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Oh, it's not very complicated:
on the top of the mountain Hom,
put a man
on a cross.
Put the sea in front of him,
put the sun
in his back.
Draw a land
according to his shadow,
thrown on the ground.
According to his tears drop islands
for the dead and for the lovers,
according to his blood put reefs
for the shipwrecked
and the shipwreckers.
Do that simply,
without any mystery.
Your peninsula is an image still,
and it's better this way.
You're not difficult : a little walk on the beach
and you're happy as children are.
Ah, I wish I was
a sea star
This
is the last house of the earth
on the last cliff.
You've heard the borders died while willing to stretch further.
look!
And you've just forgotten
What's your name ?
how the world is round !
A fog
often hides the void.
But tonight it is far from here.
And you can
look at the sea falling
into the space, listen
to the space drinking
the sea, see the sky
leaning on
the cliff and hear
the constellation knocking
on the door
of the last house of the earth
on the last cliff.
It probably fell tonight.
And you?
Me?
I'll go and get the keys to visit.
Where's the house?
Up above, all alone.
you're not difficult: a little walk on the beach
and you're happy as children are.
Do you come with me?
More later
- It's dark here! - I'll open the shutters.
If you want to inhabit it,
nonetheless,
and bring people here,
nonetheless,
make..
'word'
'o'
'''
'love'
','
new line
Driven out
of your bed,
wiped
off your flesh,
I've gone
to the end of the land
to 'm'
'e'
'l'
't'
into tears comma
You don't give a f.
Here I am
at
last
at one
with the crazy wind
and everything
it folds, makes moan
and sweeps.
But sh.. what is this love
so stupid tell me
and such misunderstanding
my G... is it possible?
A seagull shakes its wings,
a cliff double-basses its age,
a curse word has just been pronounced with a smile
at the nearby café,
and the hurricane is going to whistle quintes tonight through the bricks
of the inhabitant's house going back home
cursing.
I cry without warning
in the middle of words or roads
You don't give a f.
Farewell
Valentin tin tin
.. a tourist leaflet out of it,
in which one can see and hear
things like this one:
It's a landscape whose foot is the head.
You didn't see anything
You didn't see anything when the landscape folded away
No more than yesterday
No more than yesterday the endless oceans
No more than yesterday the ageless oceans
No more than yesterday the swallowed ageless oceans
you won't see the landscape swallow you tomorrow
Oh, you can worry!
and you can make
make up a story,
an image
malgré tout.
Oh, it's not very complicated,
an executioner knows his job!
I take a sharp-pointed
square nail.
I jab it
on the wrist into this fold
which I know so well.
One jab is enough,
the nail is stuck in the wood.
The thumb retracts
violently
into the palm.
The median nerve is hurt.
The pain
springs out
like a spear fire till..
.. the shoulder and explodes in his brain.
Almost always it leads to..
blackout
and it's better this way.
If you want to inhabit it, nonetheless,
and bring people here,
nonetheless,
make a tourist leaflet out of it,
in which
one can see
and hear
things like this one:
It's a landscape whose foot is the head,
a mountain called Hom,
hardly a hill,
a fold,
an eroded Sphinx,
a footstool for the man who holds the height world record.
The nerve remains in contact with that nail,
and the suspended body rests on it
as tense as a violin string on its bridge.
With each shaking, each movement, the pain wakes up.
It'll take him about three hours,
three hours of agony.