L'évangile selon Saint-Jacques

De sal y barro

2011-06-13T14:18:00.002-04:00

De noche nací
Del choque de una estatua de sal
Y otra de barro.
En el húmedo invierno germiné.
Y al llegar la mañana
Mi madre, de su vientre me expulsó,
Al suelo caí. Frágil, desnudo.
De los escombros surgí
Como tulipán en primavera.
Un sinnúmero de estaciones vi pasar,
Tuve frío y hambre
Y hasta la misma soledad me abandonó.
Ahí comprendí que era amo de mi mismo.
Al regreso de la primavera celebré mi natalicio
Y en el verano de mi vida fui feliz.
En el otoño salí a tu búsqueda y
Al no encontrarte por los rincones
Vacíos de este mundo, lloré.
Así me sorprendió el invierno
Pero esta vez era yo, ya, de carne y hueso.

Phoenix

2011-02-17T01:04:00.009-05:00

That night I saw the best of you, Adam of men,
And the worst of me, jealous Jacob.
I sent you into the desert, naked and thirsty.
To your death sentence, to a life without love.

You, lovingly, looked into my eyes, dark of anger,
And smiled with yours, tearfully, tenderly.
I, taken by shame and pride, couldn’t look at you,
Couldn’t keep you by my side. I, prisoner of myself.

Your love gave birth to my freedom, it gave me wings.
You knew no other feeling. First, last and only man.
Obscured by guilt and regret; I have erred since.
But the night ends every morning, as my blindness.

The spell dies at dawn, as do I. Willingly, eagerly.
Because Death kissed me and I kissed her back.
With I, your heart stopped, yet you still mourned me.
For true love dies not, these verses will keep me alive.

the loss of innocence

2010-11-19T17:43:00.005-05:00

My shadow is almost gone
And I’m only nine years old.
I’m going to ride my bicycle
No matter what you say.
Hit me, divorce me, forget me
But I will not get off this race.

Bring 12 horses, they won’t stop me.
You may yell, shout or cry,
I will not follow the herd.
I will conquer every step
And count to seven, just turn away.
Repent, say your prayers, then kneel.

The leaves fell and snow covered it all
But I did not fear, it was summer in my heart.
Now, I shall hide behind the bushes
By the shore where the waves will break me.
The ocean will be my sanctuary,
For a martyr I have become. Against my will.

bleu

2010-10-31T13:13:00.006-04:00

Je suis une poupée habillée en bleu,
Bleu est ma couleur aujourd’hui.
Hier, j’ai vu neiger pour la première fois,
Quand j’ai ouvert ma porte à l’étranger.

Le panthéon des dieux est ravagé.
Ses ruines sont couvertes d’oublie et de poussière,
Un peu comme mon cœur froid,
Qui n’entend plus ton rire à l’horizon.

Tout est bleu dans cette maison vide
que je ne peux plus garder, manque d’amour.
Ton absence remplie coins et recoins,
Et le silence de ta voix fait écho au plafond.

Ma fleur sèche, mes fruits pourrissent.
Je m’évade en regardant mon reflet
Sur la glace qui orne les fenêtres,
Tout est bleu. Mes joues, me lèvres, tes yeux.

À mon Apollon au nez cassé

2010-08-21T14:03:00.002-04:00

Tu arrives le soir tout sourire,
le soleil sur tes épaules.
Tes vêtements bleus obligent le ciel à t’obéir.
Le prophète a prédit l’orage,
toutefois, la pluie n’écoute que toi.
Tu chantes adieu aux ténèbres et
les étoiles chassent les nuages.
J’habite Crète mais je ne suis plus prince.
Je suis soldat, je suis ton serviteur.
Dans des coupes de cristal, je t’offre
le fruit de mes longues journées,
sans aucun effort, tout naturellement.
Mais où allons-nous, où est ton bateau?
Tu veux une odyssée, aller jusqu’à la lune.
Quand tu ne pourras guère nager,
je dirai une prière pour toi,
je te baignerai dans l’huile et le parfum,
je préparerai ton corps au sacrifice,
je te prendrai dans mes bras
et comme offrande je t’amènerai là-haut au paradis.
Ouvre tes ailes, Pégase, ouvre tes ailes.
Ne sois pas jaloux de moi, car il ne m’aime pas.

Jay Brannan. young. talented. american. spanglish. did i mention he's gay?

2010-08-21T01:12:00.002-04:00

teenage + homo feelings + summer camp + dumb = horrible time.

2010-08-07T18:53:00.001-04:00

En colo - Court métrage contre l'homophobie
envoyé par GayClic. - Court métrage, documentaire et bande annonce.

she's a true artist and this song makes me happy. always.

2010-08-06T23:36:00.004-04:00

i call it art.

2010-08-06T23:23:00.005-04:00

it's 2010, here's a gay rapper and some almost-naked-boys dancing and strutting their stuff, yay!

2010-08-05T15:15:00.002-04:00

a Piaf classic, revisited à la Wainwright. yes, i did see her live.

2010-07-27T23:03:00.002-04:00

Vatican, do not shake. Pope Benedict XVI will save you from this new scandal.

2010-07-24T22:12:00.003-04:00

Almodovar makes you wish u spoke Spanish, doesn't he?

2010-07-18T19:16:00.000-04:00

Pa' mi amiga la Charo!

2010-07-02T22:05:00.000-04:00

California Gays go wild.

2010-07-02T22:01:00.003-04:00

Jimmy

2010-06-26T01:56:00.000-04:00

gotta love a guy in lederhosen!

2010-06-09T17:25:00.001-04:00

Alejandro-Alfredo-Roberto-Fernando get your very own latin boy. Btw, i'm free.

2010-06-08T12:24:00.006-04:00

McDonald's France vs McDonald's U.S.A.

2010-06-08T01:34:00.001-04:00

great video. see u on Bernard st for a beer and a match.

2010-06-07T14:35:00.004-04:00

V-v

2010-05-07T22:52:00.001-04:00

J’arrive à l’Université de Montréal à 17h35 pour mon cours d’écriture journalistique à 18h. C’est le premier jour. En attachant mon vélo je trouve la première surprise de la soirée : mon ancien vélo, celui que j’avais acheté avec l’argent d’un prix que j’avais reçu à l’université McGill, est là! Tout beau, tout bleu, comme s’il m’attendait, mais quoi faire? Voler mon vélo volé? La décision est dure à prendre. Hélas! Je laisse tomber. Cependant, une demi-heure plus tard je me retrouve à tourner au tour de mon vélo comme un oiseau qui survole sa proie. C’est là que je rencontre Jean-Baptiste, un de ces français de passage à Montréal. Il est ici pour étudier la géographie. Il est venu à l’université en vélo. Un vélo que quelqu'un avait prêté à quelqu'un qui lui, lui avait prêté. Car son ancien vélo cheap qu’il avait acheté à un vieux papi et pour lequel il avait acheté un bon cadenas à 30 piastres, il se l’a fait voler. Depuis cet événement, il ne fait aucun effort pour protéger son vélo. Il a entendu dire qu’un camion se promène la nuit dans les rues de Montréal avec de voleurs tout équipés qui ramassent tous les vélos se trouvant sur une rue choisie. Vrai ou légende urbaine? Je ne pourrais dire. Jean-Baptiste vit à Villeray et s’est fait voler son vélo près de McGill. Ce qui prouve qu’aucun quartier n’est à l’abri du vole de vélos. Il trouve qu’acheter des vélos volés pour ensuite se les faire voler est déplorable mais c’est ainsi que tourne la roue. Jean-Baptiste propose aux montréalais de garages pour garder les vélos près de l’université. Les Bixi, vous demandez-vous? Ils sont jolis, ils sont touristiques, ils sont chers. Un vrai montréalais ne peut pas faire son épicerie, sa lessive et s’arrêter au parc écouter les tam-tams les dimanches après-midis en allant du point A au point B.

best music written for a poem. ever.

2010-03-25T13:19:00.013-04:00

maybe, after watching these videos you will better understand my fascination for Rufus, to think i had a drink with him once! im so lucky.

all men are born equal. they are not.

2010-03-24T02:26:00.000-04:00

Proud to Serve from Jo Ann Santangelo on Vimeo.

i wish to think this is irony

2010-03-24T02:12:00.002-04:00

a gay social network u say?

2010-03-24T02:08:00.001-04:00

03h33

2010-03-16T03:34:00.001-04:00

No puedo dormir pensando en mi.

Infinitas posibilidades.

El pasado, tantos extraños he querido borrar,

como si mi vida comenzara a los 18

y de nuevo a los 21.

No puedo dormir pensando en mi.

O tal vez es el jazmín del té,

las lecturas, el trabajo, las películas,

mi cumpleaños, mis amigos, los ausentes,

sus maridos, el mío.

No puedo dormir pensando en mi.

Satie no me hechiza más,

blanca noche, Morfeo pasa de mi.

Escribo y no olvido que estas ahí,

mira donde la ambición me trajo. Sígueme.

the icon of a new generation

2010-03-12T15:31:00.001-05:00

Montréal, l'été.

2010-03-09T14:01:00.003-05:00

Daniel Baylis est chez Mado!

2010-03-03T14:16:00.003-05:00

when i become canadian i'll swear an oath to queen
Mado.

NB para HB

2010-03-01T23:21:00.006-05:00

Noche Blanca no llegas

Noche Blanca no serás.

Entre arena y perlas negras

mi corazón de coral te di.

Como espuma el deseo va,

pero como la marea regresa.

Noche Blanca no llegas

Noche Blanca no serás.

En la obscuridad de la noche

tu luz seguiré hasta el puerto

cubierto de brisa, de olas y risa

y el próximo eclipse seré de ti.

Noche Blanca no llegas

Noche Blanca no serás.

Noche Blanca, si a la deriva vas,

piérdete en mi isla, más allá.

De néctares y caracoles viviremos,

de sol y de olas nos cubriremos.

Noche Blanca no llegas

Noche Blanca no serás,

Noche Blanca no vienes más.

sonnet 29

2010-02-28T23:59:00.006-05:00

Lyrics by William Shakespeare
Music by Rufus Wainwright

the boundaries of loneliness

2010-02-24T22:06:00.006-05:00

Guillermo Arriaga, the guy who wrote the trilogy Amores Perros, 21 Grams and Babel, always had a movie nominated for an Oscar. In 2005 he won best screenplay at Cannes for The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada, so we can only praise his talent. The Burning Plain marks his directorial debut and even though it was ignored by the Academy, the movie is a great success. The colors, the light, the photography, the sound, the scenery and the actors’ performances are all beautiful. The four elements are present: fire, water, wind and earth. And each presents us with a story. In his previous movies, there were often several stories that intertwined at some point. Except, this time we only have one story, which makes a film with no sense of time, space, borders or languages. A story where past and present meet, a movie about the meaning of scars, remembrance and forgiveness. Where love and passion are forbidden and at the same time unstoppable. Where poor and wealthy are no different because we are all human; we are all worth the same. And so meet Sylvia, a successful woman, great at living, great at what she does, but all she really wants to do is die. She always wears gray. She thinks so little of herself as to think she doesn’t deserve motherhood, afraid the baby would turn out like her. How troubled can one be to become addicted to human drugs like hormones, adrenaline, orgasms, etc? The ones we release when we self inflict pain to our bodies. What terrible thing could anyone have done to feel like an empty object that can be used and abused? Hoping a quick orgasm would fill in the emptiness and make us feel better for a little while. Then meet Gina, a loving mother and wife, who battled with cancer two years prior, who had a breast removed and finds it difficult to feel sexy, to cope with the loss and the new herself, whose husband can’t make love to her anymore because she’s one breast short. Can anyone blame her for getting a lover? A passionate man who makes her the center of the universe. Can you blame her for wanting to feel alive? She keeps her affair going so powerful as to leave her family in a parking lot under the burning sun of Arizona so she wouldn’t miss a tryst. Is it luck to die while doing what you like the most? Finally, meet Mariana, modern-day Electra, a young girl who discovers a great secret and who carries one of her own. Who, as I, loved her mother very much but did not like her. Who nourishes a love so strong as to not know if it is right or wrong only know that it is real. Who does what most people wouldn’t understand and hides until life catches up with her. Daughters killing mothers, mothers abandoning babies, modern-day Cain and Abel coming to the rescue. I sometimes wish my mother had left me when I was a child. Holy smoke of burnt chollas, purify us.

Johnny Weir, in my heart of hearts you got the gold

2010-02-23T11:31:00.005-05:00

Olympics? This has no place in Vancouver 2010:
A: I may not be politically correct, like we say, but I’m going to show you some images of Johnny Weir. I really like artistic ice-skating, but Johnny Weir creates a situation in which no one surpasses the old "oh artistic ice-skating and those that skate" and i do not like that. Do you think he lost points because of his costume and his gestures? Or are those not evaluated?

B: He didn’t lose points because of his costume. He makes himself noticed, he makes himself look disparaged, and we are not afraid to disparage him, he wears lipstick, he is dressed femininely, he tries to be the most feminine possible on the ice and he has the right. He has the right to be like he is and the way he wants to be, but inevitable it leaves sort of a bitter image for artistic ice-skating. And that’s really annoying because we think that every guy that skates is going to be like him, so he’s a very bad example, but he has the right. Why? Because there are people that are like that, there are others that are different. We aren’t going to discriminate…

A: But, here we fall into the stereotypes

B: Exactly, and then we think that skating isn’t something athletic, but something more feminine and it's not that all. There are all types of people in the world and there are all types of people on the ice – it’s a reflection of society.

A: To be fair, when we made that big deal, in the summer, about that runner from South Africa. Maybe it’s a man, maybe it’s not. It’s not a woman etc…

B: Well, we could make him pass a test.

A: Yeah, I want him to pass a test.

B: Well we should absolutely do that. At this point, we should make him pass a test of femininity or of masculinity.

A: oh but I know, he did that to help you commentators out to predict what’ll happen with Joannie Rochette and the others because he should be competing with the women (laughing). But I don’t want to be mean. I find that we fall into the stereotypes when we see a guy like that.

B: Well, it doesn’t help. I’ll tell you, it’s not the image of figure skating that I like, but I admire the skater he is. He’s not less of an athlete and a sportsman and with a particularity that expresses itself in a manner that is out of the ordinary.

A: I said it before, I may not be politically correct…

B: Not at all, it's what everyone thinks. I mean everybody says it in a low voice and now you and I say it at full volume.

my father the sailor

2010-02-21T15:01:00.005-05:00

What are dreams? What to do when we are not meant to do what we dream of doing? What to do when life just happens and we are left alone to question our own talent? Daigo, a cellist in an orchestra, leaves everything behind and leaves Tokyo for a small village in the north of Japan. Even though this may seem a bit extreme his ever and over positive wife, who happens to be happy all the time, follows him. Here’s where the real adventure begins. What are coincidences? Are they linked to faith? Can fate take the form of a misspelling? Maybe life is just one big trial. But we are never really left alone in times of tribulation and Daigo finds a job shrouding bodies, Japanese style. A rite done peacefully and beautifully that he performs with such calmness, grace, precision and even gentle affection. Throughout the film we see how everybody deals with pain in different ways. Infinite sadness comes over us as if all the joy had disappeared from the face of earth. We also have the privilege of discovering some Japanese philosophy, we learn that the living eat the dead. If one doesn’t want to die one eats, and if one has decided to eat then one should eat well, eat the best. We learn that birth normally brings death in its awake. Death is not the end; death is a gateway, we go through it into the next level. Daigo is only a gamekeeper. It is a decent job, given the fact we all die. But how far people’s prejudices go? Why are some villagers bullying him? The film is complex, not complicated; one of its many layers is the story of his father that left him during his childhood. Daigo hates him for that but he cherishes one little rock his father once gave him. Legend has it that in the time where writing had not been yet invented people used to send stones to tell people how they felt. From touching the stone one would know how the sender was feeling towards one. A smooth stone meant you were feeling happy, a rough one meant you were worried about one or that there were difficult times. The movie is all about forgiveness; he needs to let go of this hatred to be able to take care of the baby his wife is expecting. I was 17 when my father died, I went to his service but I didn’t see his face. Why, if I never met him, should I keep the image of a corpse forever in my memory as being my father? I rather keep the emptiness and darkness that come up to my mind when I think of him. Write to me a love letter on a stone, one that says how much you love me, it must be smooth, it must be small, it must sing to me, just by touching it, of the warmth of your heart.

this is real live music in movement!

2010-02-20T23:00:00.001-05:00

The Walkmen - On the Water from La Blogotheque on Vimeo.

La querelle diplomatique entre le Mexique et le Canada au sujet des visas d'entrée pour leurs ressortissants continue à faire des victimes des deux côtés des frontières.

2010-02-20T22:09:00.006-05:00

le Canada refuse l'entrée à un chef invité du festival Montréal en lumière

La Presse a appris qu'un politicien fédéral du NPD, Bruce Hyer, s'est fait refuser l'entrée au Mexique et qu'un chef cuisinier mexicain réputé n'a pas pu venir au Canada, faute d'avoir obtenu le précieux document.

Enrique Olvera, du restaurant Pujol à Mexico, devait cuisiner hier soir au restaurant Raza dans le cadre du festival Montréal en lumière. Mais l'ambassade du Canada à Mexico a refusé de lui accorder un visa, ainsi qu'à son second.

Ottawa pas convaincu

Selon le document qui a été envoyé à M. Olvera, il n'avait pas convaincu Ottawa qu'il n'entendait pas rester au pays après la fin de sa visite. De plus, on lui a demandé un permis de travail pour son séjour au Canada - une première, selon les organisateurs du festival. Ce serait aussi la première fois qu'un chef se fait refuser l'entrée au pays.

M. Olvera a été nommé l'an dernier l'un des 10 chefs les plus prometteurs du monde, une des futures «supervedettes» de la gastronomie internationale, par la prestigieuse revue américaine Food and Wine. D'où la popularité de la soirée, qui devait avoir lieu quand même mais sans lui, avec sa collaboration par courriel...

«Pour tout dire, je suis déçu et triste, mais surtout vraiment fâché», a lancé Mario Navarrete, chef propriétaire de Raza, avenue Laurier. Toutes les places avaient été réservées et les billets d'avion, achetés.

Député refusé au Mexique

La politique du Canada de demander des visas aux Mexicains pour entrer au pays date de juillet dernier. Pour protester, le Mexique n'a pas tardé à annoncer qu'il refuserait lui aussi l'entrée à des ressortissants canadiens sans visa - mais seulement aux détenteurs de passeports diplomatiques, comme des députés ou des diplomates.

Jusqu'à maintenant, cinq Canadiens auraient ainsi été refoulés aux frontières mexicaines, selon les médias du pays. Le dernier en date est le député néo-démocrate de Thunder Bay, Bruce Hyer, dimanche dernier.

M. Hyer se rendait au Mexique avec sa femme pour des vacances et des rencontres de travail, a expliqué son bureau. Mais comme il avait un passeport diplomatique, de couleur verte plutôt que de couleur bleue comme les passeports réguliers, et ne détenait pas de visa, il a dû revoir ses plans. «Il est maintenant aux États-Unis pour des rencontres», a expliqué l'un de ses adjoints, Andy Blair.

Au ministère de la Citoyenneté et de l'Immigration et au ministère des Affaires étrangères, on a refusé de commenter des cas précis, pour des raisons de protection de renseignements personnels.

God save the french

2010-02-16T13:44:00.001-05:00

christians attacks homosexuals kiss in french 14 feb 2010
par geraldfg

on sunday february 14 some gays decided to kiss outside the famous Notre-dame cathedral in Paris. this is how some lovely catholics reacted.

Matt Alber, the gay messiah

2010-02-16T12:59:00.008-05:00

I don’t want to ride this roller coaster

I think I want to get off

But they buckled me down

Like it’s the end of the world

If you don’t want to have this conversation

Then you better get out

Cause we’re climbing to our death

At least that’s what they want you to think

Just in case we jump the track

I have a confession to make

It’s something like a cork screw

I don’t wanna fall, I don’t wanna fly

I don’t wanna be dangled over

The edge of a dying romance

But I don’t wanna stop

I don’t wanna lie

I don’t wanna believe it’s over

I just wanna stay with you tonight

I didn’t mean to scream out quite so loudly

When we screeched to a halt

I’m just never prepared

For the end of the ride

Maybe we should get on something simpler

Like a giant balloon

But I’ve got two tickets left, and so do you

Instead of giving them away to some stranger

Let’s make them count, come on

Let’s get back in line again and ride the big one

Don’t you want to fall, don’t you want to fly

Don’t you want to be dangled over

The edge of this aching romance

If it’s gonna end, then I wanna know

That we squeezed out every moment

But if there’s nothing left can you tell me why

That it is you’re holding onto me

Like it’s the end of the world

China, la bella

2010-02-14T09:29:00.001-05:00

William Yang went on a trip to China once, twice and more than twice. He liked what he saw, that’s why he kept coming back. People were nice to him. He was a star. He was looking for answers; he came back with questions. Who are we? Are we what we look like? Are we what people expect us to be? Born in Australia to Chinese parents, William does not speak Chinese. People saw him and recognized him as one of them except when the time came to speak. He was some sort of mute or handicapped person who needed an interpreter to communicate. Unfortunately, in such situations there are always some serious misconceptions, he thought some young men he befriended were gay, they in return thought William was a millionaire. On his voyages, he visited the sacred mountains of China, all seven. And what it seemed like a spiritual pilgrimage was in fact a journey through China looking for an identity. He even visited Inner Mongolia, met with the workers and went into their houses. He acquainted the poor and the poorer, the intellectual and the students, the cultured and the illiterate, the young and the old. He befriended some nice people that assisted him on his travels through one province to another; through this vast country we call China. This is the beauty of William’s show, we pay our ticket, we sit down and he will explain with detail and humor his travels, like a friend will do in our living room. Beautiful pictures, the enchanting music of Nicholas Ng, wit and reflection are at rendezvous.

i translated this poem by Emily Dickinson in class

2010-02-10T22:59:00.006-05:00

If I shouldn't be Alive

When the Robins come,

Give the one in Red Cravat,

A Memorial crumb.

If I couldn't thank you,

Being fast asleep,

You will know I'm trying

With my Granite lip!

Si je n’étais plus en vie

Au printemps,

Donne aux rouges-gorges

Une miette à ma mémoire

Si je ne pouvais te remercier

Car je suis déjà endormie

Tu sauras que j’essaie

Depuis mon lit de pierre

REX

2010-02-09T00:21:00.005-05:00

Tu t’appelles Régis,

je m’appelle Ulysse.

Tu vis dans la ville des lumières,

j’habite la ville aux cent clochers.

Tu es le roi soleil,

je suis le petit prince.

Voilà pourquoi je ne pouvais pas

me jeter dans tes bras.

Je suis au-dessus de cela.

Pourtant, le moindre geste

aurait suffit pour déclencher

l’ouragan qui dort en moi.

Que n’ai-je pas fait pour toi?

Le café du matin, était-il froid?

Je dessine des étoiles sur mon corps,

mais pour toi, je m’efface dans le décor.

Kate McGarrigle 1946-2010

2010-02-08T17:10:00.007-05:00

Proserpina, Proserpina

Come home to mama

Proserpina, Proserpina

Come home to Mother

Come home to mama, now

I shall punish the earth

I shall turn down the heat

I shall take away every morsel to eat

I shall turn every field into stone

For I’ll walk, crying alone

Crying alone.

Proserpina, Proserpina

Come home to mama

Come home to mama, now

Proserpina, Proserpina

Go home to your mother

Go home together

Proserpina, Proserpina

Go home to your mother

Go home together, now

She has punished the earth

She has turned down the heat

She has taken away every morsel to eat

She has turned every field into stone

Where she walks, crying alone

Crying alone.

Proserpina, Proserpina

Come home to mama

Proserpina, Proserpina

Come home to Mother

Come home to mama, now

This was Kate's last performance at the Royal Albert Hall in London on December 09 2009. A fierce Québécoise. Kate is survived by her children Martha and Rufus Wainwright. She was a warm, talented neighbor that I admired very much. I will always remember our chattings at the grocery.

vehemente

2010-02-07T01:51:00.003-05:00

Porque te quiero,

navegaré los ríos

de esta tierra

acumulando brisa.

Porque te quiero,

exploraré montañas

y verdes valles

respirando vida.

Porque te quiero,

navegaré el mar,

océano infinito,

bebiendo luz de estrellas.

Porque te quiero,

exploraré mi corazón,

selva virgen,

hasta encontrarte.

Welcome to Cairo, Pearl of the East.

2010-02-07T01:12:00.004-05:00

Meet Cairo, city of contrasts. Where true beauty is all around you, where you hear the singing of God and learn the ways of men. Two people meet, one foreign, one local, and you see the city through their eyes. Cairo Time is a movie where I finally heard someone say the words that had been spinning inside my head for a long time: are poor people different than the rest of us? Don’t we all deserve a good life? Were we not born all equal, with the same opportunities, capacities and potential? Just because they are poor, have they not achieved the merit to live a good life? Does this merit only come with high education? How sad it is then, that the richer get richer and the poor poorer? Long live capitalism! Muslim countries may not embrace the freedoms that come with democracy but God! Have they not embraced capitalism!? Muslim countries? Arab countries? Middle East countries? What’s the Middle East anyway? middle of what? middle of where? What is this desire of ours to save the Middle East? The good old, widely know and mostly fake, Good Samaritan syndrome? Aren’t we just after their oil? And what about Gaza? Israel still cries the Holocaust while invading Palestine. Shouldn’t we let those people take care of themselves? Kill themselves? After all, wasn’t it Britain and France who left a mess after the wars? Then again, people are rich in warmth, charisma, people believe in something, and that’s to admire, people have faith things will survive on their own, with no effort whatsoever. But this is turning into a political criticism and the movie certainly wasn’t. So, to spice things up, when you least expect it, there’s that thing some call love. Two people discovering each other, taming each other, getting to know each other’s culture, each time they do is a conquest. But questions arise. How late is late when talking about love? How appropriate are inappropriate liaisons? Once in love, should one stay in love or pursue love? That is the dilemma. Love is inhuman. You were in love, or at least you thought you were, that’s why you married, you thought it was forever. But then you meet the love of your life. "-Do you believe in destiny? - Yours or mine?" A happy ending? Please. That is overrated.

so long, Superamas

2010-02-04T23:24:00.001-05:00

I was very lucky to get acquainted with Superamas, a very talented multidisciplinary company. I met the artists and the crew; I got to know the people behind the show. It was such an amazing thing to be able to witness the difference between the sweet charismatic people I met every morning and the crazy characters they created on stage every night. The show is called Big 3rd episode (Happy/ End). As I think back on the show, I must stress how much it made me think of people striving to achieve total happiness and how little these people know that whatever they may desire is nothing else but what society has decided for them to desire. Seating down watching ordinary people in trivial scenes being played over and over, repeated, paused, as if time had stopped, was a light and amusing way of reflecting on the ridicule and absurdness of our daily lives, when we are no more than a spectator. There were always the discrepancies of the old movies and the philosophical speeches projected on screen and the inoffensive, catchy lines such as: “sugar’s a killer, do you know what it does to your butt?” Dancing, acting and singing were at rendezvous. Great show; ask for it on a theater near you. Now, this is only the gospel according to saint- Jacques.

Au revoir, mon petit Prince Vaillant

2010-02-01T16:11:00.000-05:00

La beauté et la chaleur du printemps

sont parties depuis longtemps.

Je me suis baigné dans ta source

et tu as cueillit mes fleurs.

Mais les jours d’hiver nous chassent.

Puis, maintenant que la terre est tournée,

que les astres se sont éloignés,

nous nous battons pour le miel.

Tu chantes, tu te crois géant

mais quand la tempête nous frappe la nuit

tu te caches derrière moi.

Le vent heurte mon visage

et je crache sur le tien, toi,

en revanche, tu me maudis.

Où est passée la lune,

témoin de notre amour?

Reviens, reviens, ma bien aimée.

neige

2010-01-26T23:55:00.000-05:00

Soudain, au milieu de ce voyage,
le ciel nous est tombé sur la tête.
Ah, terre de merveilles.

Ton visage s’est illuminé de joie,

tu as ramassé ces morceaux de nuage

et tu as donné forme à tes rêves.

Mais rien ne dure à jamais.

Désespéré, je suis monté sur mon cheval,

j’ai traversé le ciel en cherchant

comètes et constellations.

J’ai lancé mon filet et dans un coffre

j’ai mis de la poudre d’étoiles pour toi.

Et chaque nuit quand tu éteins la lumière,

j’ouvre le coffre en te souhaitant bonne nuit.

When I was a boy

2010-01-25T15:38:00.000-05:00

When I was a boy I was a boy When I was a boy I was a little boy When I was a boy I was young When I was a boy I was a toy When I was a boy I was my sister When I was a boy I was my mother When I was a boy I was naive When I was a boy I knew nothing When I was a boy I was blind When I was a boy I was afraid When I was a boy I was not armed When I was a boy I was not loved When I was a boy I was destroyed When I was a boy I was sad When I was a boy I had no soul When I was a boy I was cold When I was a boy I had no food When I was a boy I was not a boy When I was a boy I was not myself When I was a boy I was a rose When I was a boy I was fragile When I was a boy I was rain When I was a boy I was clean When I was a boy I was a bird When I was a boy I was a fish When I was a boy I had a dream When I was a boy I had a friend When I was a boy I liked candy When I was a boy I was a dance When I was a boy I was blond When I was a boy I liked a boy When I was a boy I was god.