Selva by Khuyachkiy</a></iframe></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0Bp-h7anBHptRotDiV8oT6xOfQ1hDJwvZVmx4J6y6F5ylX2Vw441wJkDke6wWm66CwVw6WOqj4j7vEw6LauS-ALX8t5BOiY7xlcT3fPYYV-kUUkt2z5zEJ46x423gtcwNOYfhi8ZVivUWYCqpYnKlZM60Ujnh4SNpa0lnJoxuS0w0X8cxxf3kHz5w/s1514/Oltra%20Selva%20(portada%20verso).jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1514" data-original-width="1514" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0Bp-h7anBHptRotDiV8oT6xOfQ1hDJwvZVmx4J6y6F5ylX2Vw441wJkDke6wWm66CwVw6WOqj4j7vEw6LauS-ALX8t5BOiY7xlcT3fPYYV-kUUkt2z5zEJ46x423gtcwNOYfhi8ZVivUWYCqpYnKlZM60Ujnh4SNpa0lnJoxuS0w0X8cxxf3kHz5w/s320/Oltra%20Selva%20(portada%20verso).jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div>Zaz Zetoun Mindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041431344876460149noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3344609376766071312.post-62842570217079331622023-03-30T10:04:00.019+02:002023-07-31T12:24:19.678+02:00Guadalupe LM // 06<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIZO1QSJQrq5kz3I8pj9M7l7iPWNhl2sdmpxaRHXD0T38AaEc0KhMs01ghhNna_LUJZaGaQWuBjLlHPZ5t1_NDDH_0JY_8DB4wW3qFxryL2zU6JwT6pU9P7SqK9zA2IXdsGCwfZD8dik_7BH-ie8AcW5M8jcLXb8c3eKos9xAlaD6OALHJJMCZtHjk/s669/GLM06.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="669" data-original-width="511" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIZO1QSJQrq5kz3I8pj9M7l7iPWNhl2sdmpxaRHXD0T38AaEc0KhMs01ghhNna_LUJZaGaQWuBjLlHPZ5t1_NDDH_0JY_8DB4wW3qFxryL2zU6JwT6pU9P7SqK9zA2IXdsGCwfZD8dik_7BH-ie8AcW5M8jcLXb8c3eKos9xAlaD6OALHJJMCZtHjk/w305-h400/GLM06.JPG" width="305" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: times;">El número 06 de <b>Guadalupe LM</b>, pequeña revista de arte imaginada y alimentada por <b> Luz</b> y <b>MEƎE</b> se publica el 30 de marzo de 2023. Se puede descargar gratis en <b>Internet Archive</b>. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: medium;"> Descarga Gratis : <a href=" https://archive.org/details/guadalupe-lm-06_202306" target="_blank">aquí <br /></a></span><span style="font-size: medium;"> Téléchargemnt Libre : <a href=" https://archive.org/details/guadalupe-lm-06_202306" target="_blank">ici <br /></a></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><b> </b>Free Download : <a href=" https://archive.org/details/guadalupe-lm-06_202306" target="_blank">here</a></span></span></div></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="384" mozallowfullscreen="true" src="https://archive.org/embed/guadalupe-lm-06_202306" webkitallowfullscreen="true" width="560"></iframe>Zaz Zetoun Mindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041431344876460149noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3344609376766071312.post-8512006918599158652023-03-03T18:03:00.005+01:002023-03-04T08:59:27.296+01:00Joyce Mansour - C'était hier<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh345jNhH8trkpvQ-LjCjMQnAdgjyg8RcTpXb9Tv4-DR2exukLUFytgvFHm5O-z-H6LUdzO4roDwMa2tnaUDUyzZVzx3TSX9xZfrhIVjwWrtiJmmtWs710kIICqS-Uw68GH32ONS9LwU2ApxTt20dVMVdBYXeWwW3YeW-S8z9mzqro9g-wPu2mIlJX8/s817/joyce.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="817" data-original-width="608" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh345jNhH8trkpvQ-LjCjMQnAdgjyg8RcTpXb9Tv4-DR2exukLUFytgvFHm5O-z-H6LUdzO4roDwMa2tnaUDUyzZVzx3TSX9xZfrhIVjwWrtiJmmtWs710kIICqS-Uw68GH32ONS9LwU2ApxTt20dVMVdBYXeWwW3YeW-S8z9mzqro9g-wPu2mIlJX8/w298-h400/joyce.jpg" width="298" /></a></div><p style="border: none; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0.75em; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="border: none; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0.75em; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: medium;">C'était hier.<br />Le premier poète urinait son amour<br />Son sexe en deuil chantait bruyamment<br />Les chansons gutturales<br />Des montagnes<br />Le premier dieu debout sur son halo<br />Annonçait sa venue sur la terre évanouie<br />C'était demain.<br />Mais les hommes à tête de chat<br />Mangeaient leurs yeux brouillés<br />Sans remarquer leurs églises qui brûlaient<br />Sans sauver leur âme qui fuyait<br />Sans saluer leurs dieux qui mouraient<br />C'était la guerre.</span></p><p style="border: none; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0.75em; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p style="border: none; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0.75em; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Joyce Mansour, extrait de "Déchirures" (1955) </span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p><p style="border: none; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0.75em; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6PakvQl0xFEVSvKfmVwAhRibWfp4bi6KMVFCISRxGnBuFZAbgB328h7NphZC1T_JnIHD2i_B88S0xtQyQmx06eDYbtT0BdhiVDmrGyoK7Uuvje5urLblC8UtMmz997z0X7ujJgCvkD1S5GpMHYr7wwHHRedRAJ7ypSc75ewNpEH2qn4Eq4h5iFaMJ/s1135/dechirures.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1135" data-original-width="820" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6PakvQl0xFEVSvKfmVwAhRibWfp4bi6KMVFCISRxGnBuFZAbgB328h7NphZC1T_JnIHD2i_B88S0xtQyQmx06eDYbtT0BdhiVDmrGyoK7Uuvje5urLblC8UtMmz997z0X7ujJgCvkD1S5GpMHYr7wwHHRedRAJ7ypSc75ewNpEH2qn4Eq4h5iFaMJ/w289-h400/dechirures.jpg" width="289" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p style="border: none; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0.75em; padding: 0px; text-align: left; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></p>Zaz Zetoun Mindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041431344876460149noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3344609376766071312.post-19546741756645396772022-12-30T10:30:00.011+01:002023-06-18T09:14:54.104+02:00Puydarrieux au temps des grues cendrées<p> </p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><span face="Favorit, Helvetica Neue, HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif"><span style="border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-width: initial; cursor: pointer; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; white-space: pre-wrap;">(...) </span></span></span><b><span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc; font-family: Garamond; font-size: small;">ou, plutôt, comme un angle à perte de vue de grues frileuses méditant beaucoup, qui, pendant l'hiver, vole puissamment à travers le silence, toutes voiles tendues, vers un point déterminé de l'horizon, d'où tout à coup part un vent étrange et fort, précurseur de la tempête. La grue la plus vieille et qui forme à elle seule l'avant-garde, voyant cela, branle la tête comme une personne raisonnable, conséquemment son bec aussi qu'elle fait claquer, et n'est pas contente (moi, non plus, je ne le serais pas à sa place), tandis que son vieux cou, dégarni de plumes et contemporain de trois générations de grues, se remue en ondulations irritées qui présagent l'orage qui s'approche de plus en plus. Après avoir de sang-froid regardé plusieurs fois de tous les côtés avec des yeux qui renferment l'expérience, prudemment, la première (car, c'est elle qui a le privilége de montrer les plumes de sa queue aux autres grues inférieures en intelligence), avec son cri vigilant de mélancolique sentinelle, pour repousser l'ennemi commun, elle vire avec flexibilité la pointe de la figure géométrique (c'est peut-être un triangle, mais on ne voit pas le troisième côté que forment dans l'espace ces curieux oiseaux de passage), soit à bâbord, soit à tribord, comme un habile capitaine; et, manoeuvrant avec des ailes qui ne paraissent pas plus grandes que celles d'un moineau, parce qu'elle n'est pas bête, elle prend ainsi un autre chemin philosophique et plus sûr.</span></b><span face="Favorit, Helvetica Neue, HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif"><span style="border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-width: initial; cursor: pointer; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"> </span></span><span style="color: #cccccc;">(...</span></span></span><span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">)</span></div><p><a href="http://les.tresors.de.lys.free.fr/poetes/lautreamont/1_chant1_malboror.htm" target="_blank">Conte de Lautréamont (Extrait de "Les Chants de Maldoror)</a></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht2e6Ae-eZLFxUKoHQrnryQGQNmS7KDJDzy-pf_iNyr2O5CuYTlixpAvmKz4k2N_d55GmLtn0VfPfKDb7DIW18DzD0UNZ2q4QiSRYWOT487appWdWzu_Y2tMYWgh2LtEOKyaZRpEDd0c4wysz7U3G40KTYDtATSYxJrYll5UzN2MKrkW80YRMdPHg0/s4000/P1210858.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht2e6Ae-eZLFxUKoHQrnryQGQNmS7KDJDzy-pf_iNyr2O5CuYTlixpAvmKz4k2N_d55GmLtn0VfPfKDb7DIW18DzD0UNZ2q4QiSRYWOT487appWdWzu_Y2tMYWgh2LtEOKyaZRpEDd0c4wysz7U3G40KTYDtATSYxJrYll5UzN2MKrkW80YRMdPHg0/w400-h300/P1210858.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2859" data-original-width="3813" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUi2YBEREtHykx1wF15XOFnDr-fBEFDdxSfM1qiVVNX7JzAXti9Blzy6B1_5gbuZipnFMYCTSGjQkoJorridc6-cXKaFhTojtYdMjjMHYHPE7ABpxN0nGvlt1mSmRgf_BY4oHWL5nmSYYydPdOufEJ3sHI04uIyHigKRmu05gvxQWmfLVsaEyB3dkA/w400-h300/P1210877.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0TkMVOrjBzrtZ9BBZTMtb8DhSqrOPSdA3HYkt4eYmNabcMah-0b_1E0Da1hkDJUBQaJhJOWMuooXi8g_u8dx65j74iyVCt9yXoiaxj0XJ07YvVem9n0TrhLdZeugsva8V4JZOmVCH7wKl1LJ5LcI3TtJseIWF9hnVSwWBGtl7a0RlEY2jymYt7Nyn/s3024/P1210875.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2267" data-original-width="3024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0TkMVOrjBzrtZ9BBZTMtb8DhSqrOPSdA3HYkt4eYmNabcMah-0b_1E0Da1hkDJUBQaJhJOWMuooXi8g_u8dx65j74iyVCt9yXoiaxj0XJ07YvVem9n0TrhLdZeugsva8V4JZOmVCH7wKl1LJ5LcI3TtJseIWF9hnVSwWBGtl7a0RlEY2jymYt7Nyn/w400-h300/P1210875.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkmXlew_9ka76ISAFPEEYwFbiCL5GsynKS3qLQ1whZ8sFgNBlFC5MrUGePx0EqdVIhOtbIydlHI1SoTrfDiN6mgDqfXos8egBQm_o5mTl0qwhJb5vMJe3munGQ_cBs6lxdE7LvRq-S6o0JRaLO3JkOd5rk-QaJcul9BztAeTEUw1tf2XYdiYJOL-j7/s2578/P12107931.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1933" data-original-width="2578" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkmXlew_9ka76ISAFPEEYwFbiCL5GsynKS3qLQ1whZ8sFgNBlFC5MrUGePx0EqdVIhOtbIydlHI1SoTrfDiN6mgDqfXos8egBQm_o5mTl0qwhJb5vMJe3munGQ_cBs6lxdE7LvRq-S6o0JRaLO3JkOd5rk-QaJcul9BztAeTEUw1tf2XYdiYJOL-j7/w400-h300/P12107931.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></div><br /><p></p>Zaz Zetoun Mindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041431344876460149noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3344609376766071312.post-66061645425812876822022-12-21T11:07:00.000+01:002022-12-21T11:07:15.706+01:00Guadalupe LM // 05<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN9TD0OMtZN895c470pXPcnklWl1gzSLcDybsLU9Dc7FC-EfBIkJh2atTcG5Z-nKcGnpmW57ARkEdfXKGlgKqWG5mSUuKEY_kSfHE_jb67mclJACx1_1XRaTFMaK_qSA-o6JddPAMTvFwjF4FvkIh2z5gZtPMh_7o4wNG2hHym1LiLAka6lrmzxJcW/s520/GLM05.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="520" data-original-width="362" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN9TD0OMtZN895c470pXPcnklWl1gzSLcDybsLU9Dc7FC-EfBIkJh2atTcG5Z-nKcGnpmW57ARkEdfXKGlgKqWG5mSUuKEY_kSfHE_jb67mclJACx1_1XRaTFMaK_qSA-o6JddPAMTvFwjF4FvkIh2z5gZtPMh_7o4wNG2hHym1LiLAka6lrmzxJcW/w279-h400/GLM05.jpg" width="279" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p align="center" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><br /></b></span></span></p><p align="center" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Del
verano porteño al ivèrn gascon</b></span></span></p>
<p align="center" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>este
número 5 de la revista Guadalupe LM</b></span></span></p>
<p align="center" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>se
publicó el 21 de diciembre de 2022</b></span></span></p><p align="center" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><br /></b></span></span></p><p align="center" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><a href="https://archive.org/details/glm-05" target="_blank">Descarga Gratis en Internet Archive</a></b></span></span></p><p align="center" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><a href="https://archive.org/details/glm-05" target="_blank">Téléchargement Libre sur Internet Archive</a></b></span></span></p><p align="center" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><a href="https://archive.org/details/glm-05" target="_blank">Free Download on Internet Archive</a></b></span></span></p>
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="384" mozallowfullscreen="true" src="https://archive.org/embed/glm-05" webkitallowfullscreen="true" width="560"></iframe>Zaz Zetoun Mindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041431344876460149noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3344609376766071312.post-48412781054091834412022-09-23T12:27:00.005+02:002022-12-21T11:07:30.310+01:00Guadalupe LM // 04<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSVHlHAB-GahtCEHWENjTYv58EZa517c4r6BT03gOcVncqu7Aco5-Zk9d2avu8AnM2jlF_Ky5IxF2nkvSaF9FcZ00It4SLCpGStRrfryzbwAfPJcM-XsdBS4qWCLAjchZin-ilC-YEu6-llN4WsfFBYXWK8d8R00PpA4qTxFkbvv9IQFd8ioVonShc/s678/GLM04.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="678" data-original-width="478" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSVHlHAB-GahtCEHWENjTYv58EZa517c4r6BT03gOcVncqu7Aco5-Zk9d2avu8AnM2jlF_Ky5IxF2nkvSaF9FcZ00It4SLCpGStRrfryzbwAfPJcM-XsdBS4qWCLAjchZin-ilC-YEu6-llN4WsfFBYXWK8d8R00PpA4qTxFkbvv9IQFd8ioVonShc/w283-h400/GLM04.JPG" width="283" /></a></div><br /><p></p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><br /></h3><h3 style="text-align: left;"><br /></h3><h3 style="text-align: left;">De la primavera porteña al auton gascon<br />este número 4 de la revista Guadalupe LM<br />se publicó el 23 de septiembre de 2022</h3><div><a href="https://archive.org/details/guadalupe-lm-04" target="_blank"><br /></a></div><div><a href="https://archive.org/details/guadalupe-lm-04" target="_blank">Descarga Gratis en Internet Archive</a></div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://archive.org/details/guadalupe-lm-04" target="_blank">Téléchargement Libre sur Internet Archive</a></div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://archive.org/details/guadalupe-lm-04" target="_blank">Free Download on Internet Archive</a></div><p></p><p></p>
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="384" mozallowfullscreen="true" src="https://archive.org/embed/guadalupe-lm-04" webkitallowfullscreen="true" width="560"></iframe>Zaz Zetoun Mindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041431344876460149noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3344609376766071312.post-51040810476699610842022-07-11T17:08:00.003+02:002022-09-26T11:02:21.549+02:00La Cascade du Pointhil à Esparros dans les Hautes-Pyrénées (Occitanie / France)<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirIWB3bnjqbAvgQOIOJD0DJIk4xDusflOy-jrEvfRRwBTcCKKT5IK3sgVzZzNW-cjl1Td-sZa8ZFdOcx4w114s-NM890MZHzI2svEjcwPrBZuHFZNoFfrB81kuMXGsHS0OjXlYwCm9swZwdiWmTco9XE_CbwitgBxzhvUTt6hJErlpGoBJcJRQ_88E/s4000/P1200913.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirIWB3bnjqbAvgQOIOJD0DJIk4xDusflOy-jrEvfRRwBTcCKKT5IK3sgVzZzNW-cjl1Td-sZa8ZFdOcx4w114s-NM890MZHzI2svEjcwPrBZuHFZNoFfrB81kuMXGsHS0OjXlYwCm9swZwdiWmTco9XE_CbwitgBxzhvUTt6hJErlpGoBJcJRQ_88E/w400-h300/P1200913.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjLpbXzEIFx4h80svMR468tZwaWqk1wQAWK8t0WBxJ_Kmh3i2UrNWpM9dX7ea0zL-D-z2Q1eNNFsS8WBd_Cob07BTfy9CUASsSDQYd6FKZjAgr0MijKJB5GHO0vN3xZRNt3k9-OwewmTJ88qbObgVi2J1jgACrI3Z15dpM4yfpQJRYl1-VaEqyyHVe/s4000/P1200896.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjLpbXzEIFx4h80svMR468tZwaWqk1wQAWK8t0WBxJ_Kmh3i2UrNWpM9dX7ea0zL-D-z2Q1eNNFsS8WBd_Cob07BTfy9CUASsSDQYd6FKZjAgr0MijKJB5GHO0vN3xZRNt3k9-OwewmTJ88qbObgVi2J1jgACrI3Z15dpM4yfpQJRYl1-VaEqyyHVe/w400-h300/P1200896.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p>Pour plus de photos et de renseignements voir<a href="http://cascades.loucrup65.fr/esparros.htm" target="_blank"> ICI</a> et <a href="http://www.maithejeanpaul.com/article-la-cascade-du-pounthil-83444966.html" target="_blank">LÀ</a><p></p>Zaz Zetoun Mindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041431344876460149noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3344609376766071312.post-23614689889882810022022-06-21T09:03:00.003+02:002022-06-21T09:06:02.793+02:00Guadalupe LM // 03<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0nS-pfyvUT6r9ai8KQkOtFrlKcijd0Rcd1ZnRwcAYKjaoJgC__zjZ-E1wE6uIfkvoJ5MGjrx3_Lf0-7i6sRCmLVhu5TYglzD5B3DhwcxSvEOpBuTnDDmgGwYM_HIIsvS6AtzD7Q-nJRvcNMuZ94DZu5iKIDSYL8RxvtPeGPsOAH0e0F6w3ZIm_KbR/s703/GLM03.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="703" data-original-width="490" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0nS-pfyvUT6r9ai8KQkOtFrlKcijd0Rcd1ZnRwcAYKjaoJgC__zjZ-E1wE6uIfkvoJ5MGjrx3_Lf0-7i6sRCmLVhu5TYglzD5B3DhwcxSvEOpBuTnDDmgGwYM_HIIsvS6AtzD7Q-nJRvcNMuZ94DZu5iKIDSYL8RxvtPeGPsOAH0e0F6w3ZIm_KbR/w279-h400/GLM03.JPG" width="279" /></a></div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjhxwfKVrAWjFnEcDZ2YfcTy_K1fhiH2XvMpNZKFJ9tyW0eQjgW8R2zrmBnXlBeSoEdwS1dCkYDX_e-SjsafPzh4eEfnmtBy6RaQ3LKmQMEbxqpNcVZB1eH76i7ZOAj_9yIn-p17_sxtTVMiwqUVF2n9O2Wtp_gTfpsD6KMlaUR71IMgMyuwxqI3X0/s703/GLM03.JPG" style="clear: right; display: block; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; padding: 1em 0px; text-align: center;"><br /></a><p align="justify" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p align="justify" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p align="justify" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Del invierno porteño al estiu gascon</span></p><p align="justify" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: medium;">este
número 3 de la revista GuadalupeLM</span></p><p align="justify" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</p><p align="justify" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: medium;">se
ha publicado el 21 de junio de 2022</span></p><p align="justify" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p><p align="justify" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://archive.org/details/guadalupe-lm-03" target="_blank">Descarga Gratis en Internet Archive </a></span></p><p align="justify" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://archive.org/details/guadalupe-lm-03" target="_blank">Téléchargement libre sur Internet Archive</a></span></p><p align="justify" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://archive.org/details/guadalupe-lm-03" target="_blank">Free Download on Internet Archive</a></span></p><p align="justify" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p><p align="justify" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p><p align="justify" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p><p align="justify" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p><p align="justify" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p>
</div>
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="384" mozallowfullscreen="true" src="https://archive.org/embed/guadalupe-lm-03" webkitallowfullscreen="true" width="560"></iframe>Zaz Zetoun Mindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041431344876460149noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3344609376766071312.post-77458325735307755102022-04-04T16:02:00.009+02:002023-01-28T09:18:18.258+01:00Zaz Zetoun Mind - Pro hèit totas eras guèrras ! (attenuation circuit // "Стоп!" compilation)<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvK3HtCtLkbAzTcIO7OE9f67YYdF6JjWnMI0ZQ5ljA0RVLT8NQGhQMlxOIeP4NEP-4d0ypoW279lJw4YXGYl6pi79TrF9CdyFad1A8fdwukmhCqdoxzJ2TGwRaQyyJez1dFCsJtW7UQkicGp9wuKg4rToaWQvqjly5IXZbYy_Nu9T1va-LWZePh-Cr/s700/%D0%A1%D1%82%D0%BE%D0%BF!.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="700" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvK3HtCtLkbAzTcIO7OE9f67YYdF6JjWnMI0ZQ5ljA0RVLT8NQGhQMlxOIeP4NEP-4d0ypoW279lJw4YXGYl6pi79TrF9CdyFad1A8fdwukmhCqdoxzJ2TGwRaQyyJez1dFCsJtW7UQkicGp9wuKg4rToaWQvqjly5IXZbYy_Nu9T1va-LWZePh-Cr/s320/%D0%A1%D1%82%D0%BE%D0%BF!.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> </div>
<iframe seamless="" src="https://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=1868064182/size=large/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=333333/tracklist=false/artwork=small/track=1551848646/transparent=true/" style="border: 0; height: 120px; width: 100%;"><a href="https://emerge.bandcamp.com/album/--3">Стоп! by 057_Zaz Zetoun Mind</a></iframe><div><br /></div><div>"<b>Pro hèit totas eras guèrras !</b>"was specially composed for the compilation "<b>Стоп!</b>" of the label<b> attenuation circuit </b>available for free download on <b>Bandcamp </b><a href="https://emerge.bandcamp.com/album/--3?fbclid=IwAR2_RkraG3o5vbq4W9VgjZruUQ5MLgt1X4vl7JHQscYY2ml6Vw_GMm7hNF0" target="_blank">HERE</a></div>Zaz Zetoun Mindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041431344876460149noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3344609376766071312.post-84072148208368464152022-03-21T12:38:00.004+01:002022-03-21T12:43:25.918+01:00Guadalupe LM // 02<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9aBkhsbkqK46iMEmB9B6jSV1UKQFs3CMQzklwL-BDNvmmDBY7WSRe99v48O1GEPDw4bvN67K2DkP9zZL9JeADhe_dNzuuTbyIoS40K7-5zEPmz51DPnjTN0DObWkff9iKEujoMQb7joOAfA8KbdScFnPTmtU7S8GtFa9hYBJNqQw_IkuxrIZ_zPez/s981/P1190817.jpg" style="display: block; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 1em 0px; text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="759" data-original-width="981" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9aBkhsbkqK46iMEmB9B6jSV1UKQFs3CMQzklwL-BDNvmmDBY7WSRe99v48O1GEPDw4bvN67K2DkP9zZL9JeADhe_dNzuuTbyIoS40K7-5zEPmz51DPnjTN0DObWkff9iKEujoMQb7joOAfA8KbdScFnPTmtU7S8GtFa9hYBJNqQw_IkuxrIZ_zPez/w400-h310/P1190817.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
Este número 02 de la revista Guadalupe LM, imaginado, creado y diseñado por Luz y MEƎE salió en el equinoccio de otoño de 2022. Ce numéro 02 de la revue Guadalupe LM, imaginé, créé et mis en page par Luz et MEƎE est sorti à l'équinoxe de printemps 2022.<div><br /></div><div>Descarga gratis en <a href="https://archive.org/details/guadalupe-lm-02_20220321" target="_blank">Internet Archive</a></div><div><br /></div><div>Téléchargement gratuit sur <a href="https://archive.org/details/guadalupe-lm-02_20220321" target="_blank">Internet Archive</a></div><div><br /></div><div>Free download on <a href="https://archive.org/details/guadalupe-lm-02_20220321" target="_blank">Internet Archive</a></div><div><br /></div>
<iframe src="https://archive.org/embed/guadalupe-lm-02_20220321" width="560" height="384" frameborder="0" webkitallowfullscreen="true" mozallowfullscreen="true" allowfullscreen></iframe>Zaz Zetoun Mindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041431344876460149noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3344609376766071312.post-70325024982036176442022-02-16T09:30:00.000+01:002022-02-16T09:30:02.720+01:00Luci Gómez & Zaz Zetoun Mind - Canto XLV<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhH8vZTZgeL0wH5-nanrW4zRSxWlU0d1_PKkcUZr7Ghj9RNVUXfqdGoSnwPrQVwUd-hM2QEaJPD5Qq5VJlnlb0IPJOZp-4K9U2FaLG1M9_3x9oPynwOFQcA8Ez5yoZcJxq13qEhSe8YkH8ImRDV0A7p-aBsr70SpngTSVduftKj9TMGUAKtIOyBAS2H=s914" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="914" data-original-width="914" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhH8vZTZgeL0wH5-nanrW4zRSxWlU0d1_PKkcUZr7Ghj9RNVUXfqdGoSnwPrQVwUd-hM2QEaJPD5Qq5VJlnlb0IPJOZp-4K9U2FaLG1M9_3x9oPynwOFQcA8Ez5yoZcJxq13qEhSe8YkH8ImRDV0A7p-aBsr70SpngTSVduftKj9TMGUAKtIOyBAS2H=w400-h400" width="400" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>
<iframe width="100%" height="166" scrolling="no" frameborder="no" allow="autoplay" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/1213353754&color=%230e0d0d&auto_play=false&hide_related=false&show_comments=true&show_user=true&show_reposts=false&show_teaser=true"></iframe><div style="font-size: 10px; color: #cccccc;line-break: anywhere;word-break: normal;overflow: hidden;white-space: nowrap;text-overflow: ellipsis; font-family: Interstate,Lucida Grande,Lucida Sans Unicode,Lucida Sans,Garuda,Verdana,Tahoma,sans-serif;font-weight: 100;"><a href="https://soundcloud.com/spectrumvivace" title="Spectrum Vivace" target="_blank" style="color: #cccccc; text-decoration: none;">Spectrum Vivace</a> · <a href="https://soundcloud.com/spectrumvivace/luci-gomez-zaz-zetoun-mind-canto-xlv" title="Luci Gómez & Zaz Zetoun Mind - Canto XLV" target="_blank" style="color: #cccccc; text-decoration: none;">Luci Gómez & Zaz Zetoun Mind - Canto XLV</a></div>Zaz Zetoun Mindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041431344876460149noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3344609376766071312.post-79784009549985258072022-01-16T13:47:00.017+01:002023-06-13T13:29:20.458+02:00Guadalupe LM // 01<p> </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh2izopimtrs92yW8qVvH9y9xGvRbLW80L3T2kWxiNzqTvhOfBKXutZb5QKZY9Z8hTjs3dbAEW_VBEQVV8FjhMoSJ0p_lobesHx4RiB2jWPk-3EsOE1VHmaAmH-WJpK1OoLni80WsXt1q0hBVY8Th1mlHmYGwXPqRUmgEThuap9pWRjVqIxKztgfFdQ=s676" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="676" data-original-width="519" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh2izopimtrs92yW8qVvH9y9xGvRbLW80L3T2kWxiNzqTvhOfBKXutZb5QKZY9Z8hTjs3dbAEW_VBEQVV8FjhMoSJ0p_lobesHx4RiB2jWPk-3EsOE1VHmaAmH-WJpK1OoLni80WsXt1q0hBVY8Th1mlHmYGwXPqRUmgEThuap9pWRjVqIxKztgfFdQ=w308-h400" width="308" /></a></div><div style="font-weight: bold;"><b><br /></b></div><div><b style="font-weight: bold;">Guadalupe LM</b> est une revue d'art bilingue, espagnol // français, à la parution aléatoire. Elle est conçue et alimentée par les poèmes, textes, dessins, peintures, collages et photographies de <b>LUZ </b>et<b> MEƎE. </b></div><div style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></div><div><b>Téléchargement gratuit sur <a href="https://archive.org/details/guadalupe-lm-01_20220108" target="_blank">Internet Archive</a></b><p></p><p><b>Guadalupe LM</b> es una revista de arte bilingüe, español // francés, con una publicación aleatoria. Está concebida y alimentada por los poemas, textos, dibujos, pinturas, collages y fotografías de <b>LUZ</b> y <b>MEƎE</b>.<b> </b></p><p><b>Descarga gratis en</b><a href="https://archive.org/details/guadalupe-lm-01_20220108" target="_blank"> <b>Internet Archive</b></a></p><p><b>Guadalupe LM </b>is a bilingual art review, spanish // french, with a random publication. It is conceived and fed by the poems, texts, drawings, paintings, collages and photographs of <b>LUZ</b> and <b>MEƎE</b>. </p><p><b>Free Download on<a href="https://archive.org/details/guadalupe-lm-01_20220108" target="_blank"> Internet Archive</a></b></p><p></p>
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="384" mozallowfullscreen="true" src="https://archive.org/embed/guadalupe-lm-01_20220108" webkitallowfullscreen="true" width="560"></iframe></div>Zaz Zetoun Mindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041431344876460149noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3344609376766071312.post-58727480079116069772021-12-19T18:51:00.003+01:002022-02-16T09:45:20.809+01:00Antonin Artaud - Le Retour d'Artaud le Momo lu par Alain Cuny<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg-p-RMX-aL7jC4wFWCJ-x2atkGkjLEGrN01JJZ-sSkzeLD_-WzHuYaZDn-ZGwT5pxukktRDyEPljtXa2D43TprRNdWJs-1eah5ML8kLUQq1HkEZfBH_Igh0QiQyZ65PpTJ6EPKvguIFzHB9mmZteq9UURfuW1K90b6sp1enajD5EL5CjwdJO-k-Q_H=s1408" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1408" data-original-width="932" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg-p-RMX-aL7jC4wFWCJ-x2atkGkjLEGrN01JJZ-sSkzeLD_-WzHuYaZDn-ZGwT5pxukktRDyEPljtXa2D43TprRNdWJs-1eah5ML8kLUQq1HkEZfBH_Igh0QiQyZ65PpTJ6EPKvguIFzHB9mmZteq9UURfuW1K90b6sp1enajD5EL5CjwdJO-k-Q_H=w265-h400" width="265" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Antonin Artaud - Artaud le Mômo, 1947</b></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><b>LE RETOUR D’ARTAUD LE MOMO</b></span></p><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;">
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">L’esprit
ancré<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">vissé
en moi<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">par
la poussée<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">psycho-lubrique<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">du
ciel</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">est
celui qui pense</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">toute
tentation,<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">tout
désir,<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">toute
inhibition.</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br />O
dédi<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">A
dada orzoura<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">O
dou zoura<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Adada
skizi<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">O
Kaya<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">O
Kaya ponoura<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">O
ponoura<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">A
pona<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Poni</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">C’est
la toile d’araignée pentrale,<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">la
poile onoure<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">d’ou-ou
la voile,<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">la
plaque anale d’anavou</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">(Tu
ne lui enlèves rien, dieu<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">parce
que c’est moi<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">tu
ne m’as jamais rien enlevé de cet ordre,<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">je
l’écris ici pour la première fois,<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">je
le trouve pour la première fois)</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br />Non
la membrane de la voûte</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br />non
le membre omis de ce foutre,<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">d’une
déprédation issu<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Mais
une carne,<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">hors
membrane<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">hors
de là ou c’est dur ou mou</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br />Ja
passée par le dur et mou,</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br />étendue
cette carne en paume,<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">tirée,
tendue comme une paume<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="hi-IN"></span></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">de
main<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">exsangue
de se tenir raide,<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">noir,
violette<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">de
tendre au mou.</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br />Mais
quoi donc à la fin, toi le fou ?</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br />Moi
?</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br />Cette
langue entre quatre gencives,</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br />Cette
viande entre deux genoux,</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br />ce
morceau de trou<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">pour
les fous.</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br />Mais
justement pas pour les fous,<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">pour
les honnêtes,<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">que
rabote un délire à rôter partout,</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br />et
qui de ce rôt<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">firent
la feuille,</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br />Écoutez
bien :<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">firent
la feuille<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">du
début des générations,<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">dans
la came palmée de mes trous,</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">à
moi.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Lesquels,
et de quoi ces trous ?</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br />d’âme,
d’esprit, de moi, et d’être ;<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">mais
à la place où l’on s’en fout,<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">père,
mère, Artaud et itou.</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br />Dans
l’humus de la trame à roues,</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">dans
l’humus soufflant de la trame</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br />de
ce vide,<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">entre
dur et mou<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Noir
et violet,<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">raide<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">pleutre<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">et
c’est tout.</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br />Ce
qui veut dire qu’il y a un os,<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">où</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br />dieu</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br />s’est
mis sur le poète,<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">pour
lui saccager l’ingestion<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">de
ses vers,<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">tels
des pets de tête<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">qu’il
lui soutire par le con,</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br />qu’il
lui soutirerait du fond des âges,<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">jusqu’au
fond de son trou de con,</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br />et
ce n’est pas un tour de con<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">qu’il
lui joue de cette manière,<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">c’est
le tour de toute la terre</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br />contre
qui a des couilles<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">au
con.</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br />Et
si on ne comprend pas l’image,<br /></span>— <span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">et
c’est ce que je vous entends dire<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">en
rond,<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">que
vous ne comprenez pas l’image<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">qui
est au fond<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">de
mon trou de con, —</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br />c’est
que vous ignorez le fond<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">non
pas des choses,<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">mais
de mon con<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">à
moi,<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">bien
que depuis le fond des âges<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">vous
y clapotiez tous en rond<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">comme
on clabaude un aliénage<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">complote
à mort une incarcération</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Re
re ghi<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">reghéghi<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">geghena<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">a
zoghena<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">a
gogha<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">riri</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br />Entre
le cu et la chemise<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Entre
le foutre et l’infra-mise<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Entre
le membre et le faux bond<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">entre
la membrane et la lame<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">entre
la latte et le plafond<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Entre
le sperme et l’explosion<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">tre
l’arête et tre le limon</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br />entre
le cu et la main mise<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">de
tous<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">sur
la trappe à haute pression<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">d’un
râle d’éjaculation<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">n’est
pas un point<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">ni
une pierre</span><br /><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">éclatée
morte au pied d’un bond</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br />ni
le membre coupé d’une âme<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">(l’âme
n’est plus qu’un vieux dicton)<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">mais
l’atterrante suspension<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">d’un
souffle d’aliénation</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br />violé,
tondu, pompé à fond<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">par
toute l’insolente racaille<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">de
tous les empafrés d’étrons<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">qui
n’eurent pas d’autre boustifaille</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br />pour
vivre<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">que
de bouffer<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Artaud<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Mômo<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Là,
où l’on peut piner plus tôt<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">que
moi<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">et
l’autre bander plus haut<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">que
moi<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">en
moi-même<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">s’il
a eu soin de mettre la tête<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">sur
la courbure de cet os<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">situé
entre anus et sexe</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br />De
cet os os sarclé que je dis</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br />dans
la crasse<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">d’un
paradis<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">dont
le premier dupé sur terre<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">ne
fut pas le père ou la mère<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">qui
dans cette antre te refit<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">mais<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">JE<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">vissé
dans ma folie</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Et
qu’est-ce qui me prit<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">d’y
rouler moi aussi ma vie ?<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">MOI<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">RIEN,
rien<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Parce
que moi<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">J’y
suis<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">J’y
suis</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br />et
c’est la vie<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">qui
y roule sa paume obscène</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br />Bien<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Et
après ?</span><br /><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Après
? Après ?<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Le
vieil Artaud<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">est
enterré<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">dans
le trou de la cheminée<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">qu’il
tient de sa gencive froide<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">de
ce jour où il fut tué !</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br />Et
après ? Après ?<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Après
!</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br />Il
est ce trou sans cadre<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">que
la vie voulut encadrer</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br />Parce
qu’il n’est pas un trou<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">mais
un nez<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">qui
sut toujours trop bien renifler<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Le
vent de l’apocalyptique<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">tête</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">qu’on
pompe sur son cu serré<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">et
que le eu d’Artaud est bon<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">pour
les souteneurs en miserere</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br />Et
toi aussi tu as la gencive<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">La
gencive droite enterrée<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">dieu</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br />toi
aussi ta gencive est froide<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">depuis
infiniment d’années<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">que
tu m’envoyas ton cul inné<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">pour
voir si j’allais être né<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">à
la fin<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">depuis
le temps que tu m’espérais<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">en
raclant<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">mon
ventre d’absent</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br />menendi
enenbi<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">embenda</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br />tarch
enemptle<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">o
marchte rombi<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">tarch
pai et<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">a
tinenptle<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">orch
pendu<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">o
patendi<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">a
marchit<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">orch
yorpch<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">ta
urchpt orchpt<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">ta
tou taurch<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">campli<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">ko
ti aunch<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">a
ti aunch<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">aungbli</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiHn58h4gtAyRnmgZGGBGf1UWRAKQTc_9BfA0RJAlItKifQ-jP6FRX3_VexAFIdNjPE0OjNrclVjPzeGXWncHuLo_JbAoZiF1e1mYLnLYPjO4NTiWckEAnTwIlcPqsPTnsauNHocX_CKXyLB-E1HRtKgtzeanpYpiTuM5ZiGbKHDhZu692oApRAK5yv=s1553" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1553" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiHn58h4gtAyRnmgZGGBGf1UWRAKQTc_9BfA0RJAlItKifQ-jP6FRX3_VexAFIdNjPE0OjNrclVjPzeGXWncHuLo_JbAoZiF1e1mYLnLYPjO4NTiWckEAnTwIlcPqsPTnsauNHocX_CKXyLB-E1HRtKgtzeanpYpiTuM5ZiGbKHDhZu692oApRAK5yv=w264-h400" width="264" /></a><br /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>A<span style="font-size: x-small;">lain Cuny - Portrait de Fernand Michaud, 1986<br /><br /><br /></span></b>
<iframe width="100%" height="300" scrolling="no" frameborder="no" allow="autoplay" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/1166521210&color=%230b0b0b&auto_play=false&hide_related=false&show_comments=true&show_user=true&show_reposts=false&show_teaser=true&visual=true"></iframe><div style="font-size: 10px; color: #cccccc;line-break: anywhere;word-break: normal;overflow: hidden;white-space: nowrap;text-overflow: ellipsis; font-family: Interstate,Lucida Grande,Lucida Sans Unicode,Lucida Sans,Garuda,Verdana,Tahoma,sans-serif;font-weight: 100;"><a href="https://soundcloud.com/orpheusz23" title="Orpheusz" target="_blank" style="color: #cccccc; text-decoration: none;">Orpheusz</a> · <a href="https://soundcloud.com/orpheusz23/alain-cuny-antonin-artaud-le-retour-dartaud-le-momo" title="Alain Cuny - Antonin Artaud - Le retour d'Artaud le Momo" target="_blank" style="color: #cccccc; text-decoration: none;">Alain Cuny - Antonin Artaud - Le retour d'Artaud le Momo</a></div>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</p>
<br /></td></tr></tbody></table></div></div></div>Zaz Zetoun Mindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041431344876460149noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3344609376766071312.post-71088261292610322012021-11-14T15:20:00.011+01:002022-02-16T09:32:28.977+01:00El cuestionaro de Proust de Luciana Gómez<p></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRW7YptbG6siW8uzb0soVYRoBftCXqRboVAW_QBwIzyxkiqZLFL8PZKY45Tm-KLXjz_khskeK-rP84fg-aTkN7RBUh2eAG8TAPbrtG3_sUJddaEZUL3rghLMmBP_zFOpwVxs58GQXhLxM/s604/corazonnn.bmp" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="604" data-original-width="453" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRW7YptbG6siW8uzb0soVYRoBftCXqRboVAW_QBwIzyxkiqZLFL8PZKY45Tm-KLXjz_khskeK-rP84fg-aTkN7RBUh2eAG8TAPbrtG3_sUJddaEZUL3rghLMmBP_zFOpwVxs58GQXhLxM/s320/corazonnn.bmp" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Luciana Gomez - Corazon</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><b>¿Qué crees que es la “felicidad completa”?</b><p></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>- No creo en la felicidad completa,
creo si, que es una
composición que se crea de pequeños
momentos nunca es completa en su totalidad.</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>¿Cuál es tu mayor miedo?</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>- La vejez.</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>¿Cuál es el rasgo que más detestas
de ti misma?</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>- La manera de amar</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>¿Cuál es el rasgo que más detestas
en las otras personas?</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>- El egoísmo</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>¿Qué persona viva admiras más?</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>- A todos los que luchan por un mundo
mejor.</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>¿Cuál es tu mayor lujo?</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>- El estar viva</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>¿Cuál es tu estado mental actual?</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>- No se si podría definirlo, creo que
en gran medida la palabra sería: serena</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>¿A qué virtud crees que se le da
demasiada importancia?</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>- Si es una virtud, hay que darle
importancia.</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>¿En qué ocasión mientes?</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>- Cuando lo creo necesario</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>¿Qué es lo más que te disgusta de tu
apariencia?</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>- Las marcas que dejan los años en mi
piel</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>¿Qué persona viva te desagrada más?</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>- Nadie</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>¿Cuál es la cualidad que más admiras
en un hombre?</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>- La sensibilidad</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>¿Cuál es la cualidad que más admiras
en una mujer?</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>-Lla valentía</b></p>
<p style="break-before: page; margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;"><b>¿Qué palabra o frase utilizas mucho?</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>- Mierda</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>¿Qué o a quién amas más en la vida?</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>-mi poesía/pintura</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>¿Cuándo y dónde fuiste más feliz?</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>- El día en que me encontré conmigo
misma y supe quien era</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>¿Qué talento te gustaría tener?</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>- Leer música.</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>¿Si pudieras cambiar una cosa de ti
misma, qué sería?</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>- La ansiedad</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>¿Cuál es tu mayor logro?</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>- Poder mostrarme tal cual soy</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>¿Si murieras y volvieras a nacer, ya
fuera como persona, objeto o animal, qué serías? ¿Por qué?</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>- No me molestaría volver a nacer como
Luci. Creo que es porque ya sé lo que soy.</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>¿Dónde te encantaría vivir?</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>- E n cualquier lugar del mundo, pero
rodeada de naturaleza</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>¿Cuál es tu posesión más preciada?</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>- Mis cuadernos de poesía y dibujos</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>¿Cuál es la manifestación más clara
de la miseria?</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>- La pobreza de no saberse quien es uno
mismo.</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>¿Cuál es tu trabajo u ocupación
favorita?</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>- Pintar/dibujar</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>¿Cuál es tu cualidad más
sobresaliente?</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>- La aceptación</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>¿Qué es lo más que valoras en una
amistad?</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>- La complicidad y la solidaridad mutua</b></p>
<p style="break-before: page; margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;"><b>¿Quiénes son tus escritores
favoritos?</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>-Alejandra Pizzarnik, Oliverio Girondo,
Alfonsina Storni</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>¿Quién es tu héroe ficticio
favorito?</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>- No tengo…todos mis héroes son
reales.</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>¿Con qué personaje histórico te
identificas más?</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>- Juana Azurduy.</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>¿Quiénes son tus héroes en la vida
real?</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>- Mi padre</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>¿Cuáles son tus nombres favoritos?</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>- Guadalupe y Nicanor</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>¿Qué es lo que más te disgusta o
desagrada?</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>- La falsedad</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>¿De qué te arrepientes?</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>- De no ser un poco mas arriesgada</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>¿Cómo te gustaría morir?</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>- Durmiendo</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>¿Cuál es tu filosofía de vida o tu
lema?</b></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b>- Hacer todo lo que deseas en esta vida.
No quedarse con las ganas de nada.</b></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b><br /></b></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh6xUyVxr4xjil9S_AGOojtLM7_XSYZCA2Xhhj3bJihXviltxWvy8QeWr-XJI8wl56XfM6oFBXinC7lAmTqRHI2ORqrQOOuR6QADavaXPR01LSLrY7s-Aj_kE3-L0w4c924GGT_ECMjtuthncWAMYIxVg6QDh4MkuuhdNideRbINfiBMgYqh4qqF-g4=s302" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="302" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh6xUyVxr4xjil9S_AGOojtLM7_XSYZCA2Xhhj3bJihXviltxWvy8QeWr-XJI8wl56XfM6oFBXinC7lAmTqRHI2ORqrQOOuR6QADavaXPR01LSLrY7s-Aj_kE3-L0w4c924GGT_ECMjtuthncWAMYIxVg6QDh4MkuuhdNideRbINfiBMgYqh4qqF-g4" width="302" /></a></div><p></p><h4 style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><h4 style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #999999;"><br /></span></span></h4><h4 style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #999999;">Et je suis méritante<br /></span><span style="color: #999999;">de cette solitude sans toit<br /></span><span style="color: #999999;">Je reprends ce silence<br /></span><span style="color: #999999;">qui hante l'espace<br /></span><span style="color: #999999;">et j'écris quand je dors<br /></span><span style="color: #999999;">en utilisant le mot comme bouclier<br /></span><span style="color: #999999;">le mot silencieux<br /></span><span style="color: #999999;">le mot écrit<br /></span><span style="color: #999999;">le mot prononcé<br /></span><span style="color: #999999;">Et je suis la méritante<br /></span><span style="color: #999999;">de ce feu<br /></span><span style="color: #999999;">et de ces mains et de ces épines<br /></span><span style="color: #999999;">Et je suis la méritante<br /></span><span style="color: #999999;">de ce Soleil brûlant<br /></span><span style="color: #999999;">et de cette nouvelle Lune<br /></span><span style="color: #999999;">je suis la méritante<br /></span><span style="color: #999999;">de ces vents qui donnent le vertige<br /></span><span style="color: #999999;">et de ce que je n'ai toujours pas</span></span><span style="color: #999999;"><br /></span></h4><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #999999; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #999999; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #999999; font-size: medium;">*</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #999999; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><h4 style="text-align: center;"></h4><h4 style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"></h4><p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"></p><h4 style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #999999; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">El viento me vomita la
cara<br /></span>siento la crueldad<br />de una verdad inminente<br />Los
desechos del cuerpo<br />desparramados sobre mi cama<br />aun
tibios,<br />perfumados con el vaho del olvido.<br />Se abre un
agujero en medio del mi pecho<br />desbordante de sangre
caliente,<br />vertiente de los milagros<br />y deseos
imposibles,<br />las moscas se agolpan<br />y beben con una locura
esquizofrénica<br />el entendimiento es poco<br />y los ojos se me
hunden<br />tratando de ver más adentro<br />los sonidos
escondidos<br />anudan mi lengua áspera,<br />que va despidiendo mi
inocencia.<br />El pulso se apacigua,<br />irremediablemente,<br />no
hay esperanzas, ni pequeños goces<br />no hay minutos, ni
abecedario,<br />solo silencios se escuchan....<br />Y a las horas de
las sombras<br />mis manos se van soltando de a poco,<br />me llaman
los aullidos<br />el galope desmedido<br />de una noche salada<br />que
completa un ciclo<br /><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">de mañanas sin finales</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"> </span></span></h4><div><span style="color: #999999; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="color: #999999; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"> </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #999999; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"> </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #999999; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Luz E. G. -2021-</span></div>
<p></p></div></h4><h4 style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;"><b style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;"><br /></b></h4><h4 style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;"><b style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;"><br /></b></h4><h4 style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;"><b style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">El mundo de Luciana Gomez,</span> <a href="https://luzincarnata.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">AQUI</a></b></h4>
<p class="western" lang="es-ES-u-co-trad" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</p><p></p>Zaz Zetoun Mindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041431344876460149noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3344609376766071312.post-41808788626969965912021-10-26T10:14:00.010+02:002022-01-19T18:42:44.003+01:00Ossip Mandelstam - La Pierre et autres poèmes (trad. Henri Abril) (extrait)<p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBRayF4gI97oN006WsvotFmu-15Yv6-sgKNK4o5uZU8hvai1aGMH71cw1Aw-SfdgO76J6GKLmSlj2L4GDKOKP96mX4DlyLFlaqrIsNj1RWDuD1ohz2lz4X-58wnLruuTUF7I3BvNdbTO0/s2048/P1190569.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBRayF4gI97oN006WsvotFmu-15Yv6-sgKNK4o5uZU8hvai1aGMH71cw1Aw-SfdgO76J6GKLmSlj2L4GDKOKP96mX4DlyLFlaqrIsNj1RWDuD1ohz2lz4X-58wnLruuTUF7I3BvNdbTO0/w400-h300/P1190569.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p><br /></p><div>Mon doux rêve, mon rêve perpétuel :</div><div>Une forêt enchantée, d'invisibles bois,</div><div>Où une rumeur confuse m'appelle,</div><div>Le divin froufrou de rideaux de soie.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Rencontres insensées, joutes impures </div><div>Et à la croisée des yeux surpris, sans feinte,</div><div>Cette rumeur invisible et obscure</div><div>A jailli sous la cendre, et s'est éteinte.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Et le visage est comme habillé de brouillard,</div><div>Et les mots se sont figés sur les lèvres,</div><div>On dirait que dans les buissons du soir</div><div>Un oiseau effrayé soudain se lève.</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://henri-abril.fr/" target="_blank"><br /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://henri-abril.fr/" target="_blank">Le site de Henri Abril</a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Zaz Zetoun Mindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041431344876460149noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3344609376766071312.post-55972349103913933372021-09-21T11:14:00.000+02:002021-09-21T11:14:03.794+02:00 André Masson - Dessin érotique à l'encre, 1936<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgDu9EfWvCW_WZ_pGAC3IHr-zdBs925Q5_sJ6I-ifCU53gqJqtX8XjfQ_gC1zPaIeu1s1EK_-5zSCYsqfrIkf8HGpGsXKG1xdb-To3QQwBipzGKoiiixO6MeubrsnKMTEWdiMbGVwKRxk/s794/Andr%25C3%25A9+MASSON+-++DESSIN+%25C3%2589ROTIQUE+%25C3%2580+L%2527ENCRE.+%255B1936%255D.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px; text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="609" data-original-width="794" height="307" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgDu9EfWvCW_WZ_pGAC3IHr-zdBs925Q5_sJ6I-ifCU53gqJqtX8XjfQ_gC1zPaIeu1s1EK_-5zSCYsqfrIkf8HGpGsXKG1xdb-To3QQwBipzGKoiiixO6MeubrsnKMTEWdiMbGVwKRxk/w400-h307/Andr%25C3%25A9+MASSON+-++DESSIN+%25C3%2589ROTIQUE+%25C3%2580+L%2527ENCRE.+%255B1936%255D.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Zaz Zetoun Mindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041431344876460149noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3344609376766071312.post-79449653728686114342021-09-05T17:14:00.005+02:002022-01-29T09:08:13.521+01:00Luci Gómez & Zaz Zetoun Mind - Canto XVIII<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX2DuCabFQZQOHVoiFslqv21XvJ_IAtfyyaK5pPAMQK6hW7qmWcw8JgQ0Z2m7WkbmSKchyphenhyphenwdZR9O_Ne0gN-PP4-8XPjj_3rF1oSXOxc7q3E1p6vj-1aAv5V0BBsmCyF7uuSyH-sNn9RKc/s1218/Luci+Gomez+%2526+zaz+Zetoun+Mind+-+Canto+XVIII.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1218" data-original-width="1218" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX2DuCabFQZQOHVoiFslqv21XvJ_IAtfyyaK5pPAMQK6hW7qmWcw8JgQ0Z2m7WkbmSKchyphenhyphenwdZR9O_Ne0gN-PP4-8XPjj_3rF1oSXOxc7q3E1p6vj-1aAv5V0BBsmCyF7uuSyH-sNn9RKc/w400-h400/Luci+Gomez+%2526+zaz+Zetoun+Mind+-+Canto+XVIII.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<iframe width="100%" height="166" scrolling="no" frameborder="no" allow="autoplay" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/1052175547&color=%23170d08&auto_play=false&hide_related=false&show_comments=true&show_user=true&show_reposts=false&show_teaser=true"></iframe><div style="font-size: 10px; color: #cccccc;line-break: anywhere;word-break: normal;overflow: hidden;white-space: nowrap;text-overflow: ellipsis; font-family: Interstate,Lucida Grande,Lucida Sans Unicode,Lucida Sans,Garuda,Verdana,Tahoma,sans-serif;font-weight: 100;"><a href="https://soundcloud.com/spectrumvivace" title="Spectrum Vivace" target="_blank" style="color: #cccccc; text-decoration: none;">Spectrum Vivace</a> · <a href="https://soundcloud.com/spectrumvivace/luci-gomez-zaz-zetoun-mind-canto-xviii" title="Luci Gomez & Zaz Zetoun Mind - Canto XVIII" target="_blank" style="color: #cccccc; text-decoration: none;">Luci Gomez & Zaz Zetoun Mind - Canto XVIII</a></div>Zaz Zetoun Mindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041431344876460149noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3344609376766071312.post-30779661293022215632021-08-15T14:41:00.002+02:002021-08-15T14:41:12.160+02:00Zonda Radio - Agosto 2021 - La palabra corta la palabra<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFGK1YXrvCeXDaCzMcMyQdCVaJCpx3MY6iKEe65Roee1eH2XUXeJKXCUvztKiMf3TQ-O70yos0JvQT4hcZTzriXC_jTNKYpwf0cD6pSqZjQcGWkw-GQ0uR0nVS18fP74NGUCHFqlGKm7A/s1261/Portada+ZR03.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1261" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFGK1YXrvCeXDaCzMcMyQdCVaJCpx3MY6iKEe65Roee1eH2XUXeJKXCUvztKiMf3TQ-O70yos0JvQT4hcZTzriXC_jTNKYpwf0cD6pSqZjQcGWkw-GQ0uR0nVS18fP74NGUCHFqlGKm7A/s320/Portada+ZR03.jpg" width="305" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<iframe frameborder="0" height="120" src="https://www.mixcloud.com/widget/iframe/?hide_cover=1&feed=%2Fzondaradio%2Fzonda-radio-la-palabra-corta-la-palabra%2F" width="100%"></iframe> <div>Jean-Claude Risset - "Morning to noon" (extractos) <div>Yoko Ono - Rob Stevens - Wes Naprstok and Gary Clugston -
Georgia Stone (extracto) </div><div>Luci Gomez - Demian
Mariana lee "Nocturno" de Oliverio Girondo </div><div>Titi Parant - Dimanche 04 mai 1975 (extracto) </div><div>Luci Gomez lee un poemade Mauricio Arias </div><div>Titi Parent - Dimanche 23 mai 1976 (extracto) </div><div>MEEE - Le néant est en crue </div><div>Jean-Luc Parant - La joie des yeux (extracto) </div><div>Debora y Micky leen "El enamorado" de Jorge Luis Borges </div><div>Indios Jivaro, Cayapa, Otavalo (Ecuador) - Canto sobre el pájaro tucán (extracto) </div><div>Amanda Berenguer - Es el amor </div><div>Diamanda Galás - L’Heautontimoroumenos de Charles Baudelaire (1857) </div><div>Luci Gomez lee un poema de Elena Guro </div><div>Dora Providence & ᛉᛉᛗ - Psalmodia </div><div>Aleister Crowley - La gitana </div><div>Luci Gomez - Unificación </div><div>Fatima Miranda - Hálito</div></div>Zaz Zetoun Mindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041431344876460149noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3344609376766071312.post-88341858782016274592021-08-04T10:52:00.005+02:002021-08-04T10:59:58.640+02:00Cerkita Zünd // M.A. Asterglance - Retrouver les forêts<p> </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhtNyVgEm9V18NGEU-FnItFUwYzZKVzD24ttANiF37KTJLxOxdif_R5aoD12Bumj53N5kjxZiIMY3ORLCX8oxxaYLv_dbjRV5Ec8mkbXZTtAjnvbgYSY_uK5j_zmbO7jz27FuOgFDC1mI/s2048/Retrouver+les+for%25C3%25AAts.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1437" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhtNyVgEm9V18NGEU-FnItFUwYzZKVzD24ttANiF37KTJLxOxdif_R5aoD12Bumj53N5kjxZiIMY3ORLCX8oxxaYLv_dbjRV5Ec8mkbXZTtAjnvbgYSY_uK5j_zmbO7jz27FuOgFDC1mI/w281-h400/Retrouver+les+for%25C3%25AAts.JPG" width="281" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">© Collage Cerkita Zünd</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"> Retrouver les forêts </p><div> la marche des arbres </div><div> de l’humus </div><div> des mousses </div><div> des fougères </div><div> vers le vert azur </div><div> des aurores boréales </div><div> retrouver les animaux </div><div> en quête du silence </div><div> de l’étoile polaire </div><div> retrouver les étangs </div><div> où se miroite l’univers </div><div> dérober le reflet </div><div> en draper les forêts </div><div> les animaux </div><div> l’aurore et l’étoile</div><div> tisser un regard </div><div> un ciel </div><div> conjurer à jamais </div><div> par la foi du lézard </div><div> en la pierre </div><div> le mauvais œil </div><div> et les ténèbres </div><div> d’où émane </div><div> la somptueuse confusion </div><div> réapprendre le brame </div><div> revenir au monde</div>Zaz Zetoun Mindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041431344876460149noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3344609376766071312.post-20789988391301012652021-07-16T17:16:00.005+02:002022-01-17T17:26:40.453+01:00Zonda Radio - Julio 2021 - El silencio se escucha<p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixY51-Qr2-gPnMDgZodTPY-pEaaap_s26Xi-ow2l9H7qhTNXVX5yo16AySo6SYMW9kVPUt-VcBgLF-By0cE9jY3qc5kWRIaHYszupQ2cb6mP9JKiFMl9SHzgwuyGiyx-_XdrcZ1EoIivk/s690/ZR02+-+Portada.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="690" data-original-width="690" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixY51-Qr2-gPnMDgZodTPY-pEaaap_s26Xi-ow2l9H7qhTNXVX5yo16AySo6SYMW9kVPUt-VcBgLF-By0cE9jY3qc5kWRIaHYszupQ2cb6mP9JKiFMl9SHzgwuyGiyx-_XdrcZ1EoIivk/s320/ZR02+-+Portada.jpg" /></a></div><p><iframe frameborder="0" height="120" src="https://www.mixcloud.com/widget/iframe/?hide_cover=1&feed=%2Fzondaradio%2Fzonda-radio-julio-2021-el-silencio-se-escucha%2F" width="100%"></iframe></p><p></p><p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><b>
Giacinto Scels</b>i - Uaxuctum (extracto) <div><b>Maurice Ravel</b> - La vallée des cloches (extracto) </div><div><b>Alejandra Pizarnik</b> - Simplemente no soy de este mundo… - Leida por <b>Vanessa Molina</b> </div><div><b>Erik Satie</b> - <b>Cathy Berberian</b> - Air du poète </div><div><b>Luci Gomez</b> - Arrancame </div><div><b>MEEE</b> - Goulajou des endettés </div><div><b>ᛉᛉᛗ</b> - Some flowers for Kali</div><div><b>Antonin Artaud</b> - Aliénation et Magie noire </div><div><b>Antonin Artaud</b> - Poeta negro - Leido por <b>Luci Gomez </b></div><div><b>ᛉᛉᛗ</b> - Sol adentro </div><div><b>Antonin Artaud </b>- <b>Maria Casares</b> - Tutuguri </div><div><b>Elena Guro</b> - Finland - Leida por <b>Galina Musijina-Nikiforova </b></div><div><b>Coil</b> - Smething (extracto) </div><div><b>Luci Gomez</b> & <b>MEEE</b> - Canto XXIII </div><div><b>Juan L. Ortiz</b> - Tarde - Leido por <b>Mariana </b></div><div><b>Luci Gomez</b> - De noche </div><div><b>Luc Ferrari</b> - Presque rien (extracto) </div><div><b>Lily Greenham</b> - Tillid </div><div><b>Ghérasim Luca</b> - Son corps léger </div><div><b>Joan La Barbara</b> - <b>John Cage</b> - The Wonderful Widow Of 18 Springs - Singing Through</div>Zaz Zetoun Mindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041431344876460149noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3344609376766071312.post-46210348847766877162021-06-26T10:01:00.007+02:002023-10-30T11:51:23.280+01:00 André Pieyre de Mandiargues "L’ami des arbres" suivi de "La tour"<p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH1vwZbW2yeq_3HU7naF1_AedLYuPw6fs861_mJLPfYl4hHTNfdwecNMcr9k5c7Ygbe_bRcJRpGifxGoWp6eiYn3aybuVka5NWTSGwg9OrNpA9xZFXk99eE5D49rm8XedPiA6N9acMta8/s1435/Andr%25C3%25A9+Pieyre+de+Mandiargues+sur+la+plage+de+Tecolutla%252C+Veracruz%252C+Mexique%252C+1958+%25C2%25A9+Bona+Pieye+de+Mandiargues.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1356" data-original-width="1435" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH1vwZbW2yeq_3HU7naF1_AedLYuPw6fs861_mJLPfYl4hHTNfdwecNMcr9k5c7Ygbe_bRcJRpGifxGoWp6eiYn3aybuVka5NWTSGwg9OrNpA9xZFXk99eE5D49rm8XedPiA6N9acMta8/s320/Andr%25C3%25A9+Pieyre+de+Mandiargues+sur+la+plage+de+Tecolutla%252C+Veracruz%252C+Mexique%252C+1958+%25C2%25A9+Bona+Pieye+de+Mandiargues.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">André Pieyre de Mandiargues sur la plage de Tecolutla, <br />Veracruz, Mexique, 1958 © Bona Pieye de Mandiargues</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p><h2 style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;"><b> L'ami des arbres</b></h2><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p><p align="JUSTIFY" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; break-before: auto; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 7cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"> Il neigeait. Un hangar, comme
des halles vides, se dressa </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-align: left;">dans une clairière au milieu des
sapins, et des vierges y dansaient entre elles sous un grand toit de
plomb. Leurs pieds soulevaient une poussière qui devait avoir été
laissée par du foin fleuri, car elle brûlait la gorge et les yeux.
J’eus si mal que je cessais de voir. Alors je sentis qu’une
bouche, qui était chaude malgré le vent, baisait la mienne d’une
façon toute neuve, puis il y eut des éclats de rire autour de moi,
des bruits de fouets et de roues, un dernier ricanement, loin déjà.</span></p><p align="JUSTIFY" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 7cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"> Peu à peu, j’ai retrouvé
l’usage de la vue, mais j’ai pris les peuples en haine. Seulement
le murmure est doux de la sève à la fin de l’hiver, quand une
écorce est contre mon visage et qu’un arbre se penche sur moi, son
ami, son frère.</span></p><p align="JUSTIFY" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 7cm;">
<br />
</p><p align="JUSTIFY" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 7cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">(Extrait de </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Astyanax </i></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">,
Le terrain vague 1957, Paris) </span>
</p><p align="JUSTIFY" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 7cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></p><p align="JUSTIFY" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 7cm;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTfwQpcClG9Gr3B1YQYLXJA3Em7WnC1qzMO9d1Xo87bx2KkNvsTm_uc2bd6RDU51UrOMveva0nOiwcGRPhuJ1DTnd2ujm274ixvnseiz16RXEhUMMVKPttgXOq3a7OUXTwbEk0rg-HZgw/s403/Ex-libris+Andr%25C3%25A9+et+Bona+Pieyre+de+Mandiargues%252C+eau-forte+de+Bona.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="403" data-original-width="331" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTfwQpcClG9Gr3B1YQYLXJA3Em7WnC1qzMO9d1Xo87bx2KkNvsTm_uc2bd6RDU51UrOMveva0nOiwcGRPhuJ1DTnd2ujm274ixvnseiz16RXEhUMMVKPttgXOq3a7OUXTwbEk0rg-HZgw/s320/Ex-libris+Andr%25C3%25A9+et+Bona+Pieyre+de+Mandiargues%252C+eau-forte+de+Bona.png" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Ex-libris André et Bona Pieyre de Mandiargues, eau-forte de Bona</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><p></p><h2 style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 7cm; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><b>La tour</b></span></h2><p align="JUSTIFY" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 7cm;">
<br />
</p><p align="JUSTIFY" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 7cm;">
<br />
</p><div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 5.34cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Grand cerf que vois-tu hors de
la tour des hommes<br /></i></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Pour jeter si haut la tête
dans l'air bleu<br /></i></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Cerf chargé de cordes et de
fers<br /></i></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Cerf vaincu cerf lié sur la
terre d'antan<br /></i></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Roi cerf humilié que vois-tu
au-dehors ?</i></span></div><div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 5.34cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><i><br /></i>Un long chemin de boue d'un
horizon à l'autre<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Qui vient raser le pied de la
tour où nous sommes.</span></div><div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 5.34cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br />Une femme errante un enfant vil
de pauvres chiens trembleurs<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Salis d'eau limoneuse d'argile et
de craie<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Ils se taisent je ne sais ce
qu'ils souhaitent<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Perclus devant le fossé de la
tour.</span></div><div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 5.34cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br />Dans le claquement d'un vol de
foulques brunes<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">L'enfant tombe et la mère
s'incline<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Ses mains s'égarent je crois
qu'elle est aveugle.</span></div><div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 5.34cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br />Le char soyeux de la reine
d'enfer<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">sur un petit bois de sapins et
d'ifs<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Flotte entre les vapeurs blanches
de l'hiver.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 5.34cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Qui voit de telles choses a honte
jusqu'à sa propre mort.</span></div><div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 5.34cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br />La mère ébauche une danse d'aïeule<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Dans le cercle des chiens
immobiles<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Le lit de la route est partout
découvert<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Profond partout entre les touffes
sombres<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">L'enfant a fui sans avoir fait un
cri<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Le temps qu'on le retrouve il
n'est déjà plus chaud.</span></div><div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 5.34cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br />Sur lui s'abat la mère<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Sur le roulis d'un ventre en
forme d'œuf<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Elle défait des linges fiévreux<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Dénude un chair enflée des
membres minces<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Un petit corps piteusement
vieilli<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Sous la main la peau mûre se
rompt aussitôt<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">crève sous les ongles chafouins<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Plus d'eau que de sang coule.</span></div><div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 5.34cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br />Le sein cave est un marais
d'ordures<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Où remuent des serpents d'onyx
et de corail<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Les os cassent comme du bois gelé<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Les doigts pourris vont aux
chiens<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Cinq chiens à la robe de plâtre<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">La bouche bée exsangue et les
yeux blancs<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Guettant la mère qui déchire et
dévore.</span></div><div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 5.34cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br />Festin de mère et de chiens<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Festin familial au pied des murs
où me tiennent les hommes<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Afin que mes bois couronnent leur
œuvre sordide.</span></div><div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 5.34cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br />Au-dessus de la porte est un loup
crucifié<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Qu'ils ont pris avant moi dans la
natale forêt verte<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Le fossé lance autour de son
crâne sournois<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Une sale buée où je pressens le
soir<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Femmes et chiens repus
s'apprêtent à descendre<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Lentement vers l'immonde pays
d'en-bas.</span></div><div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 5.34cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br />Et je resterai cerf solitaire
dressé sur un ciel morne<br /></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Jusqu'à la fin qu'en vain je
brame aux quatre vents.</span></div><div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 5.34cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 5.34cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br />(Extrait
de </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><i>L'âge
de craie suivi de Hedera<br /></i></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Gallimard, Paris 1961)</span><br /></div><div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 5.34cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 5.34cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">D'autres poèmes de André Pieyre de Mandiargues</span></div><div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 5.34cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">à lire <a href="https://www.poemes.co/andre-pieyre-de-mandiargues.html" target="_blank">ICI</a> et <a href="https://poezibao.typepad.com/poezibao/2011/12/andr%C3%A9-pieyre-de-mandiargues-anthologie-permanente.html" target="_blank">LÀ</a></span></div><div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 5.34cm;">Sur ce blog, "<a href="http://zazzetounmind.blogspot.com/2014/09/andre-pieyre-de-mandiargues-chenille.html" target="_blank">Chenille pour Unica Zürn</a>"</div><p align="JUSTIFY" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 7cm;"><br /></p><p align="JUSTIFY" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 7cm;">
<br /><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkwOsVM8pWqSWIF8kkWCvFHUgvU-U8TKKciJUO9ySicbPVLm-HCZQ4lxvnCR9TDCOZ0iDS6Qg8B8XDFNhSeUUftm7fsk2BPznbVzeO6WhPxMalEqSDVeJNBnoY8i4j4PenIFFnvS_JfLk/s400/Andr%25C3%25A9+Pieyre+de+Mandiargues%252C+Villahermosa+1958%252C+photo+de+Bona.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="385" data-original-width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkwOsVM8pWqSWIF8kkWCvFHUgvU-U8TKKciJUO9ySicbPVLm-HCZQ4lxvnCR9TDCOZ0iDS6Qg8B8XDFNhSeUUftm7fsk2BPznbVzeO6WhPxMalEqSDVeJNBnoY8i4j4PenIFFnvS_JfLk/s320/Andr%25C3%25A9+Pieyre+de+Mandiargues%252C+Villahermosa+1958%252C+photo+de+Bona.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">André Pieyre de Mandiargues, Villahermosa 1958, photo de Bona</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span></p>Zaz Zetoun Mindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041431344876460149noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3344609376766071312.post-16239966130064033182021-06-17T14:01:00.002+02:002021-06-18T12:04:10.888+02:00Georges Bataille... Je rêvais de toucher la tristesse du monde...<p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpa9RMLjZgMlJXlCVfchDERXM4KZrbyhxxCCnNEQKsUWJV1-Nl4HvXt62bUoVTdw5tDz8S0ENrtszlnyncTAdoJaIvOj6weNRefZcOXSkP_kPSTUcNltAmNyiWZcZG1t3ICGGKG5Ed6VI/s1372/bataille-georges+herold+2.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1372" data-original-width="1047" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpa9RMLjZgMlJXlCVfchDERXM4KZrbyhxxCCnNEQKsUWJV1-Nl4HvXt62bUoVTdw5tDz8S0ENrtszlnyncTAdoJaIvOj6weNRefZcOXSkP_kPSTUcNltAmNyiWZcZG1t3ICGGKG5Ed6VI/s320/bataille-georges+herold+2.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="https://www.blaizot.com/livres-illustres/742-bataille-georges.html" target="_blank">Un des dix cuivres de Jacques Hérold<br />pour " L'Archangélique" de Georges Bataille,<br />Paris, Nouveau Cercle Parisien du Livre, 1967</a></span><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>Je rêvais de toucher la tristesse du monde<br />au bord désenchanté
d'un étrange marais<br />je rêvais d'une eau lourde où je
retrouverais<br />les chemins égarés de ta bouche profonde<p></p><p>j'ai senti dans mes mains un animal immonde<br />échappé à la
nuit d'une affreuse forêt<br />et je vis que c'était le mal dont tu
mourais<br />que j'appelle en riant la tristesse du monde</p><p>une lumière folle un éclat de tonnerre<br />un rire libérant ta
longue nudité<br />une immense splendeur enfin m'illuminèrent</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">et je vis ta douleur comme une
charité<br />rayonnant dans la nuit la longue forme claire<br />et le
cri de tombeau de ton infinité.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Georges Bataille<br /><br />
</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">De ‘Poèmes disparates’ Publié
dans
</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“L'archangélique et autres poèmes”,
Mercure de France, 1967</p><p>
</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr-evOmnJ-zotEx7EVI0Ho2u4mHZXK7Vr9DbI_-KcwMbrA0Bn118-MYyNDaYTmqpSyYkRFcpK9kfnVgr6hvcVNadTx2NQ2Me5G6Ke93KUnEqr0xXRxFSJu3Y_i9mmRSG2vGZk9DEwci0k/s1280/Jearld+Frederick+Moldenhauer.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="726" data-original-width="1280" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr-evOmnJ-zotEx7EVI0Ho2u4mHZXK7Vr9DbI_-KcwMbrA0Bn118-MYyNDaYTmqpSyYkRFcpK9kfnVgr6hvcVNadTx2NQ2Me5G6Ke93KUnEqr0xXRxFSJu3Y_i9mmRSG2vGZk9DEwci0k/w400-h228/Jearld+Frederick+Moldenhauer.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">© Photo, Jearld Frederick Moldenhauer</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><p>« Tout était aussi noir et chargé de terreur sournoise
pendant la nuit où Laure et moi avions gravi les pentes de l'Etna
[…] ; l'arrivée à l'aube, sur la crête du cratère immense
et sans fond – nous étions épuisés et, en quelque sorte,
exorbités par une solitude trop étrange, trop désastreuse :
c'est le moment du déchirement où nous sommes penchés sur la
blessure béante, sur la félure de l'astre où nous respirons. »</p>
<p>(Georges Bataille, Le Coupable, notes Œ. C. T. V, PP. 499.)</p>
<p> </p><br /></div>Zaz Zetoun Mindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00041431344876460149noreply@blogger.com0