There are mass graves everywhere in the city mass graves where bodies are burned mass graves where corpses are burned there are mass graves everywhere in the city we see the bodies of women children men mixed with dogs we can no longer distinguish the dogs from the men women and children they are nothing more than a huge heap a heap to which we set fire and the city is filled with mass graves on fire and smells of flesh burning everywhere the flesh is burning and you have an empty head and a naked empty body you watch these fires burn in the night there is a smell of death floating in the night we would like to be able to close the door we would like to be able to go somewhere else to a place that does not exist to a place located outside of time and space far from mass graves far from holocausts far from génocides What is your name ? I don’t have a name How old are you ? I have no age Who are you ? I don’t know Where are you from ? I don’t know I am like a character on an old film reel on a silent black and white film reel where grotesque puppets move in a macabre dance in the dance of the skeletons the skeletons like to dance at night in the cemeteries if you get up in the middle of the night that you cross the city naked that you climb the wall of the cemetery naked that you fall back on the other side that you sit with cold buttocks on a grave you will be able to see the skeletons dancing it is the most beautiful dance in the world the dance of the skeletons you can only hear the sound of their bones slapping against each other there is no music the music they dance to is the witches’ sabbath the witches’ sabbath they only hear it in their skulls so maybe if you raise your head if you look at the woods not far from the cemetery you will be able to see the witches the witches who sing during the sabbath and you will be able to say to yourself I have seen everything I have beholden everything and I’m naked in the middle of skeletons and witches in the night I’m naked the others sleep in caves caves they built with cement the immense skyscrapers that rise towards the sky and yet all the graves are open at the feet of those towers the graves are open the skeletons are dancing and in the city are burning the bodies of the women of the men of the children of the dogs mingled at a some distance from each other they are burning a smell of death floats in the city holocaust there should not have been human beings they should never have been taught to write they should never have been taught to think human beings learned nothing by themselves they were taught everything this “One” who is it ? « One » it’s these cells it’s these genes it’s the bricks that form our being the human being himself is like a house in this house live thousands of bacterias millions of bacterias millions of cells millions of parasites and when you look at yourself in the mirror that you think you see a single body a single thing in fact it’s an illusion there are millions of beings inside you that spend their time eating each others that devour each others you yourself are an immense biotope you yourself are a virgin forest the mirror does not reflect anything and you never see your real image people in the city who put on clothes of different colors who go to the shops who come out of the shops who buy useless things in the shops that they will soon throw away what are they doing ? they deceive themselves all day long they try to forget their waiting of their death the philosopher was right we only entertain ourselves while waiting for the end while awaiting death we entertain ourselves so as not to see the bodies burning so as not to see the skeletons dancing so as not to see in the mirrors our body decaying and ourselves burning we have set our own body on fire à long and long time ago it keeps burning in the dark of night like a living torch.
Ivan de Monbrison
Ivan de Monbrison is a bald ape with a sagging belly. He tries to write what he feels he should in order not to throw himself over a bridge. He shall if the gods allows him to be publishing a collection of poems in Wales next year “Brambles”, and a pamphlet in the UK too called “The Other Self”. The later title he tends to overuse in general for some strange reason, probably he’s speaking here about himself. Twitter: IvanMonbrison