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Task Grise Conceptual or Flattening Heterogeneous (Conceptual Photo No. 025)

Dear reader,

Again, these traitors have prevented me months to satisfy your thirst for conceptuality. I apologize but know you understand me, because you have spent there.

To return to this photo, you can see here a broadcast off, as a sudden flattening of any verbal conceptual, unlike the Conceptual Photo No. 023, where the glow spreads its warmth in our hearts snow. However, notwithstanding a stain obscures this moving blackboard may not be covered with chalk to see what life is enlightened concept dark well, I suggest the following interpretation: When the first First, what we see is spotless, seems perfect, moves us and makes us confident, sometimes you look more closely to discover the spot that darkens everything, leaving us puzzled and in doubt. It is better to discover before, under penalty of trouble. We could summarize this by the simple phrase metaphorically: "The foot of a lighthouse is still in the shade should be back to see its light.." Thus s'applatit this picture, which can make you happy, as desperate as I am.

I hope this is clear enough and will put you on the way, although my explanation are confusing. Understand: these concepts Me are so common that I can think hard to express them with clarity.

Sincerely, Your
model to everyone,
Me
Conceptual Girl

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VI Absorption

Photo: Altphoto

On yawn
I inspire your cells
I absorb your blood, I drink
of your skin
and drown thy waters

From a yawn, I
t'expire
on my bed I spit on my life
I'll book my place to share our skies


inspiration
expiration
I
well absorbed everything I have everything filed
yet
Stuck inside of me
in my throat into my belly
bits of
you in my flesh, in my den
mixed well with me.
I keep them, digests them without restraint and offers you

my tips I am proud

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I'm loving the stranger fled, Who travels
hungry, your paths without paper.
No need to guide your country to find
I enjoy your site, delightful ballad.

I am the visitor, unanticipated your days diving deep
Who at any time, on your roads endless. A customs
challenged, the borders of our lives more
no limit to the race for love.

We are deserters, paths imposed
And here we are camping on our pre love
position of our beings, to thwart all rounds
Who would try to discourage us.

3 Days Late, High Cervix

Landscape Sheltered balconies

Photo: Sophie.P

Sitting on the balcony, watching the world
rolling, walking, making his rounds.
It raises images and traces of odor
he piled in eyes of many colors.
Small world at his door, cityscapes
where trees are fighting forgotten human
Sitting on his thoughts, he observes the life
who plays under his windows, right there, right here
He met his soon hopes to share this show
street not only as a fool
Small world at his feet, unexpected encounters
of known and unknown open to his view .

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Short History VI

A few steps from the door of her parents, she was standing there, erect and motionless. He had told her not to move, he no longer wanted to hear. So she obeyed, and even tried to control his breathing to be forgotten. Yes, to be forgotten, lost forever, no longer exist! Such was his desire at this time. Go, run away and never return. Leave them, disappear from this world dark and gloomy. And then forget them! Memory loss, erasing the memories and throw himself into the lake to drown the images and sounds.

The next time she will be careful next time there will be no next time because it will make sure it never happens again. She promised. His arms were
now become very heavy, very heavy, flattened his hands more to the point that his head felt as if his feet slowly sinking into the ground.
How long had she remained there motionless?

She heard now through the door of his father snoring. Sudden relief of not having to fear to see tumbling down again, no longer having to hear his cries. She wanted to call his mother, begging her to come and deliver. She hoped both hear the door open and see approach to take her in his arms. But nothing! She saw nothing, heard nothing until she what she perceives between the snoring of his father, a slight growl. Her mother, too, had fallen asleep.


It is now more than twenty minutes it looked. She sees the faces and scroll body deformed by life. She understand that she would not come that day because it is the day they receive their benefits, because that's when they'll be able to eat a little meat, a drink with friends the pub on the corner and play their little lottery. She knows it yet, she came anyway because she had nothing else to do, like all other days elsewhere. While

scans the electronic display that scrolls very slowly on the numbers waiting, she sees him. It stands near the door, bolt upright, proud as a cock. It seems to mumble a few words to a lady who follows it closely, then he advances.
He tries to find a seat and gets upset against a man because his dog was lying in front of the open seat. Finally he managed to sit while continuing to dribble a few words under his breath. The lady is still standing near him.

She rises and approaches. That's him! Yes him! Whoever has stolen everything, the one who murdered, who flew in shine his childhood and his dreams. It is there before her, sitting with bowed head, the look in his shoes. She wanted to scream, spit in her face her hatred, shouting to the world his anger against this man who took everything. But she still standing there, motionless, without any word can get out. Then he raises his head, stares at her a moment before asking:

- j'vous know?

She stammered "no" and then she went to sit a few seats from him.

All her life she had been waiting for this day, when she could pour out all his hate on this guy. She had hoped the cross Random and finally fulfill his desire for revenge. And she found there, sitting a few paces from him, petrified with fear, as the little girl abandoned on the doorstep, looking toward the wall and hands on their heads in obedience to the tyrannical father. Lost in her grief, she do not even hear the call number. But it startled by hearing a name, hers, and finally that she had before, that of his birth, before the hospital before the fire and before the host families. She would flee away, fade and run, run, run to find that lake and drown all his memories, all his pains and sorrows. But it stays there motionless and expect nothing more, not even a voice and comforting arms because she knows she never will.


She now hear a noise of sirens and diffuse a distant voice asking him his name. She does not remember, she does not know, she forgot. And she does not remember either of what happened that day, the day of her 8 years old when his father returned home totally drunk and he took him to his room to offer his gift. She no longer remembers the pain, blood on the sheets and insults from his father. What she knows is that this is the night she vanished, evaporated and that he awoke a few days later, she had no name.

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So maybe one day ...




Photo: Sophie.P

If men were silent laugh to hear better
misery these children, who experienced the worst
If finally admitted their mistakes kill
repeating endlessly, a lost war.
They count their ancestors who fell on the fields of horror
and collect bits of things, petrified with terror
They recite by heart the story of their oldest
that of a father or sister, they have been convicted
But nothing deters them from tracing the path
and nothing persuades them to change their tomorrows
not even their children, with bombs rocked
that when they grow up, live circled graves
If men were silent for more yelling
high cliff, these women torn
If finally admitted their mistakes we USED BY
by listening ever, our hopes that burst
then maybe one day ...