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A Vengeance

Drawing Topor offered Towarnicki . Time is running out, "every hour wound, the last kills" as it is written on the dial of the clock, and the little man gets on the needle of the stopped clock to go to the afterlife.

The last drop offsets the small amount of its catalog by the high quality of the selection.

Bartleby recently gave voice to Christopher Sedierta who heads home since February 2008. Attention to "authors who are not afraid to face the darkness of the world and manage to turn it into a literary surprisingly powerful," it shows us that passion is not a word meaningless.

The tavern had already highlighted Adalina Silvio Huonder Children and disappear Bañez Gabriel, who will again be honored in 2011 with The Virgin of Ensenada .

So she just propose The storyteller signed Jakob Wassermann, unpublished translation by Dina and Nathalie Regnier Sikiric Eberhardt, already responsible for one of the tavern-Adalina invites you to enter the maze unsustainable business day, a novel by Jacques Sternberg , originally published in 1961 (in Losfeld).

Having slipped during twenty-four hours in the little Habner, we understand why the last drop loudly claimed she "loves the word, words which smack, which fuse, the slap and claw and bite. The cruel tales, dialogues acids.

And the pictures too unreal, contrasting, venomous and absurd. "

" Life could be simple, yet if there were not days. Live a great passion, centuries or more lives, it's easy, harmless. Live a single day, "that poses other problems. Strange indeed to think that the man wakes up sometimes at night, terrified by a nightmare and it never happens to him to recover in sweat, terrified to stand in a day like so others stuck in this existence that we must support the pretext a bit ridiculous that between life and death is no provision for an interim solution. "

THE MORNING

A business day may close without having been read, seen or known, but then we are likely to miss something, to be unconsciously ignoring or even stay at our beginning. With the drawback to stay away from all that trouble intempéripéties the daily life of a man that we know nothing, except his loss elementary, since the clock told him it was time to resume of abuse. If days bombard their usual monotony as a perpetual mass, Habner waking has the air of having forgotten his identity, the nightmares of his sleep, dreams of a summer night, the next day like yesterday. And it is not without displeasure that he drew a line under that which comes before him.
It's time, insists he wakes up through the ringer with deafening roar similar to that of a jackhammer. Time for what, after all? Ask him, it costs nothing to try. At worst, you wipe a silence as heavy as a leaden, as a glacial iceberg in the middle of a piece of Alban Berg.
In this apartment the ramifications worthy of a city in full boil, Habner not think members of his family residing in more dead than alive. Still, the nature of their parentage, or the spinning will know, remains uncertain. You end up believing that Habner circulates in a loop in a labyrinth without exit, that something is amiss or wrong. You choose your friends but not his hunger one might say at the sight of the fury with which his cousinspecteurs, adoptive son, preterm mothers, aunts customs, imaginary women, mothers-in attendants, strive to make her life as boring as a priesthood. Yes, life balance, it serves as a bone to the undertaker's men in particular.
Beware of your neighbor, your previous one, and you too. Habner himself did not he once wrote an anonymous letter in which he personally denounced. The only reliable
remains of this deceiving world is undoubtedly his audio system, although some failures are likely to question its status as the sole engraved disc collection of his heat.

Roland Topor

THE AFTERNOON

In this microcosm upside down literally and figuratively at each, without really knowing it, to ruin faster than it should time to tell. A war rages unabated without interest within the four walls cracked, cracks between the ceiling and the floor paneled battlefield. At the forefront of fantasy, the administration moved in a chaotic first floor above the second. It decays inside his house while they choked off. The intemperance of the climate is matched the timelessness of situations.
Taken to its climax, perfectionism causes the destruction of industrial production. At the heart of the plant where Habner remembers as bad as many have previously unsuccessfully to work, the rods were cut to their extreme sinking, so they make mine disappear.
conversations similar to the dialogues of the deaf, where the misunderstandings are legion, where the word of one another and make use of every king. The laws, in turn, grant that the faith's most totalitarian absurdity. Among a lot of action all the more preposterous than the other, it has seemed to take the precaution retroactive ban automobiles long before the invention of engines.

In this world where all the principles seem reversed, the time seems fortified rolling in his power, thwarted in its linear aspect. Past leaks like the reflection of a mirror in which we attempt to intercept the projection of a memory.

"My wife legitimized aware that we are married? Nothing is less certain. I could almost swear that she left me before even meeting me. Regardless, I got this situation. I admitted that I have no presence. Even the mirrors do not always refer to me a reflection. Since the mirrors avoid me, I avoid them too, I has none. "

Roland Topor illustrating Alice

THE EVENING

Therefore, it is in the future we must go to detect traces of a future perfect. At the Office of Recovery Days Faulty is also one days to follow that one can relive forever. Always present time, however, because in the machinery of killing effect, there are unknowns that obey as undesirable. At every turn
lexical field, the narrator Electrician bypasses words and their original purpose. We are witnessing a collision of ailments that result in a cemetery of dead and downed all the more exquisite than the other. The word of a bite than the other in a carnival spirit cannibal and eating and absolutely enjoyable. Corrosivitalité of explosive, the terms are confused, rejected, buttressed, returned to better track the nonsense of thinking of the narrator, upset marked trails, fluff the hair smooth speech. Words combine to better dissociate saucissonnent sentences are better season the taste of the day.
To give an idea of delirium disorder sternbergien include readily Marx Brothers. To illustrate this aspect unbridled could stride mention the designer Roland Topor. To account for the blackness of the text, loneliness suffered by his character, the name of Jean-Pierre Martinet comes to mind. Finally, to assess its fair value inventiveness, the zaniness of the world of Jacques Sternberg, could evoke Lewis Carroll, one of whose passages Through the mirror is placed in the preamble somnambulistic the novel:

"Here, you see, you have to run as fast as we can to stay in the same place."

A Business Day is in effect a sort of Alice in Wonderland, shimmering destruction of a society that runs on its dissolution. To mimic the organization of our contemporary world, there is a universe which looks more than a sham. Returned, crazy, stricken, disturbed with a thoroughness that would have misled mad hatter he awoke in the chaos of his boots not, it is condemned to being a mere shadow of himself.

• Read, drop everything and soon-now: A Business Day by Jacques Sternberg reissued in late 2009 with the precious editions of The Last Drop .
• 's column on Celine Escouteloup discordance.fr

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The old pigeon soaring wedding A story board

photographs from the blog of Marie-Paule Deville-Chabrolle

The wedding

cardboard Celebrate marginality of fates collide, overlap haphazardly, who marry or pass the buck in a wedding procession.

They invite us in an entertaining way to fill the gaps in these slices of life, these selections, these snippets of life.

It was after one of my walks I picked the fruit of a text that I present here.

I'm "old" one has plucked like a pigeon and took the opportunity to stand on its own. I am the one who clings to hopes of ordinary people. Becta one we gaze upon it shows the tip of his nose. The scarecrow who stretches out his arms to gain height, the bird of ill omen thwarting the blows of fate and the wars drew his organ, as others waved a flag. One who runs away to the sound of Pachelbel's canon. One who likes to upset conventional wisdom by turning the guns on broomsticks, the kamikaze bashful lovers of freedom. I'm also the one that twirls above the universal ballot. One who collects his booty in the heart of the fragments of urban poetry, laughter, glimmers of hope, sparks of genius. I am the old lady who comes and goes overnight, by telling them she did not empty in between. The playing hopscotch to switch in no time from earth to heaven. I'm also the girl throwing stones into the pond which splash dreams and lies shimmering truth. I am the one who knows the thousand and one evils of humanity remaining invariable since the beginning of time. Stones, lice and cabbage, I grow to develop a market garden dotted with beliefs. A cemetery that discloses the secret of winged words, a place where everything that emerges from the earth feeds the combined efforts imperfect and still do. Boldness irrigating micrograms and prose appetizing peddled from one shore to another, according to a waltz wandering. The Wedding singularities and plurality to fertilize interbreeding tasty.

fact remains that for some or for others, I am a fortune teller, a drivelling bad fortune. Pigeon denigrated, traveler's shadow, or dove incantatrice, I am a constant metamorphosis which his traveling circus any time of day or night. Which vanishes in October between the thieves on the run and that reappears in the middle of flakes and debris of December. My feathers in the sky describe paths which says a lot about my intentions.
Children of October, and Eid Akanot Anna Doïdou first, welcome these poems ephemeral by burning in the black brick my songs imaginary

"HOPE IS A BIRD
FLYING IN THE SKY OF THE INSURRECTION.

THE INSURGENCY IS AN EXPECTATION

FEATHERS FLYING IN THE SKY.

THE BIRD IS AN UPRISING

FLYING IN THE SKY HOPE.

THE SKY IS HOPE

FLYING IN THE UPRISING OF A FEATHER ".

Chalk and soon the snow will mix to coagulate the dreams changing. This could be
the epitaph of the old pigeon.

• According reads from The Marriage of cardboard Jean-Daniel Dupuy, published in 2005 editions of The Bad Seed

South Park Fish Sticks Song Lyrics

fetched

captivate the reader for more than 200 pages through a history of hair, that's enough to leave most dubious aesthetic hairdressers? What cause its share of gray hairs for publishers who have the courage to publish the story in question. Yet Alan Pauls here comes the tour de force not only passionate, but also bring a deep reflection the links between our hair and our existence.

is natural that the novel begins in a hair salon, while a translator (which could be Alan Pauls) unaccustomed to frequent such places, is found in the hands of a young woman was kneading the scalp. A time for relaxing effect, abandoned to other dimensions of his memory.

"What it does not exactly get a haircut. He sat in the chair from one machine to travel back in time (...)"

Since the hair seems to be forgotten, the appointment in ritual Celso, hairdresser Paraguay, including a little-known chapter of history we will be narrated in the end, reminds the slave to his punishment monthly. The awkward position, orders hammered with diabolical precision, and especially the usual questions, responding to a necessarily subjective embarrassment following which the man was forced against his will to express their will as concretely as possible, oppress at the highest point. Thus, the ideas he is secular, the "short" or "long", the "gradient" or the "homogeneity", shades of "little", the "somewhat" or "very" they resonate in the same way to the ears of a seasoned professional.
scenes that are sure to evoke some memories in the reader aware of the authenticity of the refund.

Associates to its fate, for better or for worse, his hair seem to be the guarantors of his personal history. They recur to him mean that they remain suspended over his head like a sword of Damocles, since no other part of the human body is capable, in the same way that our hair, make us aware of our perishable nature.
The willingness to change its cutting obeys somehow necessary transmute the witness of his conviction to come, a symbol of belonging to a tendency to assert itself in an era of loud and clear identity.
Thus, by stealing the image of this army of fingers led by his former girlfriend with red moccasins, probing the complexities of the African Cup of his classmates, he feels the caress of ideals that he decided to embrace on the spot, borrowing the style of the boy. A fiasco that will leave marks in his mind throughout his life. And option years, despite the setbacks of adulthood, invariably, Monti will be associated with this exuberance, hair and his seductive power.

"In some cases, these scars: one was hit, it fell and was bleeding, it was sewn, and the trace in the form of seven or right or the small energetic horseshoe clearer that appear when shaves his head are souvenirs * preventing the facts vanish in the haze of the past. But in most cases there was nothing, neither accident nor contusion or suture, nothing, and the marks are there, as clear as tattoos and fingerprints, birth lines, drawn on the ground close to the skin, reappear one day and are faith identity with any other region of the body or memory does not trace. "

However, at each meeting, more recognizable than ever, Monti carries the scars of the teeth-in-leg and other blows of fate dealt by fate, which, in turn, removes it from childhood.
Along the lines of the hand carry with them the future of each hair seems to reflect the trials endured by being that door. More than anywhere else parcel of our flesh or bones, hair relics remain, surviving the disappearance of the beloved, and take over a time invaluable, as evidenced by the auction of the lock of Che, treasure scattered among other treasures, or the final episode which I will not reveal details.

Alan Pauls impressed by the breadth of his sentences, in which flows simultaneously a multitude of ideas. Tourbillon syntactic uninterrupted from beginning to end, the core of which the reader might get lost if he does not get carried away by the spirit of the author, at times reflective and funny.

• Read haircut: History hair, Alain Pauls, translated from English by Serge Mestre newly available at Christian Bourgois .
• Reading notified of Frederick Fiolof