Jean Grange Quotes

Tekrarların uğultusu içinde sadece tek bir kez gerçekleşen bir tek şey vardır." ölüm

We're at a dinner party in an apartment on Rue Paul Valéry between Avenue Foch and Avenue Victor Hugo and it's all rather subdued since a small percentage of the invited guests were blown up in the Ritz yesterday. For comfort people went shopping, which is understandable even if they bought things a little too enthusiastically. Tonight it's just wildflowers and white lilies, just W's Paris bureau chief, Donna Karan, Aerin Lauder, Ines de la Fressange and Christian Louboutin, who thinks I snubbed him and maybe I did but maybe I'm past the point of caring. Just Annette Bening and Michael Stipe in a tomato-red wig. Just Tammy on heroin, serene and glassy-eyed, her lips swollen from collagen injections, beeswax balm spread over her mouth, gliding through the party, stopping to listen to Kate Winslet, to Jean Reno, to Polly Walker, to Jacques Grange. Just the smell of shit, floating, its fumes spreading everywhere. Just another conversation with a chic sadist obsessed with origami. Just another armless man waving a stump and whispering excitedly, "Natasha's coming!" Just people tan and back from the Ariel Sands Beach Club in Bermuda, some of them looking reskinned. Just me, making connections based on fear, experiencing vertigo, drinking a Woo-Woo.

Otizmin özelliği dış dünyayı tamamen yadsımaktır. Yunanca autos,"kendi kendisi,kendiliğinden" anlamları taşır. Oysa, kabul edelim veya etmeyelim cinayet başkasının varlığını tanımaktır. Ayrıca bir otistik bu tür cinayetleri işleyecek kadar donanımlı değildir. "Otistik dehalar"la ilgili yaygın kanının tersine,çoğunda önemli derecede zeka geriliği vardır.

ASSEYEZ-VOUS, PEUPLE DE LOUPS... Asseyez-vous, peuple de loups, sur les frontières et négociez la paix des roses, des ruisseaux, l’aurore partagée. Que les larmes, les armes s’égarent dans la rouille et la poussière. Que la haine crachée soit bue par le soleil. La terre ouvre sa robe de ténèbres, sa nudité enchante les oiseaux, le jour se fend comme fille amoureuse. Sous un ciel ébloui viennent alors après tant de saccage les épousailles de la terre et du feu, le temps des sources, des naissances. Après le sang, la traîtrise et le cri, ah, tant rêvé! le règne des moissons pour le bonheur des granges. À nous qui hébergeons l’aube de la parole de rassembler le grain, les mots de l’espérance. Un jour d’été, l’enfant plonge dans la rivière, joue avec le soleil sous le regard apaisé d’une mère, le héron danse sur son nid de sable, le renard ouvre des ailes d’ange et le serpent, le mal aimé, forçat de la poussière, sauvé, s’étire entre les seins du jour.   [in « Autre Sud, Poésie d'aujourd'hui : Roumanie - France : Voix croisées », 2005, p. 118]