tell _________+ and

i Do not have time love's bakery.

"cd...clare...such a bon airs"


off to encounter Clare who's Parnet to his willy-nilly. Or clare to his human foible. O! Glissade O beaux O old age. She was puffed to her smoke. dears. Love is like that. It's a dog. Woof! Woof! my bow-wow to yer meow-meow ~ meow-meow~! Ulysses.


"AND the Jewish girls all
ate pomegranate ...."


Lucy on the other hand is from Singapore
keeps a restaurant going on the edge of the Gay Village
she's a plain sort of but obliging woman,
endlessly helping her family,
putting her own life
on hold
"one day I am gonna leave here ...."

her sister, the more beautiful
of the two
shapely eyes and teeth
her breasts a
breath of
on the


as if bread
cooked by



francis picabia

Its good to watch this video first without sound ~
then to watch it with it.

an excerpt of
Rateliers Platoniques
from "Platonic False Teeth"

'The regime of the photographic radium screen’s wind rests every day in the effluvia of the sublime family of great vices when the pyre laughs at the pirate world.

-----readin' this english translation one is not so sure that
its dense packed movement creates the abstract flavour and feel of its the french .
translation is a labour

Blushing gets pretty dangerous if paralyzed King lacks a Queen, and Jesus Christ, crazed with the sorrows of a society violated in public hereditary silence, operates early in the intrigues of the seraglio, vizier of heaven’s administration.'

Don't think the english works in this translation. what works in french language is virtually the con_verse in english _____________________ where french plays against its heavy abstraction __________ english always works better as narrative suppleness and fluid imagery of movement ___ Picabia works the sentence in French against the cognate of the cogito hang-over its proper order business

French since the classical take over
(M. Foucault describes this
in his various books
for example---Lets Mots et les Choses )

--------------------------------------- What does not work in English
is the intelligence supposed by the Descartian French that Picabia
undoes in French
yet is not
equally into English
Mister Descartes
never quite
in English

Paul Valery once wrote that every translation is abandoned: incomplete.
translation: shifting from one sensibility to another
inversions reversions
what one language deterritorializes the
other reterritorializes

"Blushing gets pretty dangerous if ( in english one might have writ if the The or A paralyzed ...) (the indefinite or indefinite article in other words )paralyzed King lacks a Queen, and Jesus Christ, crazed with the sorrows of a society violated in public hereditary silence (these images don't fly as well in English as I suspect the allusions stronger in French, dont come over__ I don't specific allusions, but even general ones),

operates early in the intrigues of the seraglio, vizier of heaven’s administration

(administration in french is a heavy going word
whereas in Englsh its merely a marker of inertia it has no song

Frank O' Hara's poetry takes on some of these qualities in his earliesh long poems
where he packs image after image working them with repeating refrains....
I think Tzara translates better into English

because his work is rougher than
Picabia's and less
by ideas


(these are tentative remarks, provisional)

--------------------- Picabia poet, painter and participant in Dada and Surealism _ friend of Tzara Satie and others, numerous experimental events and art happenings. Picabia was also a millionaire and funded a lot of the printing of the
Dada movement. He also owned, if I remember rightly, 36 automobiles!

_______________________________------------------------- issue 11 Galatea [i think the blog has folded since their last issue] provides a discussion of two or three translations of Picabia into English----------------
source of the translation above galatea resurrects 11


misse ~d

Postage missing

Missing the nights the days. Your arms around me, mine around yours always imaginary. Missing the nights the days. Your arms around me, mine around yours always imaginary. Missing the nights the days. Your arms around me, mine around yours always imaginary. Missing the nights the days. Your arms around me, mine around yours always imaginary. Missing the nights the days. Your arms around me, mine around yours always imaginary.and your lips

Signed with a breath ~

who |re-set|4th time round

Who was that you were

looking at in the moonlight
portrait of the sky
heaven ward with the day sent
like righteous spending
the cackling geese spread their wings
heading north eliminating Olympus as their goal

What are you talking about
head speaking from the floor
(that's mine remember? )
headless lover
with a sandwich for a brain
breathing fire and flames

You are not the one
you are what
I can't live with you any longer
Really? why not?
she__ your love is like God
I can't rely on it

my love is like Picasso it grows on a tree
gorgeous with the weight of a storm

Well says she stretching her winking eyes
hair standing on her skull
but her head was the harem
on the floor
her head was nattering from the linoleum
where it fell when I woke up remember?
hers a mouth never shut
she should have been crucified
for that the bitch
that alone was enough
to get her shot

What can you do about it
you win some you lose__

handsome headless Mary muttered
at the top of the room
she wanted my seams
getting appearances instead

In Dublin 'where the streets are so merry'
what a joke __ I head up the boulevard
sinking in the bog
holding Derry up to my name
thinking of streets my grandfather
walked and walked
the Lusitania comes to mind

Yes, elections again
flags waving in the dirt which means no one
eats for four months
should the neighbours feel guilty,
yes indeed they ought to and
better yet, they'd be better off
doing something else
better of being dead

She moved in we read Genet day
before Venice sunk
Dublin the last alternative
free choice
people have accents there
like trees and repetitious
like repetitious like bitching good
honey smile your eyes on camera
this is In Camera

Go back to Paris the outskirts a few days
death mayhem chaos crying tear
gas when did you get back
stop loving at the distance of distaste
someone wants to know your name

I am the only stranger in your house
didya' move? yea, I told you
I am now a haunted house

I moved into a strange palace
mirrors in the windows
your head has now glimsped the shade
where I used to live

I am coming to the train tracks
visiting you with the slender thieves of memory
dawn breakfast and the Baroque
a high parade of Art you cannot mistake

there's no hope Abaddon none
the wind is a restless bug
with gangsters on it
her cigarette dangles
she's a gun moll alright
a pun mall

filled with the lathing of self
not mixed like some pediment
ruckus the din of her selves is nothing
Nothing what nothing what?

After Jesus comes over Ann
reiterates he stays or I leave
it's a flashback the acid he took
carrying his wood to the crucifixion
straining the brain of his beat
coveting his return

Some wish they'd never had kids
which don't belong to them
he's sitting at the stool
wagging his finger
celebrating the time has come
to break his hymen

There you go again
get your hair back on there's no hymen trope
in any rhetoric that I know of
what are you a baby in blue
are you desperate then
opens the bird cage
down her drawbridge
inviting me to nestle
later we'll meet in her night

not the fashionable blinks and
ahs of self-compliment

what continent is that
Africa my lone star
lay down your gazelle
your Ethiopian wolves

so the factory of dust chants my name
treading each church a dusty wind
a sore in the full night

How corny can you get
gun moll appalled by the respect for tropes
metastatic my name in the hour of the stamp
giving forth like the dead windows of her cornucopia

hydrant spent eyes
meddlesome merry makers
feel sorry for yourself girls

after always after after's a word
that should be damned
do you always come saying my name
depends on the day
time or place
it could be you're not there in my head, your head? you mean your__ you mean I mean my

loins__ your loins, hell what the hell are loins, I mean who uses the word, loins? right like who hangs out their loin cloth? Some people get all the breaks. I am the happy nomad

Remember when we first stopped, and we'd go
peacefully to our rooms
listening to songs and I'd wait or you'd wait delayed gratification until neither of us could stand it, I mean bear it, you said I was the first email in yer heart I was the__ when you were in Paris did you call me hanging up, I got these two strange calls__ his lips are like sealed urgencies he won't admit he did wrong even when he didn't do wrong__ Paris Paris payphone call from Montmartre couldn't get through__ thought I heard your voice__ at__ __th_____ other end Hello__ hello is that? Can I get through operator? Operator is gone as a___ a s a surviving left over_____as a figure of speech orator no longer exists . Two calls in the dead heat of desire to say the wind was buffeting Paris that afternoon in the dream fantasy promise land

it's as if she's mindin' her business not mine what business is that business school or acclaimation of the death's she's made of her career?come cranky let me hod carrier your career careening in the dark to all the slippers we make

we don't make slippers we chew we are Indians fellows with our names on the pack what choice is that to stay the hour

corn husks at the break of day
hustle the ringing shelves
what semen spent fright do you hearken my dove, will its principle be sheaves of dust or hitchhiking to hopes you never had and feeling the wrinkle around your clothes, your eyes timber

tuition of your pate

Something like that

Choice she sneers it's easy to see obvious to do hard to enact like the bell bottom of old men what on earth are you saying? for cryin' out loud, say what you meant

it's easy to be a chip on the old shoulder
giving someone the cold shoulder is easy something that comes natural like
making a typo when you're writing fast skipping the t's and q's or other things people feel obliged to render__ in the queue in the few that was stranded your name found the time your name found the herald__ is that it? not sure, well we wont see before the telegram arrives won't we

shall we stutter 'spent' no we shan't say
better history in the hopes we cultivated

a worrysome meddle
kept you back
kept me back

thank her head
handing the hamadryad back her bed

go ahead be cold
be dead



is the n


as it speaks

wonders if its heart

wonders if its knight charges


Must a mouse always take centre stage?

In this machine 'errors are the portals of volition' the crap of necessity the twist of being, the rill of becoming the hinder of bringing the machine pushed to its length
its none of your business in other words


jackson pollock || turner

Jackson Pollock


28 January 1912

with Keith Holness seeing Pollock 17 years old at the Musee des Beaux Art s~~

Died ~~
11 August 1956 Or some time after he born

Turner SnowStorM

Ruskin on Turner
Thirst for largeness - grasp of terror

and this GiaNtguy
age 5 or

in my
which was
at the time
at all
but a puncture point
of persecution

when time out of
this mentation

In the year 1842 this picture was thus described by Turner in the Academy Catalogue:

"Snowstorm. Steamboat off the harbour mouth making signals, and going by the lead. The author* was in this storm the night the Ariel left Harwich. ...
* Note Turner's significant use of this word, instead of "artist."It was characterized by some of the critics of the day as a mass of "soapsuds and whitewash.

Then he burst out, "Soapsuds and whitewash! What would they have? I wonder what they think the sea's like ? I wish they'd been in it... "

think of Hopkin's

Into the snows she sweeps,

Hurling the haven behind,

The Deutschland, on Sunday; and so the sky keeps,

For the infinite air is unkind,

And the sea flint-flake, black-backed in the regular blow,

Sitting Eastnortheast, in cursed quarter, the wind;

Wiry and white-fiery and whirlwind-swivellèd snow

Spins to the widow-making unchilding unfathering deeps.

She drove in the dark to leeward,
She struck—not a reef or a rock

But the combs of a smother of sand: night drew her

Dead to the Kentish Knock;

And she beat the bank down with her bows and the ride of her keel:

The breakers rolled on her beam with ruinous shock;

And canvas and compass, the whorl and the wheel

Idle for ever to waft her or wind her with, these she

4. The Wreck of the Deutschland

reading that back now im not sure it click Konnects
to Turner . Turner is way wilder in spite of Hopkins' sprung bouncing wrecking rhythm. His religiosity over takes his text.
Oh well
More une autre fois.

The Works of Ruskin, ed. Cook/Wedderburn, vol XIII: The Harbours of England II, Turner's works at the National Gallery 2)

source image of pollock and others here

schedule_d go 'd

did you really think he was god I was go did U think I was god wahat page of lslipped orthgrogs was that? was yer beodee between lines of bourgoise ee borrowed mist? can a machinemake it eYe . ? where does it syntax hail to barrow and sill of respecting poets. a machine poet.

harbinger of pate plate not
head of ape
the gorilla of death
was some ontology of spasm between lakes of difference

some and then

then some. the head of ape, not apse. Or architrave of yon and yore. was some place to pelt the _ f rought iron of ruined metal caps mallet of fallen sky heaven to pave the leaves of autum n .


they will publish books
not seeing love
their books fading
ines wrinkling like the lines of a once beautiful woman
who's bitternes's not ceased ~


A wind whispered better not
becoming this way
better waves on seas curl

nor is time |two in one

1. One is

setting the scene

a worsted bug a rug
facing the pest


is you punishing yourself
[add italics reader]

no direction
cause no power
no higher flow
(short clippy words
wont do)


purpose none
except self-deceive
the weave
or weevil
my dear


abstain thread?

stained bed
of thread to


nailing the pelvis
is not a good idea
it hurts
riveting bolts is better
weak images dont do the trick


prayer is not arch
but simple
kneeling its forward head
to glance


pretence does not a parrying
pray confect


bivouac yer butt


shag for four hours
at least


later exhausted mentation
leaves nothing
but bills
duck bills

spelling errors


a moon bitten
from a lover

build no fires
for any higher you go
Icarus sister you gotta
come down

yer shyness
has a hollow edge to it


moon it
the devilry room
the delivery broom
this shyness is perverse


Your licence's been revoked
Scraam! Pazaaam~


nor is time |two in one

1. One is

setting the scene

a worsted bug a rug
facing the pest


is you punishing yourself
[add italics reader]

no direction
cause no power
no higher flow
(short clippy words
wont do)


purpose none proposed except self-deceive the weave or weevil my dear 4 abstain thread? stained bed of thread to hang 5 nailing the pelvis is not a good idea it hurts riveting bolts is better weak images dont do the trick 6 prayer is not arch but simple kneeling its forward head to glance 7 pretence does not a parrying pray confect or 8 bivouac yer butt 9 shag for four hours at least 10 later exhausted mentation leaves nothing but bills duck bills platypus spelling errors included 11 a moon bitten fire stolen from a lover build no fires for any higher you go Icarus sister you gotta come down 12 yer shyness has a hollow edge to it 13 moon it the devilry room the delivery broom this shyness is perverse Madame 14 Your licence's been revoked Scraam! Pazaaam~


and and

a poet's floor and

a philosopher 's visit ~



some say they read in blood.

i read in black. across the universe. the city of capital. the crush of others.


buy the universe is a long place.
with far narrow corridors.
for spies to lurk in.

lovers lurk as well.

herded in the camel guard.

where songs shutter.
as wings to wary gods.
men to flies.


her eyes
are a smile of depth and time ~

She licks them upward to the sky ~


then upward it flows
the universal flush
the flood
its marking path
a rain on selves
ringing their night-time
dreaming their day

marking love






of its slope

up the meadows




She walkd over to his standing

Sauntering she wander.~ed like a poet.

around mou[CHANGE:months]ths of the earth .

(Found blue~ berry)__ she found hi m AND took his cockhiscock in her mouth they headed south

(on blueberry hill)

(in the wood)
[cls this be the dark wood
that Italian hell guy talked about]

___________________________ and saying said ~

you like a poet, he said|not like a poet| you like a crook| taking heart from them| you look crooked. you look like a thief

who never gets sleep.

And She did Her eye roved the hill__ She dadaDuffy naked. As

[her tongue roved his balls. she came to his hindquarter][moved intook a bed] the day he was borned. He was bornd
the water ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ wave
sun grey dark_______________________ around her ass

were the marks she wanted stung.
light between lights of pearl to off`grey ~

~ Meander
ing ~ We t Feet ~ swing heels

[take off your pants Dada! please squeeze me~!]

rooted to the earth's falling breath
its infinite fall of light

~ and weather is feeling s feeling weather weather feeling

( it is an old figure of speech )
as in One says I feel blue -- like the sky

[I feel like steel]

(poet becomes
painter walking hereyes her eyeing everything great insatiable curiosity~)
his eyes take in her lies.

And another sky
[sky stuff gettin boring]


I am down and in a fun k like a grayish sky

I am stormy as the sky whipped by winds
the sea madly tossed by torrents tornadoes!
roaring ships
sailors over a water of cloud
(the long grass sang through the sea
fishermen lost in the dark
rowing their bark
sing songs
of hope

and I am merry like the chase of the moon and sun

But her eye her eyes ~were a hand touching what she saw
her eye a finger over the land of her touching
[too many feminine rhymes
tough'en it]

walking stalks the urban ?land
and the
smell stink? sea

And so she did

follow him to the sea
the See


This verse has been refused
for purposes



subject of its inspiration

we wont say dishonest

rather it was....

it left more than something to be desired

go little blog

bring good news
of charming defeats
their rare harms

go blog
bring thy books

hurry on the d

go see this~

he says to me see this? its a watch a stop watch
its like a bug bearing in your face working
your sexless camera hooligan of your eye pod
immaculate trace of your disembarked ego

what? she leans in after the flood

stammers the silly whore
a nun of her own prize
stilting her way of speech
not carrying on anything
but the death of her own mother

pardon me?

who's that

who's that
when she's not home
but the whore of the olympics
trading in traffic and wars


everyone knows it doesn't work
laughing me in my face as
he died

remember better is not good
its not as sick

that is the key.

"that the key


sonatas|this is my studio if you dont like + all

sonatas|this is my studio if you dont like

oh well
its really quite dirty in hereu aint seen nothing.

did U think this was a book? it

dummiesss're born each second
nice gyroscope

im not saying anything
what are you saying?
id hardly call this a sonnet .u mean a sonatao/ sonnnetto?

there must teea boilin by nowyou and yer tea
c ome over here and kiss me
will ya?
kiss me kate
kiss me kiss me kiss me Miss me kate
old song
shakespeare.... ? maybe

ask Ben

Sartre dropped by. sometimes

te other guy comes with him, Genet, the poet.

Clifford Duffy came over. later.
or with them. i cant remember he smy lover

in the dark

Deleuze ~ Spinoza

"je disais après tout, l’intuition intellectuelle – ce que Spinoza présentera comme l’intuition du troisième genre de connaissance, – c’est bien une espèce de pensée comme éclair. C’est bien une pensée à vitesse absolue. "


t' spare


Rue Hippolyte-Maindron #46

all these words are on parole

Tu m'hai con disiderio il cor disposto
sì al venir con le parole tue,
ch'i' son tornato nel primo proposto .

You, with your words, have so disposed my heart
to longing for this journey-I return
to what I was at first prepared to do.

have so disposed. got rid of the heart?
what vowel precedes the name the debt of the name . the word
n'ame contains ame _soul

so then
as he steps into
and out of

lets not pretend
more than we know.
but knowing our pretence is soul
we can say we've seen all things
bearing on the dead


do you speak Italian?
of course.

hardly remember the tea

dance then

dance of nothing ness ~

step saunter

pavanne tips of finger ~ to ruffled wrists ~


your self yr other
come again


bow ~


the black eye versus the black [w]hole ~

to perfect love ~

around the black eye black hole ~ or her back as we made love she's a wave

humping pushing heaving back
her criessssssssss
our mouths ~

her back
and forth
her back
her back ~

this then


this then must be your clear throat

the country sky at last
laying back its billion starred heaven over arching its infinite span

over it I see your eyes ~


nothing nothing ~ and the nothing- a thousand blog

Obstacles, psychological and social, to the blossoming of reciprocal affection are a grave evil, from which the world has always suffered and still suffers ....

---------------------- So I hang a poem with your name ~ Yer name become a sign to singleness i n my world ~ anywhere we resonate the bark of trees grows.
fuels my sense of what is . what becoming s are between us ~ desires like a magic
as I pat your face cheeks ~ do you resonate with that virtual ?
Nothing is original. Steal from anywhere that resonates with inspiration or fuels your imagination. Devour old films, new films, music, books, paintings, photographs, poems, dreams, random conversations, architecture, bridges,

street signs, trees, clouds, bodies of water, light and shadows. Select only things to steal from that speak directly to your soul.

If you do this, your work (and theft) will be authentic. Authenticity is invaluable; originality is nonexistent.

And don’t bother concealing your thievery—celebrate it if you feel like it. In any case, always remember what Jean-Luc Godard said: “It’s not where you take things from—it’s where you take them to.”

------------------ So I hold verses between your legs
reach to the river ~ as the sky mouth opens .
as a lip does to a mouth ~ reading
its cause

"stolen" from comment c'est

poetry dicta tor ship|SplOggEr

a quote from my father who is in poetry heaven

"... then poetry ... is a real dictatorship of the mind... '

this particular father being one Tristan Tzara

'n as my other fatherppppapa says i got multitudes so if i speak contra
you see I got big space here
but it gotta be poesie
of glance single & gem


paint the world Pink like th Pink Panther do_es

find an accent to powder yer kit _ chen

another father sez

hhm do i believe in god,?

yes sure

do I believ in goddess why yes, shes a blue baby on the edge of the Moon!


her breasts scoop the sky

so if you can figure ( idont mean onlEe Figure Of SpEech
what Poetic constellation that is baby yer hot

jazz means to talk informal
like an Acadienne
or Irish bum en anglais---------------------------

...Virginie Despentes

Virginie DESPENTES est interviewée autour de son son troisième roman, "Les jolies choses" publié chez Grasset. Le monde difficile, elle connaît, tout lui est arrivé. Elle a envie elle aussi d'avoir une belle vie, pas une vie pourrie. A life like everyone else ~ "D'où je viens dit-elle il faut du courage pour écrire des livres". Elle est devenue écrivain "par inadvertance". et
A face which speaks the expression volumes ~ __________________________________________ and for responsessssssssss of other readers try this one which indirectly refers to Despentes and more directly is about her close contemporary Coralie ... Thi....
A voie et à vapeur
19 août 2009 à 11h14 • Maïa Mazaurette Tags : Ouais ouais trop rebelle ouais Je viens de terminer « La voie humide » de Coralie Trinh Thi (ex-hardeuse et réalisatrice du film Baise-Moi) : 700 pages d’autobiographie dont je ne sais toujours pas quoi penser. Enfin si. La partie témoignage sur le milieu du X est intéressante, c’est certainement ce que j’ai lu de plus objectif jusqu’à présent. Pas de diabolisation et pas d’encensement, on suit les heures de gloire et les grosses crises de larme. Tout le reste, qui m’a donné envie de balancer ce pavé dans la piscine, tient plus à la personnalité de l’auteure qu’à son écriture, je serais donc bien en mal de le lui reprocher. Pourquoi vouloir toujours prouver qu’elle a de la culture (moi je n’en doutais pas, alors bon). Pourquoi raconter le milieu gothique, bââââille. Pourquoi cette obsession pour la pensée magique de la part de quelqu’un de rationnel. Pourquoi cette haine grossière contre les féministes en faisant semblant d’ignorer la vague du féminisme pro-sexe. Aux points de vue politique, artistique, humain, ça m’a semblé primaire. Parce que l’auteure se la joue rebelle (les gens sont lâches et faibles, elle est droite et courageuse) et qu’à mon avis, c’est de la rébellion basique (ohé s’habiller en noir et détester les mots en -isme » et parler du Diable, après 15 ans, on passe à des choses plus subversives normalement). Et je suis déçue parce que j’aime bien Virginie Despentes et que je pensais que logiquement, j’aimerais ce bouquin, dont j’adore l’éditeur. Maintenant je vais aller le sacrifier dans la piscine. C’est ainsi. Je le dois, pour exorciser mon cerveau de cette sensation désagréable. En dessinant un pentagramme avec un chat et tout. Rebeeeeelle quoi. (EDIT. Mon classement personnel des trucs non-rebelles comporte le tatouage, le piercing, l’élargissement des lobes des oreilles, les dreadlocks, les habits noirs, les survêtements, bref, tout ce qui est marqué sur le corps (y compris les cagoules noires du black bloc berlinois). En fait, dès qu’on peut t’identifier, tu cesses de représenter une subversion. Il m’arrive même de penser (mais on me jette des cailloux) que toute rébellion qui passe par le cosmétique cesse d’exister dans le cerveau, par un système de vases communicants. Ce que tu mets dans ton corps, tu arrêtes de le mettre dans tes actes, ton énergie, ta pensée. Vous pouvez me jeter des cailloux. Mais pour moi, la révolte sublime est celle qui nous prend par surprise, incognito. J’aime cette idée de danger invisible.)« Sébastien Night, on en reparle…A bras le corps »_____________________________ source___________________________________________________ words from a recent interview (english trans.)

This is an article from 3:AM Magazine. Click here for the front page.

Virginie Despentes Interviewed

Interview by Alan Kelly.
3:AM: Virginie, I don’t want to talk about King Kong Theory right away, if that is OK with you – looking back, to Baise-moi, both the book and the adaptation, is there anything you feel you could or should have done differently?
VD: Both novel and movie are perfect. I would not change anything.
3:AM: Both are pretty much top-shelf in the canon of Bad Girls in Dirty Pictures – of course it was more than just an exploitation tale, right?
VD: It is so pathetic that we still talk about “bad girls in dirty pictures” movies. How would you call the movies with bad boys carrying big guns and flirting with girls? Regular cinema? Entertainment? So one gender has to justify “that was not just an exploitation tale” and the other gender just take the gun, the violence, the sex - the greatest thing in cinema industry - and no one ever asks any questions about that prerogative. Fine. Baise-moi has nothing to do with “bad girls”, it is a low budget, punk, violent movie. Forget the tits and cunts, for one second. The key words here should be: gun, death, fake blood. Not “pussy pussy pussy”. We did not know people would be so amazed about the “pussy pussy pussy” angle. I don’t care those two characters have cunts. They are archetypes: violent outcasts. Should not be always defined by them having cunts.
3:AM: The transgressive roar of musicians like Lydia Lunch to writers like Helen Walsh and self-proclaimed gender queers like Kate Bornstein have shattered the bell-jar of anticipated femininity. Do you think this will always be an on-going process?
VD: It seems pretty difficult to me to put Lydia Lunch and Kate Bornstein in a common field. Different type of work, no? I don’t know Helen Walsh. Anyway, let’s put all those deviant pussies in one big bag so we can answer the question… As long as people do not get killed or jailed for messing up with genders, it will be an ongoing process. There is nothing natural or obvious in being feminine or virile. If you don’t control artificially and strongly that everyone is accepting the heterosexual rules then you have an exploision of cross gendering, male interfucking, dyke culture and gender fucking… because heterosexuality as we know it is so plain boring, dumb, dull and artificial, it has to be imposed upon people, otherwise they don’t take it.
3:AM: I remember seeing Baise-moi at the Irish Film Institute when it was first released in Ireland a few years back and thinking, “why haven’t I seen stuff like this before?” A film so vicious and relenting and utterly exhilarating. Was it written as a warning, a way to purge yourself, or was just some nasty fun?
VD: We wanted to make a punk movie. Many strong emotions, all linked and expressed through anger. Anger is not depression, anger is working with desire and humour. Anger is destructive, but very active. We loved the movies from the 80’s Scorsese, Ferrara, De Palma’s Scarface, Tobe Hooper, Wes Craven and so with a tiny, tiny budget, we wanted to shoot the same kind of story: strong friendship, outcasts, graphic violence, sex and a bad ending.
We did not intend to do anything special with some women characters, but I suppose we just allowed female characters to behave as if they did not carry cunts and tits, just behave as cinema characters, regular ones. That was the big deal. We forgot that female characters have to be censored and shaped so they can remain females, even in movies.
3:AM: The fall-out reactionary mauling you received was viciously personal – with every tabloid moral guardian spouting buzzwords like “too edgy,” “obscene,” and your name highlighted and underlined in every second sentence in almost every by-line. I know you got angry, but just how pissed off did it make you that critics missed the point?
VD: When a movie is taken out of the theatres, you don’t have many time left to wonder about critics’ works. So I did not pay lots of attention about it, and I suppose Coralie did not, either. The strong point about the French reaction was not its personal side, it was that after it was taken out of the theatres, 98% of the articles would agree with the banning, even if the banning was provoked by a single extreme right pro-family movement complaint. The socialist press widely agreed with the ban. They sincerely felt that France would be a better space if we don’t talk about violence from the lowest class.
There is something very strong, in France, about censorship and class struggles. It did not stop with Baise-moi. Things are gettting pretty harsh, these last years, for hip hop artists. Lots of trials, very long and expensive processes, and lots of twisted censorships against the hip hop arts. And the intellectuals, most of the time, they do not want to have dirty hands, they do not touch Baise-moi or hip hop artists. French intellectuals, most of the time, they agree with that censorship. They don’t want these popular cultures to explode. They think we should all shut the fuck up and listen to our elites. It’s getting worst now because elites are so frightened of another street revolution, they are doing anything they can to forbid expressions of anger from the lower classes.
In foreign countries, [the reaction] was different, as soon as we reached the Toronto Film Festival it became much more classic, with both loathing or enthusiasm in the journalistic fields – we barely got indifference, which we took as a good sign.
3:AM: King Kong Theory: a hybrid of polemic spliced with autobiographical content. Your own deeply personal response to the witch hunt that ensued following Baise-moi. What took you so long, getting back to the typewriter?
VD: I published two novels in between (Teen Spirit and Bye Bye Blondie) and made a comic scenario (Trois Etoiles). But not translated in English.
3:AM: Do you think sexual freedom and sexual damage is the same thing, or both or if not what do you believe differentiates the two?
VD: What is the common point between sexual freedom and sexual damage? Do you think that sexuality was any less damaging before the 70’s? Ah ah ah, that’s an interesting theory!
3:AM: There are allusions to key theorists in feminism in King Kong Theory – yet you don’t waffle, your writing style has a lucid clarity and a concise often world weary cynical rhythm. Have you had any negative feedback?
VD: Yes, from the UK for example, some.
3:AM: You say you speak on behalf of the “ugly” ones – is this not perhaps creating another cage by which to define women?
VD: Do you think I created this cage? Do you have any male heterosexual friends? Have a talk with them: the cage is already there. It’s not a cage, actually, it’s our main field. If you have any really fat friend, you should also have a talk with her or him: the cage is pretty tough to escape.
I am not creating anything, the space is already created. I am just standing from there to express what I have to express. Because I felt that the most important reaction to any feminist work in France is: she is so ugly that she can not provoke male’s interest, so she is angry and feminist. So I thought that was the good starting point: yes I am, and so what?
3:AM: OK, to you, who is the most important woman in existence, either living or dead?
VD: Is Jesus Christ a correct answer ?
3:AM: If King Kong Theory manages to accomplish anything, what would you like that thing to be?
VD: Here in Barcelona it was a strong inspiration for Itziar Ziga to write her book Devenir Perras (Becoming a Bitch) and her book is radical, original and emotional, and is catching a big audience here. So I feel kind of like King Kong started a feminist writing contamination, and it feels good.
This interview also ran at dogmatika recently. Reprinted with thanks.
ABOUT THE INTERVIEWER Alan Kelly is the contributing editor to Dogmatika. He has worked for a number of specialist magazines, Film Ireland, Pretty Scary, Penny Blood, Bookslut et al. He lives in Wicklow and is partial to pulp, noir, hardboiled, brainy erotica and horror fiction.