Category Archives: English translation


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.


Convictions: reflection
Of our latent expectations at the top,
Trickery in an urn, in suspension before the fall
Of a slight mist of sadness floating in the hut.

Altered perception
Of past poetic writings.
All this is just a lampoon
To my own person.
And the person will not respond if I sound.

The imaginary has no equal,
In that he surpasses the infernal reality.
Coat of illusions,
In order to warm up
From a torpor on mission
A prisoner’s heart.

We close, we defend ourselves,
To protect oneself from a pain lying.
So, my respects.
More than it seems, we taunt.

Alone, regret to appear as a dark tyrant
In order to hide a pure spirit sighing,
Only seeking interest-free acceptance,
But, however, posing as a kinglet,
Too scared to be exposed
By such an interesting muse.


Half-regret when thought covers action
And that tension loses its positive facet.
Helplessness that can turn into invective …
Perhaps as a result of a sad silence perceived as lack of attention.

How to act and interact if eyes whisper “yes”,
While the bodies are doubting and the heart is troubled.
Fear of failure guiding us away from reason; alteration of hearing. Yet so close, but I do not know if we can meet, or just think of it …

We should embrace each other in every sense of this sweet notion;
So why this distance remain so dense if we secretly incense ourselves?
Could it be simply my vision, vainly altering a factitious urge?
What to think of our ways of approach, although we can see ourselves stammering …

Have I seriously weakened my chances
To conquer your mysterious existence?
I’m able to act without waiting indigestible surplus,
Although I no longer know what gestures
It remains for me to accomplish
Before leaving.
Multiple interrogations that mutilates me,
But I jubilate if you esteem me.


Can you stop being, in this place, without showing your presence?
I keep asking myself if you will answer my instinctive call;
Surely, I deserve it, after all.
As I made you oscillate with a slight ounce of nonchalance;
But isn’t it the game’s essence? In this blur,

I acquit the bet that your “oversight” is only a subtle act
In order to better transcribe the fire during an imminent reminder.
O masterly quintessence, sensational play
Of appearance that will end up being, it seems …
So let’s lie down not far from this choir;

We will conceive the web of our infinite existences;
Yes, at last ended the misfortune, this is without appeal.
For the intense glory smiles upon who tempts.
The Sèvre will soon rejoin the sanitized Loire.
The sun sets, and from my lips you don’t come out so far.


Chilling on this tender cloud, a fleeting angel.
The warbling piano flying by at the wind’s discretion.
I’m asking myself.
I wonder.

Around, the world comes alive with serenity.
Will I witness a pugnacious plunder?
I wonder and summon.
I ask myself and contravene.

I scarcely dare to examine the heavens;
What if you understand what comes alive in my eyes?
Between the invisible energy that you send me,
The silence that one conceives,

Who gently binds us;
Finally, I believe. Delicious photo-novel.
Then, I’m asking myself …
I fly and I wonder …

If a  so sudden belief only smelled sulfur;
It would be suffering without breathing.
I don’t know whether to affirm it
Or stifle it or don’t give a fuck.

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?


I barely know you,
But hell, you could easily abolish my pain.
I don’t know if I can afford to write you this, certainly;
But it’s necessary that this chaos ceases.
How can I get you out of my head?

I think about the other night.
What tension when you touch me with your gaze!
This could drag me back under the surgeon’s knife.
Yes, a new faith.
You’d think I’m crazy about death.
It’s because she brings me so much comfort.

I read the signs sent;
Swirling necklace, body heading towards;
Drowned feelings. In the unconscious, born.
I saw the esteem soar to the heights;
I summon you to knock me out or put a hook on me,
Because I want to live this madness that has traveled through our irises.
It’s too late, I’m overcome with joy at this innovative view;
I thought I was contemplating a pretty idyll that still hibernates.
Please, tell me, am I wrong?

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.