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Devant la mer C’est une solitude complète et sans attente Qui ne traduit rien J’éprouve en ton absence un écho qui reste au loin Dans la houle immense de ta disparition Je m’ouvre au silence qui reste Ta voix et tes gestes se répètent Le vent fait partir les embarcations de fortunes Les vagues se couchent et mon souffle est coupé De cadavres en cadavres La liberté ne dure qu’un levé de lune Sur la mer aveugle aux âmes
Danse macabre Nos corps endormis enveloppés d’étoiles Mordus et blessés comme deux chiens errants Qui se sont aimés moches et mourants La courbure d’une griffure, l’écho d’une valse Des morceaux de ta côte où mes baisers convulsent Pleurent au jour : Que notre amour moisisse en liesse
Mourir
Vivre dans son petit appartement était devenu une torture. Un jour, elle s’en alla. Elle marcha une longue journée sous la pluie. Elle découvrit un arbre assez grand pour qu’elle puisse se pendre. « Enfin, il me reste à trouver une corde » se dit-elle. Elle marcha une autre journée sans trouver de corde. Un puit se trouva sur sa route. Mais quand elle se jeta dedans, il n’était pas plus profond que sa propre taille. Elle se jeta par terre dans l’herbe. Une chèvre vint lui brouter les cheveux à la fin de la journée et lui dit : « Vouloir mourir demande parfois plus d’effort que rester vivant».
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RRRRR EEEEE PPPPP UUUUU LLLLL SSSSS EEEE 13
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The past The past The past The past The past The past The past The past The past The past The past The past The past The past The past The past The past The past can only return through contemporary forms and communications, undergoing a “slaughter�. 20
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Dizygous Brother, D’you remember when you were eight years old and you said to Dad, after he told you how he cried over the death of Elvis, ‘We make such gods of those we’ve never met.’ your greatest advice. What would you think now if I told you my god is a series of invisible rooms that on this planet in the drain of my mind I am a cloven-hoofed moon rising through the clouds like a tongue on fire that I’m known to the kids on my street for describing the end of my life as a house famous for its shadows snapshots of my death embroidered along its fresco walls mommy’s face petrified beneath the stairs How she takes the full length of my calf before we both have to come up for breath. You always were Mr Quotable, Mr Don’t-I-Always-Know-It, Mr Ironic. You always told me not to eat the rabbit out of the hat but claimed as a cow, in your previous life, you could not wait to be digested. Brother, Sometimes I feel as though I have already died and everything I see is live TV. On sleepless nights I’m nervous of my own mind, it seems to me I’m artificially constructed of softer tissue, thinner skin and sometimes the wires behind my eyes shine like a standby light. Quote Number Seven-Hundred-and-Thirty-Three: ‘Violence is the sensation of the blood crystallising into glass.’ Brother, In the hallway there’s a mirror with a pair of alligator eyes and a funeral in a snow globe hidden in the kitchen drawer. * Brother, I want to be bathed in the colour yellow; a fool in the dining room swimming pool. Any period of inactivity turns my life into a question mark and I find myself stuck with the difficulty of only being able to see myself as fragments.
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Brother, These days it would be nice to have someone to torture to hold something static and bristling in its place to cut and to peel back and to work from the wound left by instigation: as to heal is to form an end to identity as to scar is to feel the child of yourself smarting beneath the skin the wail the cry of a place somewhere beneath language the tick of a clock in a bell jar’s vacuum some formless robotic thunder before its surfacing into sound. Brother, Lately I’ve been speaking to god through the radio, he told me to remind the Devil to tell Pinnocchio, ‘You’re not supposed to see your own nose.’ Brother, Last night I woke to the sound of drowning our mouths full of wax Daddy crucified on the chandelier. Brother, I have dreams in the dark where you touch my body with your fingers and I, decrepit, whimper a promise in incoherent vowels. Your palms on my neck are like a garden hose, your spit, suburban rain.
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The monsters of my childhood still hide in memories When we didn’t want to sleep And wanted to wander Bare feet and free From the narrow minded adults That didn’t really see what we were seeking to see They would tell us That the witch of the noon would take as a way My people were always afraid of the ghols in the hot days of the desert And of the demons of nightmares Even God God was a big handed monster Angry at the children for laughing too loud Angry at the girls that didn’t cross their legs They told us he would pull you by your eyelashes and throw you in hell We grew old now And the monsters Still hide in the dark corner of our heads And we see them like shadow reflections Some of us became the monsters The ones that were the most afraid The policemen.. The fathers.. They occupy new corners A constant threat Big heanded monsters Bruising our innocence Watching our thoughts Choking our laughters Scary but still Always afraid 72
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Keita Ando (Japan) Cover P 67 / 68 / 69 Ayumi Adachi (Japan/China) Line p 1 / 2 / 3 Marion Novet (Switzerland) Devant la mer p 4 Danse macabre p 4 Mourir p 4 Nathan Favot (Netherlands/ France) Sailr in da night p 5 The Mechanic’s dance p 6 Niovi Boliaki (Greece) Fig. 7.81 p 7 Skin and subcutaneous fat removed p 8 Optic nodes and nasal cavities visible p 9 Ayhan Özer (Turkey) p 10 / 11 / 12 Anja Tončić (Serbia) Unsettle II p 13 / 14 Lorenz system p 15 / 16 Guido Nosari (Italy) Cimabue of butchered meat p 17 / 18 Grunewald Crux p 19 / 20 Sana Chamekh (Tunisia) Running through the shadows p 21 / 22 Sanskar Verma (India) Fungus As An Issue p 23 / 24 / 25 / 26 Yohanes Santo (Bali) I’m Depressed p 27 / 28 I'm Starting To Be Spotted p 29 / 30 Irina Kromm (Russia) Here I am p31 Bruschatka p31 Line p32 Reece Griffiths (UK) Dizygous p33 / 34 Guilherme Bergamini (Brazil) Motorbike Scholl p35 / 36 Windows p36 / 38 Chedly Boughdir (Tunisia) p 39 / 40 / 41 Hernando Urrutia (Portugal) Look at you NOW p42 / 43
Reena Singh (India) Truth of Life II p44 City animals p45 Superiority complex p46 Nino Khundadze (Georgia) The motion p47 / 48 Simone Fazio (Italy) Lux Omnia Vincit p49 Untitled p50 Emilia Stpn (Poland) Les sensualités de hier p51 / 52 Les profondeurs bleues p 53 / 54 Maria Côrte-Real (Portugal) The corporeal stain of light p55 / 56 / 57 / 58 / 59 / 60 Emmanuel Laflamme (Canada) Skull p61 Offering p62 Inès ben Youssef (Tunisia) Decay p63 Blare p64 Asphyxia p65 Fossa p66 Julien Griffaud (France) Sur le mont chauve p70 Clef en croix p71 Hiba Tlili (Tunisia) P 72 Sona Sahakian (Netherlands) Everything comes and goes p73 / 74 Med Ali Boulaâba (Tunisia) I only see the moon p75 Thursday evening pose p76 Boudokhan p76 Leila Refahi (Canada / Iran) Floating, Garden series p77 / 78 / 79 Sachin Kumar Verma (India) p80 / 81 / 82 Rupal Dave (USA) p83 / 84 Ouroboros / Rivan Ramadhan (Indonisia) Crawling From the Inside p85 Valhala p86
GRIMOIRE TEAM Yasser Jeridi / Bochra Taboubi / Oussema Gaidi