where the sidewalk ends..

from what i heard yesterday..
'..because there is no love.this is how a community works.convenience takes precedence.'

and i look back at hans lucas ..
'..Such is the nature of dialectic in the cinema : one must live rather than last.It is pointless to kill one's feelings in order to live longer.We have indeed forgotten how to see : a sudden start of the shoulders means only fear,a wrinkling of the nose means only anger,when one is less anxious to grasp the action in its convultions than in its exposition.

..with old thoughts let us make new verses'

...'But what vanity,too,to insist at all costs on crediting language with a certain metaphysical quality.when it could only raise to the level of the sublime in very special circumstances.'
H.L.

jean luc

'It has been said aready:

In the crossways of kisses
The years pass too quickly

and life is rather like dancing.'
(H.L.)
(Jean Luc Godard,
La ronde,Gazette du cinéma 4,October 1950)


from the writings of Lous Aragon:
Méfie-toi Jessica
Au biseau des baisers
Les ans passent trop vite
Evite, évite, évite
Les souvenirs brisés.

my attempt at a literal translation follows,keeping it literal so you can make of it as you will...lol..long live the open end!

I distrust you Jessica
In the crossways of kisses
the years pass too quickly
avoids,avoids,avoids
the broken memories

'

In English, the apostrophe has two main functions: it marks omissions, and it assists in marking the possessives of all nouns and many pronouns.

borges..and godard

'there once was a man who wanted to create a world:so he began by creating houses,provinces,valleys,rivers,tools,fish,lovers etc. and at the end of his life,he noticed that this patiently elaborated labyrinth was nothing other than his own portrait'.
bummer.

the day after

it's one of those days.
the day which follows the day of utterly unbearable restlessness, you wish for the impossible, you sit for hours staring at the words in books you have loved, till you wrench yourself away from even them so you don't do them any harm. people are out of the question. it takes nothing to scare them. you see,.. these monsters have no tragic roots.
these monsters just simply are.
it's the day after one of those days when you don't know what to do with your hands, you feel your sleeves are too short, the shoes are too tight, the lips are too chapped, the music is not right.
yesterday the only thing right was the weather. Because it was the only real thing around.
yesterday the Beatles couldn't do me any good.
yesterday i struggled to be pleasant to all the people who had come and gone leaving a trail of violet dust in their wake
yesterday i wondered if i cared for anything really
yesterday i wondered at the restlessness, i wondered at its doing away with my sleep
yesterday i wondered about all the words stuck in my head with no place to go
yesterday i wondered about patience, and growing trees and families and children and traveling and ovarian in-growths
yesterday i wondered about staring at my ceiling fan through those days of fever, and then shifting to stare at the mosaic floor, le plancher et le plafond, le plafond et puis le plancher
yesterday i wondered at all the paracetamol i popped in so i could get moving again
yesterday i wondered at getting myself taken to the hospital because i couldn't handle my head any longer
yesterday i wondered at hearing from someone that soaring blood pressures also came of eating too much paracetamol
too much paracetamol.
was that what it feels like then ..to have too much paracetamol?
yesterday i wondered at my bag with its paracetamols
yesterday i wondered about how much more i had to travel to put this head at rest
yesterday i realised i wouldn't travel ever if this head were at rest
yesterday i realised i wouldn't pick up a book to read if this head were at rest
yesterday i realised it is this unrest that keeps me going