That's where all of our sighs go go gooo !

Justificatif d'Abscence 08/02/07

Elève : Darcy Bolan

Section : L1AN 

Motif: Assaillie par des militants de la lutte ouvrière à la sortie du métropolitain station Sèvres Babylone, et incapacité de contourner les stands de nourriture précaire & chars contestataires cernés par la foule afin de rejoindre la faculté à temps pour assister au cours, et ce malgré une volonté inébranlable. 

(Bon c'est un peu tiré par les cheveux, d'accord.)

(Superflu)

(Mais est-ce réellement un problème?)

(Et pendant qu'on y est, c'est des quoi tes chaussures?)

(...)

 

 

 

 

 

And now... one of the ‘Midnight Tales’

He came in trough the window. I had opened the violet notebook on my lap.

I was sitting by that winbow, waiting for his voice to come. The sparkling stars in his eyes were looking up, towards their twins in higher skies. His lips were rounded in silence, red and soft and perfect, his breath suspended in the air. His hair was slightly floating in the breeze, sweetening his dreamy face. Around him was floating a cloud of lilac haze, oh, Lord ! How he was alive! Suddenly, he took his breath, and immediately, I put my pen against the page, my hand firm but thrilling with eagerness. Then, after a forgotten second or two, his voice came out, deep, smooth but vibrating in the room, declining itself in myriad of waves and tones, and I heard the sweetest curves of his vocal chords, on his tongue and through the gap between his front teeth. I began to write; The words, I had no time to understand them, I just had to try to capture the most of his prose, but he was speaking to fast; “Wait!” I asked unwilling, quickly ashamed; Though not hurt, he went on more quietly for an unmeasurable moment, unfixed and riffeling. And when he was done, finally, he stopped an poured his divine look upon me. “Well, let’s read the whole thing again” he said with majesty. I knew my face was red, my cheeks were burning, but his eyes were strangely soothing. “I’m not sure I’ve had the time to write it all” I said, my voice falling to pieces. “Who cares, please go on” he replied, blinking his glittering eye. So I read the three pages I had written, and didn’t stopped, though that was the most wonderful prose I’d ever known or written, prose that made tears come to my eyes and my heart beat slightly faster. I knew I couldn’t have had written it on my own, for it was far too beautiful, though it was indeed my own handwrite. So I quickly closed the violet notebook; But when I looked up again, The man was gone.

(Pour les non anglicistes essayez le traducteur Babelfish, il produit de même des métaphoires improbables et des tentatives d'art abstrait.)

˜–

 

 

 

 

 

“Girl I’m just a vampire for your love” (click click)