Il y a peu à se rèjouir.
Les dèbris sont là,
reste de notre naufrage.
Regardons-les,
en silence
en silence.

My feet destroy a small universe of little scrapes,
a whitish dirty snail runs away at breakneck speed
from my pressing foot
o small dirty living box,
I’ve noted down your name on the book
of the beings destroyed for pure aesthetics.
maybe I’ll feel atoms of remorse for your treacherous fate.
sparkling surface of stones made smooth
by numberless drops of dew & spring rains
grotesque castle of co-cola cans
pieces of tires like wrinkled fragments of defective creations
hungry jaws of rust eat wretched carcass of car
poor brute matter that is looking for creative hands
the wind sweeps indefaticable hopes of optimist ants away
tunes rusty arpeggios gliding light light among stylized iron stalks.
It’s inhuman to dream spring or autumn winter or summer
in rusty metal woods without scent of moss or buds pregnant of new lives
I’m inhaling old smells of gasoline rubber lubrioil
the smells of my times
and I ‘ve strange sensations of technological power ecological hate
maybe I begin to love the rusty grass which tortures my feet
and the metal shit of the affluent society
mad greedy bees suck poisonous nectar from metal flowers
small snakes hiss happy in the rubber hole enjoying the Surplus Age.

a dirty sky overflowing with gaseous trash
Impends heavy over my symbols packed stored badly in my head
these cheap items wear out quickly
the breath of small part of mankind rises poisonous mist
penetrating into the molecular interstices of the things
with the hydraulic instinct of the waters in their natural beds
barring the way to the virginal hopes of the humbles
in their ascension – oh, it’s terrible funny ! – to pure empyrean
Mr: Rockfailure, your pestiferous breath of old badly digested wealth
drives the poor colored pigs away from your laid table
it’s useless for you to preach democracy & freedom
to sloganize bombastic ideas for the poor in spirit & wealth
far noises like ramshackle trucks on bad roads
like rusty tanks full of nothing kicked by huge feet
strange trembles violent fever worrying symptoms of unknown illness
I shut my eyes
golden sparks spurting from the black
which is perhaps nothingness
arabesque inlaid ivories mosaics in relief on the black ground
which is perhaps nothingness
then small stars in handfuls like confetti
thrown at the face suddenly by playful hands
fatuous fires floating on the stygian black waters
fireworks fire cascades unique primigenial absolute Fire
burning my fibers slowly red flames intolerable heat
verdant oases fountains crystal clear waters
camels veiled women damasks mosque palms hollywoodian scenary
maybe Valentino the Great will spring forward drawing his sword
king of the hollywoodian kings
latin lover for aged ladies avec instinct maternel
we change scene
tropical jungles lions roars hyena ridens
python gliding among leafy branches
towering trees humus pregnant of life colored birds
wild howl ! – Tarzan, of course – the white imperialist
dressed in leopard is inevitable in the african jungle
break your neck, white imperialist !
if your faithful liana isn’t strong
and you fall badly and break your neck
poor Tarzan, you’ll lose your prestige
among these naive black men clothed with skins of scabbed leopards
the finest leopard’s skins clothe sophisticated cocottes
and shouting noisily like illbred people
SHOO, Tarzan ! SHOO, usual foolish things we know from ages !
now I wish a scenary never seen by human eyes
sensations which bring near the prime cause of everything
a golden bar grows bigger bigger like biblical snake
damn ! it swells like a balloon – the magic wand of Mandrake ? –
damn again ! it dazzles like lights of irresponsible truck
in a night as black as ink
long long long like the Panamerican Highway
we’re reaching Cape Horn – take breath, Gold Snake !
now it dives into the stormy Pacific
like desirous penis into the most exciting cunt you know
it disappears toward the poor countries
enough of the dazzling Light of the Gold Snake !
the smallest black point without dimensions
sucks the whole range of colors – Mandrake again ? –
it swallows them with voluptuous greediness
then boom boom boom explosion of black
all is black - is it possible that all is black ?
maybe the prime cause of everything is the black
I ‘ve always thought that everything arises
from the smallest black point without dimensions
we are able to imagine
a damn’d smallest black point without dimensions
for believers & misbelievers…………………

with scraps of all kind I’m trying to create your figure,
my little Harlotte, muse of the second hand things
you’re millions of light years far from my ideal of woman
- heavenly immortal being of ivory –
a trifling little thing a mass of curly faded hair
big yellowish teeth eyes too violet to be human
whorish ass big big vagina
small green fruit you kick willingly
you tread on out of curiosity to see inside
handful of barren seeds mass of inert colorless matter
look, Harlotte ! two small rusty ball bearings are your eyes
these blackish banana peels your hair a bit of tire your mouth
two squeezed lemons your green breasts
with this iron twig I outline your body
it’s done ! I look at you with pleasure
like artist satisfied with his work
cheer up ! I draw even a big big vagina
H-A-R-L-O-T-T-E ! H-A-R-L-O-T-T-E !
Do you listen to me ?
H-A-R-L-O-T-T-E ! H-A-R-L-O-T-T-E !
I’ll cry out your name toward the sky
hoping that it will be refracted in thousand fragments
falling like small meteors on the ground
I’m yelling like an idiot
damn – WHY ?
for love wild passion without you I can’t live et coetera?
NO a thousand times NO
I can’t love a defective creation
for hate contempt revenge if I catch you I kill you et coetera ?
No, of course – maybe I love the invocations without sense totally mad
I repeat H-A-R-L-O-T-T-E ! H-A-R-L-O-T-T-E ! H-A-R-L-O-T-T-E !
It’s really fool – of course
but Harlotte exists
I see her moving black panther of the wild islands
in the great ocean among those rusty metal skeletons
sitting down on that big can and inviting me to make love
on that fine heap of technological shit
she’s making insinuating gestures to me
I agree, Harlotte – it will be amusing to make love
on a fine heap of technological shit
it’s a kind of lustful unknown rite
like to make love in a crowded supermarket among pots of all kinds
OOH ! my love ! my love ! my love ! OOH !
OOH ! my love ! DONG ! OOH ! my love ! DANG !
my love my love my love DANG DANG !
fabulous coitus I admit
but you can’t make love with me
on a fine heap of technological shit
because you are only a sketch popart
in front of me below me
Harlotte, you can’t deceive yourself - DAMN !
Please, listen to me – you’ll become a girl
In the flesh of course – a cover girl - quite so !
I’ll apply to Mr. X – he is an ad-mandrake
he’ll build you piece by piece
for five days resting saturday
he’ll put into your mouth melodious words
you’ll be able to make love like a lively girl
please, listen to me, Harlotte – don’t look askance at me !
I think I tell you the trurh the whole truth only the truth
I swear
Harlotte, my swet Harlotte maybe I begin ……to love you
surely I love you Harlotte I love you my dear
though you are a mass of curly faded hair
big yellowish teeth eyes too violet to be human
whorish ass big big vagina
maybe……since I learnt to love ……
but what does it matter ? Harlotte my sweet Harlotte
splendor of my eyes my wild passion crystal melody of my loving heart
mauvais poète or writer of poor verse
I hear the nightngale’s song the leaves rustle
under the spring breeze the angels play heavenly harps
how wildly beautiful this love is !
how happy I am ! Am I happy ?
Harlotte your name is poetry – what poetry !
Harlotte Harlotte my heavenly mood
but…….damn ! dear me ! oh, dear me !
I can’t feel you any more I ‘ve lost contact with you
Harlotte my sweet doll I can’t feel love any more
flown away like poor mad butterfly
Harlotte my too fleeting mood
oh, dear me ! I’m obliged by treacherous fate
to destroy my defective creation with lucid resolution
well – we carry out the sacrificial rite for Harlotte sketch popart
I grasp this scrap iron I raise my arm
towards the sky full of next meteodisasters
I yell possessed “ Caconikòn Caconikòn Spirò “
ritual shout a nonsense
I plunge the scrap iron in the heart of Harlotte sketch popart
which is placed near the lemon on my right
I mumble in falsetto – now I embody the dying Harlotte –
“ Dear me, virgin victim sacrificed to the unknown god “
I draw out the scrap iron stained with blood – what blood !
I brandish it again toward the sky
yelling “ Old good unknown boss with long white beard
and maxi gown trimmed with ermine !
to you I’ve sacrificed Harlotte
the greatest love of my life
le diable ait ton ame, Harlotte – Amen “
afterwards I dig small hole near the fine heap of technological shit
- our possible nuptial bed – I bury here
Harlotte sketch popart plus my untrue greatest love
plus two small rusty ball bearings plus blackish banana peels
plus bit of tire plus two squeezed lemons
plus little heap of ferrous barren earth
with music songs prayers of all kinds – AMEN


now I’m experiencing a crisis of my symbols
a very strong desire to destroy them
to dream something new to dream it with katartikòs pleasure
but I don’t have anything that I want to dream
I’m very sick of living in comfortable house
in mammoth city skyscrapers streets highways
hospitals cemeteries hotels clubs bigstores
buildings buildings buildings and neon lightings
producing in aseptic factory where there is no stench of men speck of dust
coming home tired looking at TV all evening
detesting my neighbour out of habit
seeing rumbling oceans of autos
smelling gasoline smog gas of all kinds
eating tinned meat soup fruit
making love once a month when I’m not drunk
looking at meadows covered by cans rubbish et coetera
rivers soiled by whitish greasestains
having money deposited with a bank
believing in the haunting symbols of the affluent society
driven into the brains by ideo-ad-media
in the sexual revolution in the next ecological catastrophe
thinking that from the twenty first century
all men will be happy like saints by the grace of Technology
people won’t die of hunger & cholera
the international charity will increase greatly
- doles for the underdeveloped countries ? –
there will not be nuclear catastrophes maybe small wars
we’ll venture on fabulous voyages troughout the universe
in search of new empires dreams symbols intelligences
the new culture will be our greatest pride
what, a new culture again ?!
by the help of innoxious cheap drugs we’ll perceive
the secrets of our inmost unknown worlds……….
but I don’t care a damn – for all these things
it’s only a good reason for an extraordinary hysteria
and a huge impatience of death
maybe I’ll try to find new symbols dreams existential values
out of
ALIENATION –GENERGAP – WAR – SEXINADEQUACY – NAPIMPERIALISM – GENOCIDE – RACISM – FANATICISM – FEAR – FRUSTRATION – VIOLENCE – FAILURES – OF –ALL – KINDS
In the womb of my shadow
Peut-etre
VOILA’ TOUT.