jeudi, 28 février 2013
La mort baudelairienne
Photo edited from original by Noelia Hobeika
La Mort des pauvres
C'est la Mort qui console, hélas! et qui fait vivre;
C'est le but de la vie, et c'est le seul espoir
Qui, comme un élixir, nous monte et nous enivre,
Et nous donne le coeur de marcher jusqu'au soir;
À travers la tempête, et la neige, et le givre,
C'est la clarté vibrante à notre horizon noir
C'est l'auberge fameuse inscrite sur le livre,
Où l'on pourra manger, et dormir, et s'asseoir;
C'est un Ange qui tient dans ses doigts magnétiques
Le sommeil et le don des rêves extatiques,
Et qui refait le lit des gens pauvres et nus;
C'est la gloire des Dieux, c'est le grenier mystique,
C'est la bourse du pauvre et sa patrie antique,
C'est le portique ouvert sur les Cieux inconnus!
— Charles Baudelaire
Photo edited from original by Noelia Hobeika
Recolorisation Jana Hobeika
The Death of the Poor
It's Death that comforts us, alas! and makes us live;
It is the goal of life; it is the only hope
Which, like an elixir, makes us inebriate
And gives us the courage to march until evening;
Through the storm and the snow and the hoar-frost
It is the vibrant light on our black horizon;
It is the famous inn inscribed upon the book,
Where one can eat, and sleep, and take his rest;
It's an Angel who holds in his magnetic hands
Sleep and the gift of ecstatic dreams
And who makes the beds for the poor, naked people;
It's the glory of the gods, the mystic granary,
It is the poor man's purse, his ancient fatherland,
It is the portal opening on unknown Skies!
— William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954)
Photo edited from original by Noelia Hobeika
Recolorisation Jana Hobeika
The Death of Paupers
It's Death comforts us, alas! and makes us live.
It is the goal of life, it brings us hope,
And, like a rich elixir, seems to give
Courage to march along the darkening slope.
Across the tempest, hail, and hoarfrost, look!
Along the black horizon, a faint gleam!
It is the inn that's written in the book
Where one can sleep, and eat, and sit and dream.
An Angel, in magnetic hands it holds
Sleep and the gift of sweet ecstatic dreams,
And makes a bed for poor and naked souls.
It is God's glory and the mystic grange:
The poor man's purse and fatherland it seems,
And door that opens Heavens vast and strange.
— Roy Campbell, Poems of Baudelaire (New York: Pantheon Books, 1952)
Photo edited from original by Noelia Hobeika
Recolorisation Jana Hobeika
The Death of the Poor
Death? Death is our one comfort! — is the bread whereby
We live, the wine that warms us when all hope is gone;
The very goal of Life. That we shall one day die:
This is the thought which gives us courage to go on.
Clear on the black horizon, through the blinding sleet,
That beacon burns; — oh, Death, thou inn of wide renown!
Is it not written in the book: "Here all may eat;
Here there is rest for all; here all may sit them down?"
Thou hovering Angel, holding in thy magic hand
Slumber and blissful dreams; thou Glory overhead;
Mysterious attic, filled with treasures manifold;
The poor man's purse, and his remembered fatherland;
Thou, that remakest nightly the beggar's crumpled bed;
Thou only door ajar, pledge of the peace foretold!
— Edna St. Vincent Millay, Flowers of Evil (NY: Harper and Brothers, 1936)
Photo edited from original by Noelia Hobeika
Recolorisation Jana Hobeika
La Mort des pauvres
'tis Death that helps us live, 'tis Death consoles;
Death is life's goal; 'tis the one hope that cheers,
and, like a cordial, spurs our slackening souls,
bestowing strength to march till night appears;
through snow and hoar-frost, where the tempest rolls
toward the black hills, Death's leaping fire veers;
Death is the famous Inn the Book extols,
where we shall dine and rest among our peers;
Death is an angel, with his fingers full
of magic sleep and dreams most wonderful,
— who smoothes the bed whereon the beggar lies;
Death is the glory of the gods, the gold
all poor folk hoard, their fatherland of old,
Death is the portal wide to unknown skies!
— Lewis Piaget Shanks, Flowers of Evil (New York: Ives Washburn, 1931)
Source : http://fleursdumal.org/poem/198
07:54 Publié dans Ecrits, Photographie, Poësie | Lien permanent | Commentaires (0)
mercredi, 27 février 2013
L'aube baudelairienne
Photo edited from original by Tamara Spitzer-Hobeika
L'Aube spirituelle
Quand chez les débauchés l'aube blanche et vermeille
Entre en société de l'Idéal rongeur,
Par l'opération d'un mystère vengeur
Dans la brute assoupie un ange se réveille.
Des Cieux Spirituels l'inaccessible azur,
Pour l'homme terrassé qui rêve encore et souffre,
S'ouvre et s'enfonce avec l'attirance du gouffre.
Ainsi, chère Déesse, Etre lucide et pur,
Sur les débris fumeux des stupides orgies
Ton souvenir plus clair, plus rose, plus charmant,
À mes yeux agrandis voltige incessamment.
Le soleil a noirci la flamme des bougies;
Ainsi, toujours vainqueur, ton fantôme est pareil,
Ame resplendissante, à l'immortel soleil!
— Charles Baudelaire
Photo edited from original by Tamara Spitzer-Hobeika
Recolorisation Jana Hobeika
Spiritual Dawn
When debauchees are roused by the white, rosy dawn,
Escorted by the Ideal which gnaws at their hearts
Through the action of a mysterious, vengeful law,
In the somnolent brute an Angel awakens.
The inaccessible blue of Spiritual Heavens,
For the man thrown to earth who suffers and still dreams,
Opens and yawns with the lure of the abyss.
Thus, dear Goddess, Being, lucid and pure,
Over the smoking ruins of stupid orgies,
Your memory, clearer, more rosy, more charming,
Hovers incessantly before my widened eyes.
The sunlight has darkened the flame of the candles;
Thus, ever triumphant, resplendent soul!
Your phantom is like the immortal sun!
— William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954)
Photo edited from original by Tamara Spitzer-Hobeika
Recolorisation Jana Hobeika
Spiritual Dawn
When in the company of the Ideal
(That gnawing tooth) Dawn enters, white and pink,
The rooms of rakes — each sated beast can feel
An Angel waking through the fumes of drink.
For downcast Man, who dreams and suffers still,
The azure of the mystic heaven above,
With gulf-like vertigo, attracts his will.
So, Goddess, lucid Being of pure love,
Over the smoking wreck of feasts and scandals,
Your phantom, rosy and enchanting, flies
And still returns to my dilated eyes.
The sun has blackened out the flame of candles.
So your victorious phantom seems as one,
O blazing spirit, with the deathless Sun!
— Roy Campbell, Poems of Baudelaire (New York: Pantheon Books, 1952)
Photo edited from original by Tamara Spitzer-Hobeika
Recolorisation Jana Hobeika
L'Aube spirituelle
when to the drunkard's room the flushing East
comes with her comrade sharply-clawed, the Dream,
she wakens, by a dark avenging scheme,
an angel in the dull besotted beast.
deep vaults of inaccessible azure there,
before the dreamer sick with many a phasm,
open, abysmal as a beckoning chasm.
thus, deity, all pure clear light and air,
over the stupid orgy's reeking track
— brighter and lovelier yet, thine image flies
in fluttering rays before my widening eyes.
the sun has turned the candles' flame to black;
even so, victorious always, thou art one
— resplendent spirit! — with the eternal sun!
— Lewis Piaget Shanks, Flowers of Evil
(New York: Ives Washburn, 1931)
Photo edited from original by Tamara Spitzer-Hobeika
Recolorisation Jana Hobeika
Source : http://fleursdumal.org/poem/141
07:54 Publié dans Ecrits, Photographie, Poësie | Lien permanent | Commentaires (0)
mardi, 26 février 2013
Le paquet de gâteaux du dimanche - Delerm
Philippe Delerm (né en 1950)
Extrait de La première gorgée de bière, 1997, Philippe Delerm, Gallimard :
Le paquet de gâteaux du dimanche
Des gâteaux séparés, bien sûr. Une religieuse au café, un paris-brest, deux tartes aux fraises, un mille-feuille. A part pour un ou deux, on sait déjà à qui chacun est destiné - mais quel sera celui-en-supplément-pour-les-gourmands ? On égrène les noms sans hâte. De l'autre côté du comptoir, la vendeuse, la pince à gâteaux à la main, plonge avec soumission vers vos désirs ; elle ne manifeste même pas d'impatience quand elle doit changer de carton - le mille-feuille ne tient pas. C'est important ce carton plat, carré, aux bords arrondis, relevés. Il va constituer le socle solide d'un édifice fragile, au destin menacé.
- Ce sera tout !
Alors la vendeuse engloutit le carton plat dans une pyramide de papier rose, bientôt nouée d'un ruban brun. Pendant l'échange de monnaie, on tient le paquet par en-dessous, mais dès la porte du magasin franchie, on le saisit par la ficelle, et on l'écarte un peu du corps. C'est ainsi. Les gâteaux du dimanche sont à porter comme on tient un pendule. Sourcier des rites minuscules, on avance sans arrogance, ni fausse modestie. Cette espèce de componction, de sérieux de roi mage, n'est-ce pas ridicule ? Mais non. Si les trottoirs dominicaux ont goût de flânerie, la pyramide suspendue y est pour quelque chose - autant que çà et là quelques poireaux dépassant d'un cabas.
Paquet de gâteaux à la main, on a la silhouette du professeur Tournesol - celle qu'il faut pour saluer l'effervescence d'après messe et les bouffées de P.M.U., de café, de tabac. Petits dimanches de famille, petits dimanches d'autrefois, petits dimanches d'aujourd'hui, le temps balance en encensoir au bout d'une ficelle brune. Un peu de crème pâtissière a fait juste une tache en haut de la religieuse au café.
Source : http://petitplatbysk.blogspot.fr/2010/07/patisserie-franc...
Se procurer l'ouvrage :
La première gorgée de bière
Philippe Delerm
1997
Coll. L'Arpenteur, Gallimard
91 pages
07:50 Publié dans Ecrits, littérature contemporaine | Lien permanent | Commentaires (1)
lundi, 25 février 2013
Etymologie - Se monter le bourrichon - Flaubert, Proust
Source : Direct Matin, mercredi 12 décembre 2012
*
> Pour davantage : http://fichtre.hautetfort.com/les-mots-francais.html
07:02 Publié dans Les mots français | Lien permanent | Commentaires (0)
dimanche, 24 février 2013
Prière à Jésus et à la Trinité - Jean Paul II
Prière de Jean Paul II pour la préparation du grand Jubilé (1997)
Jésus, origine et accomplissement de l'homme nouveau, tourne vers toi nos coeurs, pour nous faire abandonner les sentiers de l'erreur et marcher à ta suite, sur la voie qui conduit à la vie.
Permets que, fidèles aux promesses du Baptême, nous vivions pleinement notre foi et que nous rendions témoignage de ta parole avec courage, afin que, dans nos familles et dans la société, resplendisse la lumière vivifiante de l'Evangile.
Jésus, puissance et sagesse de Dieu, fais naître en nous l'amour de la sainte Ecriture, où résonne la voix du Père, qui illumine et qui embrasse, qui nourrit et qui console.
Toi, Parole du Dieu vivant, renouvelle l'élan missionnaire de l'Eglise, afin que tous les peuples parviennent à te connaître, Toi, vrai Fils de Dieu et vrai Fils de l'homme, unique Médiateur entre l'homme et Dieu.
Jésus, Fils unique du Père, plein de grâce et de vérité, lumière qui illumine tout homme, à ceux qui te cherchent d'un coeur sincère, donne ta vie en abondance.
A toi, Rédempteur de l'homme, commencement et fin du temps et de l'univers, au Père, source inépuisable de tout bien, à l'Esprit Saint, sceau de l'amour infini, tout honneur et toute gloire pour les siècles des siècles.
Amen.
Jean Paul II (1920-2005)
07:28 Publié dans Foi, Photographie | Lien permanent | Commentaires (0)
samedi, 23 février 2013
Eclair de Lune / Moonstruck - Cher, Nicolas Cage
Film : Eclair de Lune / Moonstuck (1987, durée 1h38)
Réalisateur : Norman Jewison
¤ ¤ ¤
Loretta : Alors, il y a cinq ans, tu t'es tranché la main et ta femme est partie. Et depuis, pas de femme.
Ronny : Non.
Loretta : C'est stupide.
Ronny : Ton mari est passé sous un bus il y a longtemps ?
Loretta : Ah... ça doit faire cinq ans.
Ronny : Combien t'as eu d'hommes depuis ?
Loretta : Seulement Johnny.
Ronny : Stupide toi-même.
Loretta : Non, malchanceuse ! J'ai pas eu de chance.
Ronny : La chance, tu comprends, c'est autre chose.
Loretta : Non mais qu'est-ce qui te prends toi, qu-qu'est-ce que tu crois !? Tu crois que t'es le seul à avoir versé des larmes dans la vie ?
Ronny : Pourquoi t'es là avec moi ?
Loretta : ... T'as du whiskey chez toi ? Tu m'donnes un verre de whiskey !
Ronny : Chut.
07:33 Publié dans Films étrangers, Les mots des films | Lien permanent | Commentaires (0) | Tags : moonstuck, éclair de lune, cher, nicolas cage
vendredi, 22 février 2013
How ugly office work can get
HOW UGLY OFFICE WORK CAN GET.
Pretty ugly.
Quite ugly.
Utterly ugly.
Ugly ulgy.
Extraits du post "10 reasons why you have to quit your job this year", James Altucher :
http://www.jamesaltucher.com/2013/01/10-reasons-why-you-h...
This was going to end badly. I would play chess all day in my office with the door locked. My boss would knock on the door and I would put my headphones on and ignore him. People would complain that the software I wrote didn’t work. My boss would say, “where were you yesterday” and I would say, “it was a Jewish holiday” even though there was none and he would say, “well…tell us next time if you leave.” It was bad behavior. I was a slave trying to escape but I didn’t know how. I wanted to start a business but I didn’t know what. I wanted to create something but I would play games all day, burning up the fuel in my brain.
You can’t make money without selling something real. You can’t make something real without first imagination manifesting itself in your head. You can’t have imagination without surrendering yourself to an idea that you want to create something of value to other human beings.
And now it’s too late. Now the course of history has finally written it’s next chapter. There’s no more bullshit. I’m going to tell you why you have to quit your job. Why you need to get the ideas moving. Why you need to build a foundation for your life or soon you will have no roof.
1) The middle class is dead. A few weeks ago I visited a friend of mine who manages a trillion dollars. No joke. A trillion. [...] He said, “look out the windows”. We looked out at all the office buildings around us. “What do you see?” he said. “I don’t know.” “They’re empty! All the cubicles are empty. The middle class is being hollowed out.” And I took a closer look. Entire floors were dark. Or there were floors with one or two cubicles but the rest empty. “It’s all outsourced or technology has taken over for the paper shufflers,” he said.
“Not all the news is bad,” he said. “More people entered the upper class than ever last year.” But, he said, more people are temp staffers than ever. And that’s the new paradigm. The middle class has died. The American Dream never really existed. It was a marketing scam. [...]
2) You’ve been replaced. Technology, outsourcing, a growing temp staffing industry, productivity efficiencies, have all replaced the middle class. The working class. Most jobs that existed 20 years ago aren’t needed now. Maybe they never were needed. The entire first decade of this century was spent with CEOs in their Park Avenue clubs crying through their cigars, “how are we going to fire all this dead weight?”. 2008 finally gave them the chance. “It was the economy!” they said. The country has been out of a recession since 2009. Four years now. But the jobs have not come back. I asked many of these CEOS: did you just use that as an excuse to fire people, and they would wink and say, “let’s just leave it at that.”
I’m on the board of directors of a temp staffing company with $600 million in revenues. I can see it happening across every sector of the economy. Everyone is getting fired. Everyone is toilet paper now.
Flush.
3) Corporations don’t like you. The executive editor of a major news publication took me out to lunch to get advice on how to expand their website traffic. But before I could talk he started complaining to me: “our top writers keep putting their twitter names in their posts and then when they get more followers they start asking for raises.”
“What’s the problem?” I said. “Don’t you want writers that are popular and well-respected?”
When I say a “major news publication” I am talking MAJOR.
He said, “no, we want to be about the news. We don’t want anyone to be an individual star.”
In other words, his main job was to destroy the career aspirations of his most talented people, the people who swore their loyalty to him, the people who worked 90 hours a week for him. If they only worked 30 hours a week and were slightly more mediocre he would’ve been happy. But he doesn’t like you. He wants to you stay in the hole and he will throw you a meal every once in awhile in exchange for your excrement. If anyone is a reporter out there and wants to message me privately I will tell you who it was. But basically, it’s all of your bosses. Every single one of them.
4) Money is not happiness. A common question during my Twitter Q&A, asked at least once a week, is “should I take the job I like or should I take the job that pays more money”.
Leaving aside the question of “should I take a job at all”, let’s talk about money for a second. First, the science: studies show that an increase in salary only offers marginal to zero increase in “happiness” above a certain level. Why is this? Because the basic fact: people spend what they make. If your salary increases $5,000 you spend an extra $2000 on features for your car, you have an affair, you buy a new computer, a better couch, a bigger TV, and then you ask, “where did all the money go?” Even though you needed none of the above now you need one more thing: another increase in your salary, so back to the corporate casino for one more try at the salary roulette wheel. I have never once seen anyone save the increase in their salary.
In other words, don’t stay at the job for safe salary increases over time. That will never get you where you want – freedom from financial worry. Only free time, imagination, creativity, and an ability to disappear will help you deliver value that nobody ever delivered before in the history of mankind.
5) Count right now how many people can make a major decision that can ruin your life. I don’t like it when one person can make or break me. A boss. A publisher. A TV producer. A buyer of my company. At any one point I’ve had to kiss ass to all of the above. I hate it. I will never do it again.
The way to avoid this is to diversify the things you are working on so no one person or customer or boss or client can make a decision that could make you rich or destroy you or fulfill your life’s dreams or crush them. I understand it can’t happen in a day. Start planning now how to create your own destiny instead of allowing people who don’t like you to control your destiny. When you do this count, make sure the number comes to over 20. Then when you spin the wheel the odds are on your side that a winning number comes up.
6) Is your job satisfying your needs? I will define “needs” the way I always do, via the four legs of what I call “the daily practice”. Are your physical needs, your emotional needs, your mental needs, and your spiritual needs being satisfied?
The only time I’ve had a job that did was when I had to do little work so that I had time on the side to either write, or start a business, or have fun, or spend time with friends. The times when I haven’t is when I was working too hard, dealing with people I didn’t like, getting my creativity crushed over and over, and so on. When you are in those situations you need to plot out your exit strategy.
Your hands are not made to type out memos. Or put paper through fax machines. Or hold a phone up while you talk to people you dislike. 100 years from now your hands will rot like dust in your grave. You have to make wonderful use of those hands now. Kiss your hands so they can make magic.
[...]
7) Your Retirement Plan is For Shit. [...]
10) Abundance will never come from your job. Only stepping out of the prison imposed on you from your factory will allow you to achieve abundance. You can’t see it now. It’s hard to see the gardens when you are locked in jail. Abundance only comes when you are moving along your themes. When you are truly enhancing the lives of the people around you.
When every day you wake up with that motive of enhancement. Enhance your family, your friends, your colleagues, your clients, potential customers, readers, people who you don’t even know yet but you would like to know. Become a beacon of enhancement and then when the night is gray, all of the boats will move towards you, bringing their bountiful riches.
–
Don’t believe me. Stay with a boss that hates you. A job that is keeping you locked on a chain around your neck, tantalizing you with incremental increases in pay and job title. Stay in a culture that is quietly replacing the entire middle class. This is not anyone’s fault. This is the tectonic plates of economics destroying an entire suburban culture that has lasted for almost 100 years.
Until you choose yourself for success, and all that choice entails, you will be locked into the prison. You will stare into your lover’s eyes looking for a sign that he or she loves you back. But slowly the lights will fade, the warmth of another body will grow cold, and you will go to sleep dreamless in the dark once again.
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A comment from "Werbtheherb" :
Great article as usual James. Really gets me engaged. We are all so hungry to find a "reason to live", a "purpose to our existence". We want to paint our ambitions. We find ourselves limited by our biology, this thing, this body with 2 hands, 2 legs, 2 eyes..when you think of the inifinite configurations that are possible, why this one? Absurd. Our biological urges are disgusting, with our salivy and mucus and excrement coming out of our anus.
We all know our intellect is so much more than the body we are in. That for me is the real prison. We try to escape the walls of corporations to express ourselves freely through our body. Our intellect wants to yell out, wants to spread beyond the confines of our biology. Our intellect is pure, everyone can reach within to feel the pureness of love, of good. Words can't describe it. It is warm, it is comfortable, it is infinite.
When I look all around, business, what people are doing, anything, it's all an expression of our will. It is infinite. We are all headed towards a realization of self. It is clear. We are headed towards a realization of what is within us. It's honest, good, loving, caring, it does not want to harm anybody, it's peaceful, perfect.
We are headed there at an accelerate rate today, we are trying to connect to each other, to learn as much and as quickly as possible, to know everything, to answer everything.
We are already mourning the death of our biology. We are dependant on medecine, on science, on technology, creations of our intellect. We are letting it express itself.
We want to control the sensory inputs to our brain. We want to let our intellect, our thoughts free.
I am an aerospace engineer, James. I make sure the control software on airctaft engines are safe. I work in a small company. I contribute to bringing people physically together, I am a piece of this self realization. (I think that bringing people physically together is an transitionary phase to bringing people's mind together, we will all be connected). We all are. Whether working in a 9 to 5 formula, or a person managing a trillion dollar. We are all contributors. You are contributing in a way I cannot grasp. You are mind stimulator. You are creating or disrupting synaptic signals in our brains. You are aiming at the essence of what drives us.
Was steve job's contribution by bringing the iphone to millions of people greater than the contribution I do when I churn through tiny bits of information to ensure that the software is safe? Is the contribution greater than the constant love I give to my girlfriend? the caress I give to her hand? The soft kiss to her lips?
Why look elsewhere? Why go and "free myself" from this 9 to 5 to start a company that will "help" people? Why can't I just appreciate what I have and what I am right now, this instant, this split second?
I work 9 to 5, I have 5 weeks vacation, I make 70k/year, I get to see my mom who lives near by whenever I wish and I get to cuddle in her arms, I get to enjoy a hot meal that brings back my childhood flavors. The only prison I know of is my body, and I take care of it so that it doesn't pain me, it allows my mind to be as free as it can. I exercise, I try to satisfy my sexual impulses, I keep it at bay. "Calm down monkey genes". "why are you urging me to be the king of the hill". "MY FOOD! I will get there first!!". "Sex with women, now, all of it" "OO OO OO"
Hahah, hope any of this made any sense. Love you James.
¤ ¤ ¤
07:32 Publié dans Trivialités parisiennes | Lien permanent | Commentaires (0)