Farewell Old Pat
The Old Potato crossed the worlds, then the white light transformed him
The Old Potato crossed the worlds, then the white light transformed him
Wherever you smell, it smells rancid. Something is rotten in the state of Earth.
Why do I feel the tyrannical urge to rehash the past excesses of Vieux Patate?
He left the city, he left this world too, he left without leaving any address, he never had.
Everything you said about me is false, shameful and could not be heavier. I’m hallucinating.
Potato Hot, yo, like a French fries stall. Hot as embers, the blessed beggar.
Who cares about the Rule? The Flawless Warrior. Who cares about the warrior?
Reach out, spit on the ground, wooden well, iron spell, if I lie I go to hell…
Suddenly he comes, spinning wheel, hanging round, Kashtabalda’s back !
On the dusty roads Ficelle sang. He invents his choruses with his daily life, his setbacks and his gains
All the old folks are losing their heads. What do you think? Why would I be an exception?
“I have raised women! I have dared flames!” (Cahiers Ficelle, unpublished)