Live Your Life in Colours

"The world is changed because you are made of ivory and gold. The curves of your lips rewrite history."

The Picture of Dorian Gray

« Avec l'amour maternel, la vie vous fait à l'aube une promesse qu'elle ne tient jamais. On est obligé ensuite de manger froid jusqu'à la fin de ses jours. Après cela, chaque fois qu'une femme vous prend dans ses bras et vous serre sur son cœur, ce ne sont que des condoléances. On revient toujours gueuler sur la tombe de sa mère comme un chien abandonné. Jamais plus, jamais plus, jamais plus. Des bras adorables se referment autour de votre cou et des lèvres très douces vous parlent d'amour, mais vous êtes au courant. Vous êtes passé à la source très tôt et vous avez tout bu. Lorsque la soif vous reprend, vous avez beau vous jeter de tous côtés, il n'y a plus de puits, il n'y a que des mirages. Vous avez fait, dès la première lueur de l'aube, une étude très serrée de l'amour et vous avez sur vous de la documentation. Je ne dis pas qu'il faille empêcher les mères d'aimer leurs petits. Je dis simplement qu'il vaut mieux que les mères aient encore quelqu'un d'autre à aimer. Si ma mère avait eu un amant, je n'aurais pas passé ma vie à mourir de soif auprès de chaque fontaine. Malheureusement pour moi, je me connais en vrais diamants ».

Romain Gary

"Ne refaites pas l'histoire avec des si. Vous aurez mille passés et pas de futur."

Une vidéo de Beth Fulton, inspiré du poème 'Television' de Todd Alcott.

Look at me. Look at me. Look at me, look at me, look at me. Look at me. No, no, no, don't look over there, look at me, look at me, look at me.
Are you looking at me? Is everyone looking at me? Do I have your attention? Good.
Don't get the wrong idea. I'm not trying to take over your life. You need, what? What do you need? You need to, what? Go to the bathroom? Fine. Get up, go to the bathroom, come back, look at me. You need, what? You need to get something to eat? Fine. Get up, go to the kitchen, get something to eat, come back, look at me. You need to, what, sleep? Fine, get up, go to bed, go to sleep, get up, come back, look at me.
Okay. So we have an agreement. You will do what you absolutely need to do, and when you're done, you will come back and look at me.
Don't worry about your schedule. I am here for you. I am here for you. Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, I am here for you. I am here for you. You need me, I'm here. Fair and foul, thick and thin, I am here for you. I am here for you. People try to tell you I'm bad? You tell them that I am here for you. Twenty-four hours a day, fair and foul, thick and thin, I am here for you. I am here for you. People try to tell you I'm bad, know what that sounds like to me? Sour Grapes.
You see what I--hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, no, dont look over there, there's nothing going on over there, look at me, look at me, look at me.
I've got stuff you wouldn't believe. Danger? Sex? Action? Death? Thrills? Comedy? All here, all in the next eight minutes.
Can you believe it? You can't. It's unbelievable. You can't believe it because its unbelievable! It's a miracle.
Just keep looking at me. Just keep looking at me. Just keep looking at me. Look at me, look at me, look at me, look at me, look at me.

DIE in the Past
Live in the Future.

THE velocity of velocities arrives in starting.

IN pressing the material to derive its essence, matter becomes deformed.

AND form hurtling against itself is thrown beyond the synopsis of vision.

THE straight line and the circle are the parents of design, form the basis of art; there is no limit to their coherent variability.

LOVE the hideous in order to find the sublime core of it.

OPEN your arms to the dilapidated; rehabilitate them.

YOU prefer to observe the past on which your eyes are already opened.

BUT the Future is only dark from outside.
Leap into it—and it EXPLODES with Light.

FORGET that you live in houses, that you may live in yourself—

FOR the smallest people live in the greatest houses.

BUT the smallest person, potentially, is as great as the Universe.

WHAT can you know of expansion, who limit yourselves to compromise?

HITHERTO the great man has achieved greatness by keeping the people small.

BUT in the Future, by inspiring the people to expand to their fullest capacity, the great man proportionately must be tremendous—a God.

LOVE of others is the appreciation of oneself.

MAY your egotism be so gigantic that you comprise mankind in your self-sympathy.

THE Future is limitless—the past a trail of insidious reactions.

LIFE is only limited by our prejudices. Destroy them, and you cease to be at the mercy of yourself.

TIME is the dispersion of intensiveness.

THE Futurist can live a thousand years in one poem.

HE can compress every aesthetic principle in one line.

THE mind is a magician bound by assimilations; let him loose and the smallest idea conceived in freedom will suffice to negate the wisdom of all forefathers.

LOOKING on the past you arrive at “Yes,” but before you can act upon it you have already arrived at “No.”

THE Futurist must leap from affirmative to affirmative, ignoring intermittent negations—must spring from stepping-stone to stone of creative exploration; without slipping back into the turbid stream of accepted facts.

THERE are no excrescences on the absolute, to which man may pin his faith.

TODAY is the crisis in consciousness.

CONSCIOUSNESS cannot spontaneously accept or reject new forms, as offered by creative genius; it is the new form, for however great a period of time it may remain a mere irritant—that molds consciousness to the necessary amplitude for holding it.

CONSCIOUSNESS has no climax.

LET the Universe flow into your consciousness, there is no limit to its capacity, nothing that it shall not re-create.

UNSCREW your capability of absorption and grasp the elements of Life—Whole.

MISERY is in the disintegration of Joy;
Intellect, of Intuition;
Acceptance, of Inspiration.

CEASE to build up your personality with the ejections of irrelevant minds.

NOT to be a cipher in your ambient,
But to color your ambient with your preferences.

NOT to accept experience at its face value.

BUT to readjust activity to the peculiarity of your own will.

THESE are the primary tentatives towards independence.

MAN is a slave only to his own mental lethargy.

YOU cannot restrict the mind’s capacity.

THEREFORE you stand not only in abject servitude to your perceptive consciousness—

BUT also to the mechanical re-actions of the subconsciousness, that rubbish heap of race-tradition—

AND believing yourself to be free—your least conception is colored by the pigment of retrograde superstitions.

HERE are the fallow-lands of mental spatiality that Futurism will clear—

MAKING place for whatever you are brave enough, beautiful enough to draw out of the realized self.

TO your blushing we shout the obscenities, we scream the blasphemies, that you, being weak, whisper alone in the dark.

THEY are empty except of your shame.

AND so these sounds shall dissolve back to their innate senselessness.

THUS shall evolve the language of the Future.

THROUGH derision of Humanity as it appears—

TO arrive at respect for man as he shall be—

ACCEPT the tremendous truth of Futurism
Leaving all those

                                                  Knick-knacks.

Mina Loy, 1914

May the 4th be with you!

Mais le paradis est baigné de la lumière de sept fois sept soleils, tandis que l'enfer n'est qu'à la température de combustion du soufre. Et puis, comme diraient les Joyeux Urbains : au moins, en enfer, ya du boulot.

" Entre ce qui lui plaisait et ce qu'elle était censée admirer, entre ce qu'elle était censée dire de ce qu'elle était censée admirer et la façon dont elle se parlait à elle-même des auteurs qui lui étaient précieux, il y avait parfois un tel décalage que son sentiment de trahir Kundera, sans être le problème majeur de sa vie, lui inspirait parfois la honte qu'il y aurait à trahir en son absence un amant gentil et confiant. "

La Tache (The Human Stain), Philip Roth.
Delphine Roux, étudiante française en lettres, installée aux USA.

Viens-tu du ciel profond ou sors-tu de l’abîme,
O Beauté ? ton regard, infernal et divin,
Verse confusément le bienfait et le crime,
Et l’on peut pour cela te comparer au vin.

Tu contiens dans ton oeil le couchant et l’aurore ;
Tu répands des parfums comme un soir orageux ;
Tes baisers sont un philtre et ta bouche une amphore
Qui font le héros lâche et l’enfant courageux.

Sors-tu du gouffre noir ou descends-tu des astres ?
Le Destin charmé suit tes jupons comme un chien ;
Tu sèmes au hasard la joie et les désastres,
Et tu gouvernes tout et ne réponds de rien.

Tu marches sur des morts, Beauté, dont tu te moques ;
De tes bijoux l’Horreur n’est pas le moins charmant,
Et le Meurtre, parmi tes plus chères breloques,
Sur ton ventre orgueilleux danse amoureusement.

L’éphémère ébloui vole vers toi, chandelle,
Crépite, flambe et dit : Bénissons ce flambeau !
L’amoureux pantelant incliné sur sa belle
A l’air d’un moribond caressant son tombeau.

Que tu viennes du ciel ou de l’enfer, qu’importe,
O Beauté ! monstre énorme, effrayant, ingénu !
Si ton oeil, ton souris, ton pied, m’ouvrent la porte
D’un Infini que j’aime et n’ai jamais connu ?

De Satan ou de Dieu, qu’importe ? Ange ou Sirène,
Qu’importe, si tu rends, - fée aux yeux de velours,
Rythme, parfum, lueur, ô mon unique reine !
L’univers moins hideux et les instants moins lourds ?

Charles Baudelaire
Les Fleurs du Mal, Spleen et Idéal, XXI

If you can keep your head when all about you,
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good or talk too wise:

If you can dream and not make dreams your master;
If you can think and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the words you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And -which is more- you'll be a man, my son!

Rudyard Kipling