ROSEANNE, MERCED, CA

The vitiligo stains on her arms and hands
and the bandages on her legs were like the flowers and the litter
on the bushes along the freeway were she was sparing for change.
She is a mother but i can't remember the name of her son
and she hasn't seen him in 20 years...

Before i asked for her name i wanted to call her Mary
because she had an immaculate blue dress and the red plastic umbrella
between her pale hair and the burning California sun
was shining a red glow on her freckled face,
and after she told me her name was Roseanne,
            she told me her nickname was Mary.

She had ridden the Greyhound bus to Florida to see her family
and when she got there and no one was there
            she had a heart failure.
The ambulance took her to the hospital
but instead of taking care of her
_______broke as she was
they strapped her to a hospital bed
at the UNIVERSITY HOSPITAL OF MIAMI
they tested drugs and products on her legs,
the doctors and students around the hospital bed.
She said they had strapped 200 people on the beds
and tested shit on them.
She said she could still hear the screams in the night.
One thing's for sure she could still feel the burns on her very body.

America and the rest of the fucked up human race
has not enough of the monkeys and dogs in the labs
now they're so used to inflicting pain on abused lives
that they take their Lower Class Saints
and hold them in captivity
like the American Nazis at the Hospital in Miami.

I told her to go rest at a YMCA or something
but there is no YMCA in Merced
there is a lotta SUVs and Taco Bells,
Carl's Juniors and Am-Pms
Mc Donald's and Shell stations
but no YMCAs.

I gave her a bottle of water and a green bill
and as i left she told me "God bless you".
Well, maybe he has blessed me
…after he has blessed the surgeons,
the medecine students,
the troops and cops,
the white majority at the drive in,
and after that if he has the time
he will bless the people on the street corners and freeway exits
that go to jail for holding a sign
and have to walk all the way back to their corner
like modern days Sisyphuses under the burning sun
like Victor, Roseana's friend;
those who get their tents dismantled by pigs
and their legs bitten by bugs, their necks by spiders.
Maybe at that same time Obama is at his desk working on the Health Care Reform
but i don't trust Obama
and i don't trust God either

i don't trust the Silent Majority
and the minorities forever waiting
in their quiet Americansumerist cocoon
for the revolution to start on TV.

un parmi les autres, recueil DIY en construction...
Love always.

WINDOW BANE

Everyday, while writing at my desk
i often look out the window to the parking lot
separating my Welfare building from the middle class houses

and every day at the same exact hour i see a blue car parking
on the white-lined lot opposite my window.
____________Number 807.
The driver exits along the neighbors' bushes, closes the driver's door and,
keys in hands walks around the shabby car with a tiny sun roof whose edges are chipped by the sun.
His black pants and tucked white shirt caress the leaves,
he comes out the front of the car, switching his leather briefcase to his key-holding hand and combs his buzz cut,
his red tie sits impeccably, hiding the buttons of the shirt.

He starts whistling while reaching the back wheel:

the soundtrack to his perfect choreography,
everyday he dances in front of me,
unseen and undisturbed
master of the block's cosmos,
he passes the two trees that sit at the entrance of the parking lot
acclaimed by the birds and the soft summertime sun
and commences his run on the gravel sidewalk.
Pay day or not, rain or sun
always the same fucking run.
Today as he slips from my sight at the corner of the beige building
i wonder.
Tomorrow is Sunday, what the hell is he goin to do with his day?
Will he dance and whistle in the comfort of his appartment?
Will he lay his white collar uniform on the chair or the in the chest-a drawers
knowing it'll be worn again the next morning?
Will he leave the TV on?
Will he realize the sick routine has been paused
and enjoy the day off or linger on the things left undone at the office
while his kid or his wife try to talk to him?
Am i even any better than him?

As my scornful thoughts spin
my eyes catch the glowing blond hair
of a very desirable middle-aged woman
in a red tank top and tight jeans who's just parked her car...
and a second later my neighbor, a cancer survivor
who i haven't seen in a while on her way to the bakery,
then the bus stops and my sister exits with the wind in her hair.

If the world's bound to be wretched by the routine of shabby-car-driving executives at least my neighborhood has its saints.

L'enregistrement de l'album du projet Spoken Words and Open Chords est terminé, il sera disponible bientôt...

En attendant, une petite vidéo réalisée par Brice Gelot de la venue de Scott Bourne à Dijon dans le cadre des soirées Musique Mythes Murder: [lien]

SILENCE DOESN'T MEAN A THING II

The Earth has been here for a long time
but under these snowflakes
that froze my mistakes
it feels it could be the end.
Are we so desperately reaching for the end?
Are we so eager to know the end
that we destroy the place that we're given
by solid hands?
That we slay the living creatures
drench them in petroleum
cut them open with a knife and cook them?

Aren't we supposed to be afraid?

Primaveral feelings are at bay
a frozen bay
like the park and the lake.
We haven't seen the sky for five days
instead of it, covering it
a uniform grey mass drifted endlessly
like the released souls of forsaken ghosts
knowing the taste of freedom at last,
these ghosts i soaked like a ghostly sponge
while my lungs absorbed smoke,
lying on the bed and seeing red.

Red
like the sun that finally appears today
that fills the sky with a new tinge and hue
that changes the landscape and my mood,
that hungs hammocks of purple and orange
to the skeletons of the trees that line
the industrial avenue with its fences and trucks.
Red
like the sun i chase while it sets
at the end of another afternoon,
that is leaving way too soon,
like a girl you couldn't get to know
before she had to go back home, north,
It had just appeared
but now must leave for the moon.
So i look down to the wall
that spreads along the industrial avenue,
holes on the wall are like ballroom for birds.

Pigeons are out on the snowless ground
they patiently pace around
fearless of the cars and the sound.

Une interview de Gabriel et moi (Spoken Words and Open Chords)
dans le cadre du festival Humanist Records: [lien] l'Oreille au Poste du 11/3
Merci à Marie et sa collègue @ Radio Campus

"this mess in my head is a mess getting out"

Je lirais quelques uns de mes textes
le 10 mars à 13h15 à l'Atheneum (université de Dijon)
accompagné de mon cher ami Mr Mojo de Lillo à la guitare et autres instruments
(pause méridienne gratuite et ouverte à tous)
Un avant goût sur myspace

THE ADULT CRASH

The cop said "Walk when the green light's on
drive on, drive on, drive on!"

"Stand still" said the photographer
the clothes designer said "more fur!"
"it's murder" said the vegan
"just walk" said the pedestrian
the director said "think harder"
"That'll never sell" said the movie producer
the music producer said "change his voice"
"harder, better, faster, stronger"
said the electronic voice.
"Do your homework" said the teacher
"take what we have" said the employment worker
the hipster said "oh my god that's awesome!"
the artist said "it's already been done..."
God said "stop calling me"
Santa Claus: "d'ya have work for me?"
Jesus ordered for twelve
Judas said "you're a dead man..."

The pope said something in latin
the pop star said something about love
and the audience listened.
"I'm an alcoholic" said Steve
and the audience said "Hi Steve"
The freak said "i ain't an animal"
the conformist: "can't you just be normal?"
the housewife said "wipe your feet"
the diabetic: "that's too sweet"
the white collar got a burnout
and the boxer got knocked out.

The communist said "share!"
the nihilist said "dare!"
The ecologist: "look what you've done"
BP said "come on, it's only oil..."
The protest singer: "it ain't right!"
the pop singer: "does that sound right?"
the rich man said "what's the price?"
the poor man said "where's my slice?"
the capitalist said "more profits"
and the worker said "i quit"
the journalist said "bullshit!"
the editor said "write it!"
the writer got writer's block
the pornstar said "suck my cock"
the director: "don't change the lines!"
the poet said "it does not, necessarly, have to rhyme."

The cocaine addict said "more lines"
"walk it" said Johnny Cash
"the light's not green" said the cop
the rebel said, "fuck you, i got nothing to lose!"
the buddhist and the bum asked
___________________"do you?"

Cité du Soleil, janv 2010

UNTITLED

People were looking at a big bird passing,
______hovering, steady,

In the night, on the carless street
the few people were walking slowly,

The bird was drifting, singing, free.

The streetlamps were reflecting on the wet pavement,
the song and the shadows were absorbed in the cement,

The people were going home,
it was around three,
_____and the bird was me.


----------------

INSOMNIAC HAIKU

Growing hatred for this bed
that doesn't let me sleep.
I glance out the window
in the darkness where i want to slip.


to my very good friend Gabriel

compact disc available

SILENCE DOESN'T MEAN A THING

The students' heads were bent down as i paced around,
the sole of my shoes made a noise i like on the linoleum.
As the kids took a test
i took time to look at the sun
setting towards the hill,
beyond the railroads tracks.
The three classes of the afternoon succeeded
while it was slowly setting,
the sky was turning pink, orange and green.
It finally hid behind the hill
givin' it a golden linin'.

I made sure i caught a glimpse of these last inexorable minutes
and i witnessed the moment the world turns into darkness
watching the universe quietly work its perfect geometry
through a clean classroom window with white plastic frames.

I rode home in the navy night
and the snow started to pile up like ash
as if to remind us that one day we'll have to return.
It covered the roads and the sidewalks
of this same route i take every single day
back and forth many times a day
like a circle, a dead-end loop.
The snow glew in the night
and made everything drowsy;
i wanted to stain it with red
and call back the summer sun
like the King Without Distraction
but i kept following where the bike lane was.

My tires burned their black lips on the cold,
I started coming up with words
______not to feel alone:
Tree roots are covered by tar
pretty soon it'll be too late
pretty soon it'll be too far
open skies above us all
open rhymes to save us all
or what's left of our souls.
Hope must be found
like a silver lining on a cloud,
it dies last but slow
unless we're bound
to what they call Heaven or Hell
after the days of old.
If time is like the virgin snow
let's leave footprints before we go.

THE GOOD, THE BAD AND THE BULLSHIT

The priest gets up from his chair
his uniform is well-ironed and impeccably black,
the square under his adam's apple is impeccably white
like his skin and his hands,
the only human flaws that appear
as he stands before the conference massed up in the room.
He says that God speaks through our bodies;
his when he preaches,
ours when we act the way we should.
Me?
Doubt denies me the right to let go
to these thoughts and echoes
from beyond the pale of reason
where their faith roams free and runs
and their hands praise god, not the sun
but the son,
that millenary misunderstanding
from the war of Images to the war of the Roses
mistaking a solar star for a demiurge
a cross for a horseshoe
coins for icons
with godly heads and devil tails
and morals to restrain.

As they all follow and recite
the rosary in my head
is tangled and intertwined.

Behind the priest are stupid posters
_________________and well-labelled shelves.