Le univers des discours est toujours drôle. Et l'écriture? Drôlement! Récupérer!

Posted: Wednesday, July 1, 2009 | |

I will remember these beginning years in Paris fondly as; "the years in which I had amazing numbers of imaginary french conversations". Not to mention the abundance of conversations based on my creative language band-aid theory, wherein I imagine that it's okay! that I didn't quite grasp the subject, chapeau/chateau, but on with the exchange! And by the end of it I'm leaking such obscene amounts of enthusiasm from my pores that I just may have contributed, psychokinetically, to global warming.

Since I am incapable of sarcasm ( really, guileless) I say the above with complete positivity and amusement. It's a good thing to laugh at yourself. Especially because being in the state of making mistakes is much, much better than being in the state of timidity. I think that I am a very lucky woman in my ability to amuse myself with all my shut-in socially odd old cat lady talks to herself tendencies. It's a walking, talking, imaginary french speaking reserve of ha has. Though I have been noticing recently that living in Paris for 2 years with varying degrees of flea bitten french has made me fond of talking to myself. For prolonged periods of time, in very public places, and I have somehow become unaware of actually doing it. Oh, it's very subtle, that under the breath kind of 'curious George, you've done it again!' repartee, but let's hope it eases up with the influx of new social french activity that's flooded my life. Just a teensy bit though.

I'm caught in a catch 22 writer scenario, where I have all these lovely places to write, and yet for the health of my romantic relationship and privacy profession-wise, I am unable to write as I please. The inescapable eventuality of online confessors everywhere. I miss out on what bi polarity brings to me- those absolute creative heights, absolutist and reductionist if taken by themselves, but as pieces...sharp, permitting me an experience bordering on transcendental. Reading what I wrote and not recognizing it. Playing, experimenting, without having to make sure the 'holistic sum' of my blog, whatever venue, seems mentally stable and healthy. Because there are real consequences for me if it doesn't. There's a direct line between what I produce and a series of resulting consequences for my romantic relationship. There's no line drawn between creation and reality, the necessary elements of escapism, singularity, and often violence in producing creatively, whether fine art or written products. No distance. I am sad. At the same time though it forced me away from the easy inspirations like sadness, hurt, anger and towards more unique ones. Helped me grow out of sometimes adolescent moments in expression. Life; always two sides to the story...actually, this merits more thought! Perhaps it's something positive in disguise....will get back to you on that, blog of mine.

My lovely friend Thierry translated one of my poems for a online french literary site- something that made me smile for days! How lovely to have someone like your writing enough to take the time to translate it...on top of un mille bisous I am also cooking up a nice long story for Thierry, as he requested that I write something longer, different that poetry, more prose. It's funny how used you get (and how comfortable- slow to want to change positions) to certain forms as a writer...for me, it's poetry. It becomes a bit like coming home, that separate gentle universe. But I like being uncomfortable because I believe strongly that a little sadism as far as comfort zones goes a long way.

Today I want nothing more than to really make out, all first date new skin type of kissing. My high libido can really be frustrating; I'm like a 14 year old adolescent boy. Not much room for subtlety. On a note that makes me feel less ridiculous about the above my grandmother was being treated for nymphomania at one point. The key is to channel all that amazing organic tension and energy into something exciting. And be alone for a while.

Well...french, writing, sexual health...that covers it all, lovelies. Back with that story sometime next week.

Thierry's fantabulous amazing translation; find the fiery man himself here.

Il est temps de liquider l’ancien poème et d’espérer l’amorce d’un nouveau.

Paris est gris aujourd’hui, tout ça à cause de ma stupidité et d’une série de malentendus. Au même instant tout peut s’avérer étonnamment humain et moi, étonnamment conservatrice. Emotive, lorsque j’imagine une étude de caractère. Résultat, en voilà un bien amoché qui prend des allures de statue, et l’autre se demandant quelle plus profonde inquiétude pourrait s’avérer suffisante. Je suis triste à l’idée de ce prétexte qui n’en finit pas de renvoyer mes excuses, admises mais ignorées. Ce n’était pas ça, ça ne l’a jamais été, et tu le sais. Quand cela a-t-il pu sembler plausible ou cohérent, justifié par mes actes ?… Je ne peux imaginer un seul moment qui pourrait le confirmer… mais le gris conteste, je me sens perdue.

Je vais déambuler dans Paris et prétendre à une certaine clarté.

le paradis était ;

blanc nous sommes, regagnant le blanc

et les interstices de nos phrases se cristallisent, ponctuation frénétique amnistiée

et leur mélodie décline, comme aggravée du fardeau de chaque lettre,

« humainement » reste sans considération – pas la moindre trace d’humanité,

et les minutes de jusant silencieux,

épousent la courbe d’une terre


pluriel nous sommes, regagnant le pluriel

et traquant les détails de l’ardent désir

nous avons compté sur cette étendue désolée,

parmi les départs et les arrivées et les atterrissages invalides,

lorsque tout le monde crie « aberration » ou ce genre de label commode,

nous avons compté sur cette étendue désolée

il y a un motif qui perce lentement ;

je le console,


tout toujours étrange, tout toujours notre demeure

paradis nous sommes, regagnant le paradis



  1. Cait* said...
  2. Ahem to amusing oneself. Its its absolutely necessary. And it makes the day pass more quickly. I do have cats though...

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