fugatives

Încă cinci minute de iubire pe ascuns, doar atât.  Și aici nu mă refer la iubirea oarbă, prin mesaje sau la cea surdă, prin șoapte, mă refer la cea fizică, cea la care tânjim amândoi ca doi nebuni, cea de care fug bezmetică, la fel ca piciorușele unui copilaș de valuri la malul mării.
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POST-SCRIPTUM 186

QU’ILS AILLENT SE FAIRE FOUTRE, LES FUGS !

Marc-Albert Levin est ce que l'on pourrait appeler un journaliste culte, connu pour ses articles rédigés dans les années 1960-1970, notamment sur le Pan-African Festival à Alger en 1969 et le Festival d'Amougies. À l'époque Marc-Albert Levin officie dans le journal Les Lettres françaises, hebdomadaire alors dirigé par Louis Aragon. Il est celui qui parle de free jazz surtout, et ses allers-retours, puis son installation à New York en ont fait un témoin privilégié. Sur place il rencontre très vite Richard Alderson, qui participera à la première session d'enregistrement de Marion Brown pour le label new-yorkais ESP-Disk’, et sera à l'origine de la rencontre, puis de l'amitié, entre le journaliste français et le jazzman américain. Seconde rencontre d'importance, le photographe Larry Fink.

C'est à cette époque, au tout début de la deuxième moitié des années 1960, alors qu’il vit sur Rivington Street, que le Français rencontre les Fugs, sur lesquels il écrit sous forme de cahiers ce qui deviendra, illustré des photos de Larry Fink, Tour de farce, étrange bouquin ayant les Fugs pour sujet, mais qui parle autant de Larry Fink et Marc-Albert Levin. Dans les années 1960, le journalisme cherche de nouveaux territoires à explorer… On ne peut pas dire pour autant que le Français se place du côté du nouveau journalisme d’un Hunter S. Thompson, voire de John Dos Passos, vaguement évoqué dans Tour de farce. Les Fugs ressemblent plus à un prétexte qu’à quoi que ce soit d’autre, un prétexte lié à l'histoire d'un label underground qu'il découvre en direct et apprécie, surtout les disques de Pharoah Sanders, Sun Ra, Ornette Coleman… Et d'ailleurs, de retour à Paris, en septembre 1969, il organisera des concerts d’Ornette Coleman, Anthony Braxton, Art Ensemble Of Chicago et François Tusques, avant de retourner à New York, et de devenir un temps le cuisinier personnel de Miles Davis !

Tour de farce donc, est un livre particulier, en ce sens qu'il ne sert pas la soupe aux Fugs : ce serait même l'inverse ! Marc-Albert Levin doute des résultats de leur révolution petite-bourgeoise en dehors de l'East Village, c'est son droit, leur préférant largement, il y fait plusieurs fois allusion, Marion Brown (on s'en serait douté) et Alan Shorter (musiciens sur qui il écrira dans le vivement conseillé Un Printemps à New York, même éditeur, c’est-à-dire Jean-Jacques Pauvert).

Dans Fug You, le bouquin publié dans les années 2000 par Ed Sanders, bizarrement ou logiquement, il n'y est fait aucune allusion au journaliste français, que l'on retrouve cependant interviewé dans l'ouvrage consacré au label ESP-Disk’, sans aucune allusion de sa part aux Fugs !? Mais tel quel, Tour de farce témoigne, comme peu d’ouvrages de ce côté-ci de l’Atlantique, d'une époque d'effervescence peu commune. À propos des appartements des Fugs et de Marion Brown, l'on peut ainsi lire cette touchante description : “Il est vrai qu'à New York, tout a l'air de bouger tout le temps. N'empêche que ça donne à leurs maisons ce charme dont sait si bien jouer Godard,  le charme des maisons fraîches peintes dans des couleurs vives,  encore sans meubles, avec un côté inachevé, projet. Ça ne devrait jamais bouger. C'est là qu'ils en sont dans leur vie : assez de passé pour avoir une personnalité, assez d'avenir pour ne pas encore s'embarrasser de meubles.”

Chez Merzbo-Derek, l’on est d’accord avec tout le bien que pense Claude Pélieu d'Ed Sanders, “poète, chanteur, planeur, conspirateur,le premier Yipbilly de la Citadelle Honkpuke, désirant rendre la terre & l'herbe qui-fait-les-yeux-émerveillés à l'Amérindien”. Il faut lire la truculente, lyrique et tordante histoire secrète de la Brigade Solaire magico-athée exécutant les ordres du Conseil des Formes-Yeux que narre Les Tessons de Dieu d’Ed Sanders.

( Alan Shorter, par là :

http://merzbow-derek.tumblr.com/search/alan+shorter )

-Te-ai întrebat vreodată ce ascund în spatele zâmbetelor?
-Nu…ce ascunzi?
-Multă durere, suferință. Uneori îmi vine să mă dau cu capu’ de pereți. Vreau să fug, să nu știe nimeni de mine. Să plâng până la epuizare.. Ascund…multe răni.
-De ce nu îți pansezi rănile? De ce nu le vindeci?
-Nu pot de una singură. Am nevoie de ajutor.
-Găsește-ți un ajutor.
-Nu..nu înțelegi…trebuie să găsesc ajutorul potrivit. Altfel mă aleg cu și mai multe răni.
-Și cum îți dai seama că ai găsit ajutorul potrivit?
-Nu-mi dau seama. Ăsta e defectul meu. Las oamenii să-mi intre prea ușor în suflet.

Dacă te iubesc prea repede, pare că obosesc sau că rămâi în urmă, dar dacă facem schimb, pare că eu sunt cea care rămân pe loc pentru a te liniști atunci când hotărăști că ai obosit. Iar dacă hotărâm amândoi să ne iubim ținându-ne de mână, pare că unul dintre noi vrea întotdeauna să fugă de rutina ce se instalează rahitic între trupurile noastre.
Just Cute Billdip things - Day 3

Y’all just gonna have to accept the fact I’m always going to be one day late. Also, be warned. There is mention of blood and cartilage.

“Sleep is for the weak!” Bill screeched, his arms flailing as he attempted to remove the hands clamped around his arms. “Your puny arms cannot contain me!”

“Bill!” Dipper yelled exasperatedly. “You can’t spend 3 nights in a row staying up watching squicky videos!” Bill screamed in response and still flailing, managed to smack Dipper in the nose who released Bill’s arms with a painful yelp. Bill immediately froze, craning his head around to find Dipper sitting on the floor, cradling a very red nose.

“Pine Tree?” Bill winced and crouched down as Dipper groaned.

“Fug Bill!” Dipper cursed. He groaned again and this time drops of blood accompanied it, speckling the wooden floorboard.  Panic flooded Bill’s body. He knew how fragile humans were, Dipper even more so than most and in this form, he wasn’t able to access the many reserves of his magic. Mabel had left the house to meet up with Pacifica and both the Stan’s had gone off to revisit an old friend. 

 So it was that Bill, an all-knowing demon trapped in his most hated vessel, sat on a dusty old floor, racking his brains on what to do as his lover continued to bleed out next to him. It was then that Bill did the only thing he remembered how to do.

“Bill, what’re yo- woah!” Dipper cried out as he was promptly lifted up into the air as Bill scooped Dipper up into his arms. 

“Geez, Pine Tree. You need to slow down on the Pitt Cola’s.” Bill groaned as his legs trembled from the weight.

“It’s called mushcle, Bill. And but me down! You broke my noshe, not my legs.” Bill ignored him and raced to the bathroom, kicking the door open when he remembered he no longer had four arms. He none too gently placed Dipper placed in the bathtub before grabbing a wad of toilet paper and practically shoving them in Dipper’s face. He bounced on his heels briefly before turning back to the mirror cabinet and rummaging through its contents, bringing up about 4 unlabelled bottles, gauze, and tape. Bill then proceeded to smack Dipper’s hands away and shove some gauze up Dipper’s nose

.“AHHHHHH!” Dipper shrieked, tears pooling in his eyes as a red hot pain spiked up his nose.

“Oh don’t be such a baby.” Bill murmured as he inspected the bottles. As Dipper continued to prod at his nose, Bill poured out some brown liquid onto some more gauze and pulling out the previous one, stuffed the soaked one up Dipper’s nose. Dipper whimpered and slid his eyes shut in an attempt to block out the pain. “There we go! All better.” Dipper groaned while Bill leaned back to proudly admire his work. He frowned however, when he noticed that Dipper was still moaning and shaking. “Pine Tree? You’re all better aren’t you.”

“Wun mobent.” Bill watched in curiosity as Dipper positioned his fingers around his nose and took a deep breath. A bloodcurdling roar exploded from Dipper’s mouth as he shoved the broken cartilage into place and even Bill flinched as he heard the crack. Dipper slumped back into the tub with a shuddering sigh and smiled weakly at Bill. “There. All better.” 

He was surprised to see such a look of fear and worry on his lover’s normally so blasé face. Before he could say anything however, Bill had turned on his heel and raced out the door and a pang of sadness pierced Dipper’s chest. He could hear the banging and clanging of pots and pans being thrown about and not five minutes later, Bill returned with a thick blanket in one hand and two steaming mugs in the other.

“Scoot over.” Bill instructed and Dipper complied, looking up confusedly at Bill. Bill lowered himself gently next to Dipper, using one hand to wrap the blanket around them while attempting not to spill any liquid in the mugs.

“Bill, what-”

“Here.” Bill said, carefully handing the mug to Dipper. “Chocolate increases dopamine levels which should help neutralise any pain you’re experiencing. I’m…I’m sorry Dipper.” Dipper stared dumbfounded at the mug for a brief moment before breaking out into a chuckle. He accepted the mug with a grateful smile and settled himself further into the warm blanket.

“I love you.” Dipper laughed as he leant his head on Bill’s shoulder.

“I love you too, kid.”