Category Archives: Bohemia


Knowledge: cursed fruit of experience.

My thematics: always mathematics.
I shelter a chimeric perceived criticism.

Friendly without being familiar,
Surrounded by vulgar, familiar,
Without being, friendly.

More the individual is, more the mystery is fascinating.
Approach or scuttle. I attack ridiculous corruption,
Because I do not feel so good in this tiny vise
Who hug me everyday.

Indeed, in hell, I consider you,
And in fact, I think you can not do anything for me.
So why am I fighting for you?
The only possible relationship is to see each other
In the miror.

No interest in waiting for praise,
Better to stay in the lodge.
Why fight with the domesticated
What I can find in the dark in me?
What use is there to use
My power for power?

7th sense unparalleled in the seven heavens.
Pure and perfect expression,
Uniqueness in mission, in friction, great bison.
5th level in   Dabro’s psycho’,
Where I sketch the tortures of the outclassed
By sleight of hand, chasing skillfully
The sacred authority that trains me: myself.

Destroy everything, then rebuild everything.
I deduce, to better lead me.
Just dig my hole;
This is sometimes a bit blurry.
Any creative action
Is first act of destruction,
So I approach the string, tune the string,
Transship the aorta, absorb the horde.

Some establish themselves as deprived of values,
Amplify in error, but tear is the weapon.
They distinguish bad, imagine chaos;
Drink booze to let go,
While I’m intellectualizing;
While I’m intellectualizing what I’m intellectualizing …
Me, in the capsule, you, on the train from evening to morning.
Divine cycles, endless issue, distant fabric,
Supreme sovereign.


Homage to Catalonia

In Brussels, it’s silence.
We don’t know yet which side of the balance is tilting finance.
Not that she’s forced to choose one:
She can remain serene as a sovereign, for sure.
In the event of secession,
The Commission could validate the accession process.
One question remains:
What will really bring the exclusion of this region?

On television: “Good evening,” fast, vile truncated vision:
Absence of the symbol and red & black flags.
The elites are still trying to avoid the swell of their worst nightmare.
Separatist propagandists spread their messages on social networks;
Some images are manipulated and come from past manifestations.
It will be said that it’s fair game, each ardently defending its ideals.

If the radical circles take over the affair,
It’s perhaps to enlighten what they hope for;
But it’s clear that the events,
Only forms one more bourgeois revolution.
Independent or not, the order will not change at all.

Without rancor, winners will boast the economic merits of their false liberalism,
In order to consolidate their newly achieved power in this false schism,
Attacking the Spanish government, which, for fear, yields to fascism.
How sad and yet fascinating it is to witness this impotent ploy!
Yet this event remains important, even if nothing really changes.

Why don’t you change

Why don’t you change?
Why do you tread water?


The need must be slaked.
Screw your laziness;
They appear,
Even though it will be my saddlebag;
On the terrace
My flowers embellish.


I don’t know,
Cultivate yourself.
You didn’t understand
That was the purpose?
I have already passed my NEWT ;
You liked the forbidden fruit.

You’re going to coil, coil
Twist, twist!
Do you understand?
Got it, got it.

Why don’t you sing?
Why do you tread water?


You quarrel,
That’s the hiccup.
Change team.
You don’t have your diagnosis.
Me, I’m an Auror
Facing the horror.


It’s rare.
You lose your way,
Already too late.
We break up
Without a fight,
What a defect.

You’re going to coil, coil
Twist, twist!
Do you understand?
Got it, got it.

Why don’t you change?
Here, you’ll never have your place.


There I rise at dawn
To arrive on time.
You have to ignore yourself
Or you have to scent;
Put your piece in the metering,
Satanic worshiper.


Locked on the rail,
In fact, you’re derailing.
I’m not at the conquest of the West.
I’m going to the East. Or is it
dead and in fact
I’m stubborn?

Degenerated Eugenics

On your mark, ready? Go!
Just launched, there’s already one on the finish line.
He didn’t cheat, no,
He just has a better aptitude,
Better qualifications.
It’s posted, it’s affirmed.

If you don’t understand what I’m writing to you,
I hope you will at least be tempted to open a book.
Because to be dead tired is sad, I vomit
When it happens to a person who only knows how to squat.

I just want to “discuss”, they naturally want to “exchange”.
I will never understand their scheduled escape,
Mathematics, they don’t even have a vague idea.
I feel dark
When these people sink;
This creates a tension that tends Zion so much it goes to my head.
You know, will isn’t pure sin,
Even if they have calculated the future in the past.

I crossed the cape, so, frankly,
I bring meaning into your white head.
Do you understand the steep path you have to take?
Knowledge and virtue are watchwords.
This is as true for them as 1 + 1 = 0.
I move forward in time difference to surprise them.
Above, I say more than: “we must hang them”.

When the worst comes up to me, I have a backward movement,
And I stretch because I know we’ll learn it in the ass.
And basically, it’s in the shade that one takes color,
So I abound with positive waves until I cry
Too many times not to give more ideas
And shape the cinema that awaits me within reach.

(This last paragraph was difficult to translate into English as it plays on double meanings in French)


How many individuals asked for help in a half-tone,
And how many will insist again through a beautiful lament,
Almost embarrassed to confess that they lose foot,
Though tempting to open their hearts to what suits them.

What affliction when tribulations in the prison point to inaction.
Consolation in reclusion, dismay without cooperation,
At the edge of the basement window, immersion in an immense fairground of perdition;
Ouch! Losing diction.
It’s in the negation of these evils that speech returns.

Who closes his eyes becomes (in)capable of guilt?
There is no choice between culinary art and heartbreak;
Yob, don’t run away from yourself, drived into prostitution under radar;
Be cheeky to cultivate clean air and culminate in heart.

If my words articulate the abstraction of my actions,
And if I hammer them over and over again –
Charming irony of fate –
Perhaps they will land in secret within the concrete
That desmay me, but willingly attract my will
Towards a divine infinity which denatures me in constellation.


Attempt to write in front of entertainment
Comes down to foolishly plunge into nothingness,
Because consciousness is altered by a smoke screen
Who reasons with one voice in oneself.

Why want to sow so much terror and confusion,
If not to break the phantasm of an instinctive hope?

Thus, the thought is locked away tirelessly
At the simple request of an artificial idea recreating
A semblance of reality in order to eclipse
The creative ideas that may arise from a sharp mind.

Perhaps it can satisfy an awkward,
And, moreover, make him curse such a shriek,
But the sagacious embraces only fleetingly
Such an enchantment by leaving a trace.


I often hear: “If it blow, I go out in the street”
But every morning they leave for the hive.
Soon, it’s “take that and hush,” and
In fact, want more …

There’s no miracle solution if you’re lost in the mirage.
Do you see the cleavages stranded on the shore?
If you’ve failed, it’s weird;
Maybe you’re not a good pirate?

At this moment, the guy on the watchtower sleeps a lot.
He’s drunk, completely crazy;
Dry and strong, especially.
He drags you into a storm without dawdling;
On the pretext of sex, it’s annoying,
But true.

He said releasing the freedom of his chains thanks to progress,
But drunkard, he denies that his task
Is to be condemned to perpetuate legitimate violence.
Feeling the boat pitching, soon he leans, embarrassed,
Paying handsomely bitches and zealous guys
In order to perpetuate the farce, one last day, for pity’s sake!


I’m only White on the outside,
When I throw away all the darkness
With ardor on the scammer,
Simple asylum seeker facing the examiner.
I do it gently to force forces
To shoot the albatross and build the slaughterhouse
Of their values vaguely waltzing
Since the end of childhood; beliefs.

The financial substance is based on resistance or impotence.
If you are too often satisfied by fashion,
You’re most probably ignorant.
At the edge of the crevasse, the pig.
Time passes and pass away,
I don’t know yet if I leave.

There’s no difference,
Whether I shoot or not.
There’s no more innocence.
Whether I shoot or not,
No difference, really
No difference.

What can push you
To this kind of thoughts
If not to be born stillborn?
It’s dreary and I spread the wreck
As a small pirate who makes
A brick wall away from your panic.
Your life swallows you, you’re so seedy.
Oval view, I scream in peace.

Apparently a private residence,
Is security.
Apparently an innate distrust,
Is sectarian.
I perceive everything opposite
To what they say to show us;
“Ministry of Defense”
For our security, did you get it?
What unconsciousness! What decadence!
Where is common sense?

There’s no difference,
Whether I shoot or not.
There’s no more innocence.
Whether I shoot or not,
No difference, really
No difference.

Golden Tower

From the top of her golden tower,
She passively protests against the Golden Order, and
At the edge of the forest, the poor are ringing the bell.
She believes to elaborate a rope, but
She only condemns them to a death without halo.
She perceives herself in their reflections sent back by a mud-water beaten with blows.

In any case, this is what she says to the ignoramuses.
It’s what she exclaims, but she doesn’t spread much energy.
From now on, she’s on her knees.
It’s heartbreaking, and she’s angry against the old fools.
In any case, this is what she explains selfishly.
It’s painful to light down the deaf who are drowning.
It’s more enviable to veil by living in a sneaky way.

Deep down, in her ivory tower, she no longer sees anything.
Did she once perceive
The monster that has made her so affluent?
She decides not to believe it in order not to fall,
And it’s her choice … Yes, is it her choice?
It’s cruel ; But what isn’t?

Her goldsmith adorns her with audacious ornaments,
And she sometimes leans so one could see her cleavage.
Maybe she can then make them take off?
She no longer unload herself toward the call of the forest;
Replace the string with a whip,
Because it’s the price to pay to isolate herself

At the top of her golden tower.


Since in the city there aren’t many people who cultivate their garden,
I wipe the vile Iliad as a sincere monster who pursues his purpose.
Rebel infantryman of a sad and nameless army who castigates the rascal.
Feline witness of a faded breeze in the shadow, which dazzles the ruler.

When I go outside, it’s always targeted.
I rarely go to places where they want my big banknotes.
Broken ego, terrorize, be oppressed, is beautiful who is.
When I sleep, my body is all crazy, yes it’s
True, nothing soft, you can see my fangs shine.
Equals valued, mold, laughing stock, being high, override, is beautiful who is.

To conform to the norm is to escape from life.
To condemn oneself to death is to get out of it.
Those who formed the standard are all horrible.
This idiot damned to death is even worse.

Otherwise get accustomed. Stop seeing blood clumping;
No more exchanges, to gather.
No longer seize chance, to struggle.
The meaning flows from my nose, I don’t have time to sleep.