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Marta Orlowska
Nouveau retour Ă mon projet de prĂ©senter la plupart de mes 55500 photos (et des brouettes).  Plus trop loin du prĂ©sent…. Â
2016. Marseille en octobre, Au MusĂ©e Cantini, une expo : “Le RĂŞve”: Ici, des Ĺ“uvres de Valère Bernard :Â
- “La Mort - ou - Le Succube”
- “La Pauriho”
- “Cauchemar”
- “Chevauchée infernale”
- “Guerro - ou - Les Etoiles”
- “L’Enigme” - sur un poème de Louis de Saint-Jacques
source : @cheminer-poesie-cressant​
statues au bosquet qui hantent jusqu’à l’ombre de notre avancée, nos êtres de chairs qui deviennent un instant la réponse de leur blancheur froide, passeurs d’un temps éternel qui étreignent nos muscles qui se figent ; les grands parcs sont les domaines idéals des êtres de pierre et c’est toute notre présence qui se reforme au contact de leur réalité
--
statues in the grove that haunt even the shadow of our advance, our fleshly beings becoming for a moment the answer to their cold whiteness, ferrymen of an eternal time who clasp our muscles as they stiffen; great parks are the ideal domains of beings of stone, and it is our entire presence that reshapes itself in contact with their reality
.
© Pierre Cressant
(mardi 9 mai 2006 - mercredi 22 février 2023)

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Fever enhanced city
Walking down the streets of the town, in which I lived for as long as I remember, the streets were strange, as if covered in fog.
They were unnaturally extending their bodies, like colossal Jormungand and the local stores were multiplying, like fungus after rain. My legs practically couldn’t take me to any certain location. I was a leaf, which movement was dependent on the direction and of force of the wind.
While passing the town hall, my eyes laid upon the tower, which peak bend its way to the pavement.
Maybe it was also suffering from the fever, tiredness taking over its body making it spine bend in fatigue? Hands of the clock fell unconsciously and weren’t showing a certain hour.
Yet I’m still standing. My head hasn’t connected with the pavement by the cold kiss of delirium.
Has anyone seemed to care about that bizarre scenery? Absolutely not. Looks like their fever draw them to this point, that any care about their surroundings or other people had been shut down, their subconscious enhanced by the darkness.
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It was a text that I had to write during one of my classes. I decided to translate it from my native language then post it here. I really like the final result :)
 Hope you’ll enjoy!
MAURICE HENRY /
Les Métamorphoses du vide Première version éditée par Les éditions de minuit en 1955 Images extraites de la splendide réédition aux éditions de sandre, parue en 2018.
Who do you have left? Who do you have left? Who do you have left? Who do you have left?