12 01, 2019

Joël Gayraud – The Attic of the Abyss

By | 2019-01-13T03:42:06+00:00 January 12th, 2019|Poetry, Prose|0 Comments

It often happens that some confirmation signal comes in after one of our issues has wrapped up. We welcome this as an indication that the game is not finished, that the exploration continues, and that nothing is ever truly “too late”. In this case, Joël Gayraud has sent us a startling piece of theatre on the theme of “As Above, So Below”. We think itmakes a delicious epilogue (click here for the English translation).


Joël Gayraud


Sotie en 7 scènes 


Liste des personnages, par ordre d’apparition :


ARTHUR, cuisinier à bord du Ronflant, sous-marin à air comprimé.

MÉLISANDE, hôtesse de l’air à bord d’un long courrier reliant Vancouver à Samarcande

GRISÉLIDIS, capitaine du sous-marin

ISIDORE, pilote d’avion.


25 02, 2018

L’Ouverture de la Chasse by Guy Girard

By | 2018-03-13T01:07:34+00:00 February 25th, 2018|Poetry|0 Comments


A Jason Abdelhadi


Il n’y a pas qu’en ce pays que les bonshommes de neige

font la courte échelle aux corbeaux

pour qu’ils plantent d’étranges fleurs sur les nuages

et des herbes et des lianes et des cactus et des dents

de loups montées en collier par les gens de Lascaux


J’ai grand souci de l’altitude de là où l’ivresse des cimes

me conduira sur un radeau de bambous parmi ces gens

qui ont apprivoisé mes rêves comme tant d’autres

ont su coucher par écrit leurs dernières volontés

sur une feuille de nénuphar arrachée au calendrier des postes


Mais s’il fallait ne serait-ce qu’un instant jeter l’ancre

parmi ces gens du peuple minéral je la lancerais

de toutes mes forces au-delà de toute mémoire

dans un trou comme il s’en creuse chaque jour

dans les flammes du temps qu’à la suite des reines

embaumées dans le blanc jardin du Luxembourg

les mères du zodiaque habillent d’ivoire et de corne

comme des cibles semblables à des mandalas


– Guy Girard, 9 février 2018


To Jason Abdelhadi


It is not only in this country that snowmen

give a boost to crows

so they can plant strange flowers on the clouds

and herbs and creepers and cacti and teeth

of wolves mounted on a necklace by the people of Lascaux


I am quite worried about the altitude where the intoxication of the peaks

will lead me on a raft of bamboo among these people

who have tamed my dreams like so many others

who were able to write down their last wishes

on a lily pad torn from the postal calendar


But if it were necessary even for an instant to cast anchor

among these kin of the mineral people I would release it

with all my strength beyond any memory

in a hole as is dug every day

in the flames of time after the queens

embalmed in the white garden of Luxembourg

the mothers of the zodiac dressed in ivory and horn

Like targets resembling mandalas


– Guy Girard, February 9 2018 

4 02, 2018

THE IGUANAS by Rikki Ducornet

By | 2018-02-04T02:59:29+00:00 February 4th, 2018|Poetry|0 Comments

We are wise. Within our third eye’s basin, we see
our enemies approaching
swinging sticks. See how
the moon slides between the branches, never once
catching her horns. How the crabs restrain the moon
when she is swallowed by the sea.

This is how we curse those who
raise their hand against us:
May the rain pour down on your head
whenever you are eating.

If you look attentively into the face of the moon,
you will see the word: MYSTERY written there.
It is she who causes it to wind. There is
no greater mystery than this.
How can a thing lighter than smoke
without a body
toss us around?

There are those who live without viscera,
heart or brain—
look to the water and wind.
There are those who live without souls
yet flourish–look to the clouds. The crabs–
those children of discombobulation.

We have noticed other creatures are incurious,
whereas we hold the world in the deep well
of our reverence.
We have more words for the moods of the moon
than there are wings in the air.
More ways to say: PAY ATTENTION! than there are stars.
(It is we who invented astrology.)

Once we fell together with a terrible thud.
In that instant knew the moon had betrayed us.

30 11, 2016

Alkaline in cerulean by Tim White

By | 2017-06-09T02:35:34+00:00 November 30th, 2016|Poetry|0 Comments

a botany of regurgitated mountains,
a shard of samurai –
the Turin shroud chewed by rotten teeth

flames of unguent giraffe
in a legato of air signs –
alkaline in cerulean

glutinous geometries merge
as pyroclastic salons
pulverise a triad of gametes

vapours of fresh coelacanth rising
a euphemism of fungi
frosting violet stigmata

glittering mummy dust falls
on Jurassic megaliths –
as they collapse into imminent spaces

11 07, 2016

Poems by TD Typaldos

By | 2017-02-25T12:07:20+00:00 July 11th, 2016|Poetry|0 Comments


As a wolf I’m coming near to you to devour your heart
Lie down at your ankles as a dead dove
Camel rider to Sivas oasis I‘m folding my turban – a wish into
    the cosmic excommunication’s sandstorm

As you are running you can learn how useful walking is

From A Galaxy of Starfish (2016)



Inside his phallus
You can find world’s navel
The troughs throw up the moving embryos
The insects fly all around the iceberg’s top
Afternoon walk into the gloomy garden of
    a perennial resignated peal

At night the statues obtain breath-life-voice
They step off the pedestals and spit heads open



Into an



Watching the excitement arising from your body
I burst my anger upon you
The wrath of an oppressed god
An hermaphrodite god
With genitals
From a shell’s torn fan
From a corner’s loose rhyme
Behind my ear
A tusk grows
You, my Pleasure and my Curse
I, your Love and your Death
Over the bone of your third eye
Fata Morgana sharpens the drumming
    of the profundis cunnus
I am the Prophet of Obscurity
You are the Consummation of the Last Planet



A leg
As a rectangle
A hand
As a triangle with equal sides
A head
As a cube with a right angle
A leg
A hand
A head
All together
Within a tomb