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Laurent Herrou
/ Jeanpierre
Paringaux
the falling
her name is circé, she is a sorceress
the lines on her face are pure, the hair torn into a coiffe that
makes her look like someone from a medieval past
her green sleeves slide over thin wrists as she threatens the gods
from her hands, triangles of purple light are shot towards an angry
sky
she has built a tower
she has gathered all the books in the universe
it is called babel
she is from another past but pasts are mixed up here and you can
watch men transformed into pigs and pages flying all around as the
battle rages
she will not surrender
ulysses fights alongside her because he knows it is a fair battle
she fights, but he is as powerless as she is powerful
there is no surprise in the outcome
the tower falls
the sorceress cries
ulysses leaves
there is no surprise in the falling of culture, there is no surprise
in what the gods have in
store
we will build another tower
and another one
we will build a network that will threaten the gods
we will climb to them until they notice
falling is what we do best
my name is circé, i am a sorceress
a smile, my sleeves slide over my thin wrists, a book in my hands
i will put it there, on that shelf
i will build it back, i swear
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you'd think i have plenty to send, you'd think i have a lot to offer
you'd wonder why it took me so long to send you some
you'd think french is my second language and i'm a natural born but
nope
you'd wait for it for months before it lands into your mailbox
you'd think it has something to do with the rain — you've waited for
it so long that it's like it's not going to happen anymore
you've forgotten about the rain : its smell, its taste, how it feels
like on your skin
rain is something you have longed for, for months, for years : it's
been your friend and you've missed it — still it does not happen
anymore
it's shut off to your prayers, to your hopes, to your longing
rain has gone so many years ago that you've even forgotten what the
word meant
you know it's about clouds
it showers away the dust that's glued to your skin : breathing is
not as easy as it once was
breathing is something you've forgotten about too
life has become a passive game you do not enjoy anymore — once you
were afraid of the dust that comes after death, now you know that
it's much more scary when it comes before
you'd think it's so easy to live
you'd think it's so easy to tell others about your feelings : but
it's not because they won't listen
they haven't been listening for ages
they have stopped paying attention
they just don't care anymore
they're waiting for it to end in a crack of thunder, they're looking
up at the sky
that's what they do
that's the only thing left to do
look up and pray for what's not there anymore
Copyright © 2009
Laurent Herrou / Jeanpierre Paringaux
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Laurent Herrou has published in France,
Belgium and on the Internet. His writing
questions identity and self-image. He has
been a model for art class at Villa Arson
(Nice) and for photographer Jeanpierre
Paringaux : their daily text / image work
can be seen on the blog
www.lemploidutemps.blogspot.com
and
www.publie.net
(New York 2007-2008).
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He
lives in Nice, France.
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