Aube au-dessus de Saint-Lambert

Dawn over Saint Lambert Church

L'aube de Noël de ma fenêtre au 15em de Paris, où je suis passée trois mois en 2007. La musique est Debussy joue Debussy (piano roll), La cathédrale engloutie.

Christmas dawn from my window in the 15th arrondissement of Paris, where i passed three months in 2007. The music is Debussy plays Debussy (piano roll), The Sunken Cathedral.

What It Took

written for Amy, Teresa, Shell and Margaret on Feb 21, 1999, my forty-second

birthday and one year after our women's sexual healing group

What it took
was a flag at half-mast
What it took
was a houseful of clues
What it took
was the courage to listen
What it took
was a bottomless blues

The door to my attic
has come unlatched
Its trunks are filled
with outgrown clothes
The glass figurine
smashes to the floor
Its fragments glisten
like precious jewels

All that I am
I have been
And what I've seen
made movies
I watch the parting shots
and give credit
where credit is due:
Some to me, some to you

I celebrate my life again
remember friends and innocents
and wash the demons
from my eyes
and raise the flag
to its full height
and fly, my dear ones
overhead

Blue Skies

Firs against an Olympus sky

Oriane blue

just this side

of obsidian

One song breaks through

and follows a chorus

of warbling

Apollo blue

the scalding white

of noontide

Winged angels

propagate madly

in the heat

Olympus blue

streaked with

cirrus

Old firs

swing wildly

in the firmament

Poseidon blue

a slow blanket

transports the stars

Venus awakens

and sings love songs

to Mars

Wild birds in an Apollo sky

When will the ME epidemic be taken seriously?

This is Mindy Keitel's powerful testimony about the effect of 30 years of bogus studies on ME-CFS, while we are left to die in terrible suffering. Evidence like this is given year after year at the annual CFSAC meeting in Washington, DC, and the ME patient community has had enough; they are beginning to ACT-UP as never before, although we have no Hollywood stars advocating for us. As for this little sparrow, I have had enough after 16 years of pain and a serious flu-like illness which has left me housebound, isolated and in ever-worsening condition.



Mindy's blog "CFS Central" with other important testimony can be found here: http://www.cfscentral.com/2011/05/shoah-testimony.html.

As well, Dr. Jamie Deckoff-Jones' blog "X-Rx" is telling the truth about the bogus approaches to ME research and the important work of the Whittemore Peterson Institute in Nevada on human gammaretroviruses: http://treatingxmrv.blogspot.com/.

toxic mantras

"somatoform disorder"
the very words chill the heart
like an abusive priest crying
"suffer the little children
to come unto me"
a mantra so painful
even your flaming body
grows hotter
flushes with ice
and boiling water
lifts you from the chair
you've been captive in
for twenty years
as you throw yourself
at the marauder
the bankrupt siren
singing to solomon
and nothing can stop
the rage you feel
as you tumble to the floor
flailing your aching arms
standing on useless knees
and weeping icicles
hard and sharp
from years of slaughter
at the hands of doctors
wagging their tongues
of disbelief
proffering toxic mantras
into waiting mouths
into dimpled brain cells
as adrenal glands contract
and the natural matter
of surety and survival
is stolen from you

je m'appartiens

for Pranesh

i was crying for a lost star
far flung, burnt out
yet able to leave its mark
on my heart of hearts

i was crying for past lives
old alibis
wished-for revival
lit up in blindness

the area of my brain
where i demand
ontological questions that
are not particularly useful

and suddenly here you are
a living star
who sheds living light
on articles of love

and the tears
like a floodgate
burst forth
until…

i am free of my sadness
and back amongst the living
where most of the time
dear one, i belong

off the straight and narrow

i need to take a long vacation

from this bodily angst,

sit on top of a hill and meditate

like in the old days,

without thoughts about hunger or thirst

or what time it is

or what pills to take

or what i did then

or what was done to me.

i want to feel wind and rain

on naked vulnerability,

to sit absorbed

in a single tangible thing,

my breath in and out,

not the worn out dreams

surrendered in illness

nor where i should go

or how i should get there

but here in this moment

which is the only place i own

yet over which i have no control

nor would i want it

for therein lies my freedom.

there's a path i can take

that was custom-made for me,

the trees and shrubs carved

by wind and dessication,

sand crushed from grand caverns

sifted and gathered and

making this way meandering;

yet i have no fear of losing my way

because the sun rises in the east

and sets in the west,

as does venus with her fierce lovelamp,

and these things do not vacillate.

i put one foot in front of the other

to climb the scraggy path

up to the summit of the dune,

with a symphony of waves

and seagulls gliding in air currents

and hundreds of sanderlings

running frenetically through foam:

and when i sit like that,

brought there by my own two feet,

i feel a sense of unionizing peace,

as one of a gazillion stars in a
heavenly vista that rolls on and on,

eternally evolving,
creating path after path,

reaching one or another resting point

for weary pilgrims.

Mes Prisons - Alain Bashung

Alain Bashung - Mes prisons by mikibegood

Words: Alain Bashung/Jean Fauque

Music: Alain Bashung

Translation by moineau

Mes prisons sont des modèles

My prisons are models

De sublimes inquiétudes

Of sublime worries

À mes moments perdus

In my lost moments

J’me fais du souci pour le prince

I worry about the prince

J’me fais du souci pour le maton

I worry about the prison guard

J’me fais du souci pour le prince

I worry about the prince

J’me fais du souci pour le maton

I worry about the prison guard

Mes prisons sont des femelles

My prisons are females

À tromper ma vigilance

Mistaking my vigilance

Des fois c’est tendre

Sometimes it's tender

Des fois y'a mutinerie

Sometimes there's mutiny

Rendez-vous sur la lande

Take yourself to the moors

À l'endroit où l’on s’est épris

To the place where one was taken

Les gens sont des légendes

People are legends

Mais leurs âmes prennent le maquis

But their souls go underground

Dans les herbes folles

Into the wild grasses

Tu peux courir

You can run

C’est pas un jeu

It's not a game

Mes prisons s’évanouissent

My prisons fade away

Lorsque ta peau m’appelle

When your skin calls me

À mes moments perdus

In my lost moments

J’me fais du souci pour le prince

I worry about the prince

J’me fais du souci pour le maton

I worry about the prison guard

J’me fais du souci pour le prince

I worry about the prince

Mes prisons sont des ruelles

My prisons are back-alleys

Des cris des rituels

Cries, rituals

Des fois je prie

Sometimes I pray

Des fois j’me réfugie

Sometimes I take refuge

Rendez-vous sur la lande

Take yourself to the moors

Et qu’enfin cesse l’hallali

And when finally death ceases*

Qu’on me presse une orange

Someone will press me an orange

De ma peine je ferai mon lit

From my suffering I will make my bed

Dans les herbes folles

In the wild grasses

Tu peux courir

You can run

Pour des aveux

To confession

Non-lieu, non-lieu

Case dismissed, case dismissed 

* hallali - the sound of a hunting horn when there is a kill