12/01/2006
saw the Porte Saint Denis extinguished, the apartment is empty, the night hang
Carmen and Andrea tattooed on his neck from under the light of a lamp
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Where Can I Buy The Old Beyblades In Australia?
who resurfaces in the memory of Word
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Kind Weave Does Ciara Wear
Necropolis - Arnaud Maïsetti
To have gone through the neighborhood last night that I do not know,
where I go for the first time in this city that I know by heart,
market more than a half-hour sidewalks that extend
probably also on the sidewalks which hundred and a thousand times before walking
to lie under the pitch hit the ground for years
launched ahead of me, but happen here as we enter
a new piece of a castle, and recognize of course that any affiliation to
contains it, that it is in that city that I am
because the walls of the facades are here
everywhere as cut in the same mountain,
also recognize that height of buildings erected on
alley streets strung on straight lines so that the prospect
cancels the possibility of the horizon, but do not really recognize,
as a language we have learned from the mouth of a only
and we hear for the first time spoken by someone else
more starched more obvious perhaps,
and pass through a street with an unpronounceable name to join the Square,
take this street as a poorer than me,
turning up this long road 'Cemetery
that appears on the right hand with his body so dear to me,
these bodies before which I would like one evening yes, sit
to simply look at the color of the earth all around them,
but not tonight, another night, less blue than there
evening making the cemetery so cold in the middle of the city
and hard as a stone, I pass the bridge is a bridge to step over anything
below, no road goes, I'm going, continuous, and left
over the road, I see stelae few mausolea
who crossed to the other side of the road to be there, detached from the main cemetery,
stand absurd overflow strange graves outside the walls
where the aisles distributing the geometry of memories and Forgetting,
here in the heart of the city, and I tell myself, despite myself,
I am in the heart of the city if the city has a center, it would
where I stand, what bridge that rips the cemetery into two broad
populated pit where it tries to log onto long pieces of stone,
suites of dates that are counted as indefatigable
exhausted, useless time and for the first time here,
for the first time, the bridge that takes me;
have been justified by this time the position the city around me,
and when I turn away, I look ahead, I agree - Place Clichy,
lighter than the dark around me, all lit car,
the place where I find myself in conquered territory,
and how I know the crowd movements and each passing second,
and the next; have had to come here and learn another city
does not make me guilty of I see that again in front of me, but I
mourning to remember the road that led me there, and that
The next day I will not find.
Arnaud Maïsetti
where I go for the first time in this city that I know by heart,
market more than a half-hour sidewalks that extend
probably also on the sidewalks which hundred and a thousand times before walking
to lie under the pitch hit the ground for years
launched ahead of me, but happen here as we enter
a new piece of a castle, and recognize of course that any affiliation to
contains it, that it is in that city that I am
because the walls of the facades are here
everywhere as cut in the same mountain,
also recognize that height of buildings erected on
alley streets strung on straight lines so that the prospect
cancels the possibility of the horizon, but do not really recognize,
as a language we have learned from the mouth of a only
and we hear for the first time spoken by someone else
more starched more obvious perhaps,
and pass through a street with an unpronounceable name to join the Square,
take this street as a poorer than me,
turning up this long road 'Cemetery
that appears on the right hand with his body so dear to me,
these bodies before which I would like one evening yes, sit
to simply look at the color of the earth all around them,
but not tonight, another night, less blue than there
evening making the cemetery so cold in the middle of the city
and hard as a stone, I pass the bridge is a bridge to step over anything
below, no road goes, I'm going, continuous, and left
over the road, I see stelae few mausolea
who crossed to the other side of the road to be there, detached from the main cemetery,
stand absurd overflow strange graves outside the walls
where the aisles distributing the geometry of memories and Forgetting,
here in the heart of the city, and I tell myself, despite myself,
I am in the heart of the city if the city has a center, it would
where I stand, what bridge that rips the cemetery into two broad
populated pit where it tries to log onto long pieces of stone,
suites of dates that are counted as indefatigable
exhausted, useless time and for the first time here,
for the first time, the bridge that takes me;
have been justified by this time the position the city around me,
and when I turn away, I look ahead, I agree - Place Clichy,
lighter than the dark around me, all lit car,
the place where I find myself in conquered territory,
and how I know the crowd movements and each passing second,
and the next; have had to come here and learn another city
does not make me guilty of I see that again in front of me, but I
mourning to remember the road that led me there, and that
The next day I will not find.
Arnaud Maïsetti
The first Friday of the month, since July 2008, is the opportunity Communicating Vessels: idea to write in a blog friend, not him but in the space of its own. Another way to establish across the links that are not only pointing directions, but actual texts emerging from .
That first Friday in February, I am pleased to take part in this project, through the invitation which I accept Arnaud Maïsetti the text, which hosts the mine on his blog - Setback - the heart of his site where you can discover his books read and write, poems, photographs, text & hyperlinks.
Other waterbed this month 
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