Snapshots
Love dolls darted by genetic curare, tears of true crystal in a naugahyde bunker, suburban rockers fixing on feed‑back, embolic fauns staggering on the terrace in Camden, angel's hair stamped on by the Nazi calypso, boogie‑lashed zombies kneeling monstrously, robot‑like puppets from the Vortex who talk about the real mental El Dorado, juggling mechanisms suicided with soda water, rachitic Kung Fu fighters in their Mitchum trip at the Dingwall's, amphetamines in distress under a nuclear threat, bondage sisters in quest of a Ravensbruck number, karate priests who made their faces up with Dracula's sperm, solos of eternity cramming grins back down into throats, kitsch baaders rocking their hips below the lukewarm neon tubes, vegetarian nubile girls clutching the tragic sex of some hero, boxing rings made of flesh that the dizzying storm of the senses whips, satin stars pulling out their pallid breasts, second‑hand capones with warm beer in their looks, sworn fetishists of the square suckers brigade, rockabilly captain pissed out on the wall in Berlin Berlin Berlin, perverse transvestites with plexiglas suspenders, maniacs with their hearts cracked in the Metropolis sewers, prostituted teenagers sobbing in the toilets on the nostalgia of the future, ridiculous ghosts making a fantasy of their own ego or the image of an image and who know it all so well, authentic street toughs stabbed for free at the Abattoirs, hysterical women in menopause and regressing with spangled crawlers, desperate guitarists claiming the purest hopelessness at the Coupole, young people struck by Grace and striking Arian's feet, theoretical corpses hacked by sweating kids, expert gurus who disavow their youths on the screens of TV Death...
and, behind the whole thing, the standardizing establishment organizes the choreography of all the complaints.
Marc Villard ----English translation by Philippe Mikriammos |
