“I have raised some women! And some men too. They were pressing in my house. They still crowd there, for the rise. I set the sights and rise. I dared to flames! Frankly. Although franchise is not my strong point. Nor my strong point. One to whom I have told everything. Even the unspeakable. What in no case should be said to a woman, she has heard. Yes.”
21 May 1949
I have raised women, I rise again. John with a hundred bodies. Where is the man with a hundred women, what has he become? He is naked. He has nothing on him. Nor anyone. Woman or man. As if on the day of his birth, he is handsome. Ass naked. Without reserve he puts on and plays his shirt. You can see his elbows.
What is the point of raising when you lower? An extra s. One more s. One falls when you are born too much. The rising man makes the man without — as only he does the action. The man without a wife and no top. Nor low. Nor without top. Up and down when he is drunk. He abuses! He drank. Hard drunkard. Beginning of spite. Red fish flow. As long as it lives, it moves.
Nothing is lost until you win. The man who raises can bounce back. He has only one word to say and everything will go back. But does he want it? Levantin bragging, you got up early, lifting the veto, you went to bed late, tartar in the evening, you get out fast.
The two most important days in your life are the day you were born and the day you find out why.
Already
The mosques in Istanbul already have their domes twinkling, minarets sparking to lure the muezzins. And on the mezzanine the party-goers are illuminated. It’s getting late, he does. How sad he looks! He is lost. Port due. His fold for Le Pouldu. Lent for a return, his plump au pair daughter. Balance sheet of unsold.
I write to say nothing. I laugh without a smile. There is no desire to cheer, to say with senses, these are the sounds that think. The brain sees nothing. The body, its only support that vibrates and unfolds according to a law other than reason. Your body is your home, your final prayer for the end of season.
-Do you want me? Let’s have a kiss. No sense and folly are more than strength or storm.
From Vaison-la-Romaine, you came up fresh and healthy to offer me your passion or combine your rations: camembert d’Ambert, calembour of Hamburg, squid of Colmar and all skient without soot.
Raise the sound
The meaning in absence is lesson the sound. The rhythm and rhyme in boat comes to life and no water roars at the bow without crime in you want here. Tie up beyond, and without hesitation, without hesitation, the electricity of the word excite can resurrect the opportunity to laugh and love. To stop thinking. Without spending too much on getting high, on coming, being happy without saying goodbye.
We will live longer in the pleasure of the eyes. We will live like bee bumblebees where a pleasure of ears is offered and paid. Split, broken, lost for lost, cause heard, all sold. I take back my due.
To rise and to push or who tries in your tush? Man raising women or Man Ray’s in we men? A man rising or Oman sizing? The womanizer or the woman either?
You use the same words than we use, but with you all is magnificent.
The Epic of Vieux Patate
Texts without head, rhymes without reason,
- Patate Days
- Farewell Old Pat
- Hodgepodge à la Patate
- Pockatoo Cockatoo
- Vieux Patate Unmasked
- I Patate
- Patate Ways
- Potato Hot
Kashtabalda
Texts without head, rhymes without reason, paths without purpose, for the pleasure of the body
The Ficelle Diary
Texts without head, rhymes without reason, paths without purpose, for the pleasure of the body that get it all not by meaning, but by sound.
- Knight de la Ficelle
- All The Old
- Man Raising Women
