Je suis canon et je vous emmerde

Monsieur, s'il vous plaît

C’est plus facile quand on est beau. Les cis t’adorent, petite chose mignonne et vaguement subversive que tu es. Et puis beau ça veut dire qu’on peut te prendre pour unE cis, alors forcément ça aide au quotidien. De ne pas être vuE comme une monstruosité, ou constamment mégenréE… Il peut même t’arriver de rencontrer des gens qui voudront bien te baiser.

Il faut comprendre la violence de cette société qui ne fait référence qu’à la beauté, à la transition « réussie » d’une personne quand on parle d’elle, et qui en même temps dit toujours qu’être trans c’est forcément être un monstre. Comme le patriarcat classe les femmes cis en baisables ou imbaisables, il classe les trans en « peut passer pour unE cis » et « truc bizarre ». Que le truc bizarre soit grotesque, effrayant, dégoûtant, qu’on le pointe du doigt ou qu’on omette poliment d’en parler. Mais alors ça veut dire qu’en…

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La psychophobie, ça tue.

Coups de Gueule de Lau

Elle s’appelait Anouk.
C’était une amie, et une camarade de lutte contre la psychophobie.
Elle est morte il y a trois semaines, à 42 ans.

J’ai hésité longtemps à raconter son histoire ici, parce que c’est SON histoire.
Et puis on m’a fait remarquer qu’elle n’avait pas hésité à témoigner à visage découvert des maltraitances psychiatriques qu’elle avait vécu, et qu’elle aurait très probablement voulu que son histoire puisse servir à d’autres.
Et peut-être que ça pourra – au moins – rendre sa mort un peu moins absurde.

Elle avait 42 ans.
Et elle est morte chez elle, d’un AVC ou d’une crise d’épilepsie qui a mal tourné.
Après un parcours complètement absurde de psychophobie médicale, de non-prise en compte de ses souffrances physiques et psychiques.
Un parcours qu’elle avait entrepris de dénoncer, et que je vais continuer à dénoncer ici, parce qu’elle ne peut plus le faire, mais qu’il…

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A l’enfant sans visage 

Mad in Wonderland

[warning : mention de maltraitance et maladie mentale]
Tu ne seras pas, mon enfant. J’aurais aimé, pourtant, je pense. T’avoir dans mes bras, petite masse légère et chaude. J’aurais aimé t’entendre babiller, tes yeux grand ouverts se promenant sur le monde pour, parfois, affronter les miens.

J’aurais aimé te serrer contre moi pour éloigner les cauchemars ; te construire des tours que tu aurais démolies, pour le simple plaisir d’entendre ton rire.

J’aurais aimé te voir grandir, te lever pour marcher vers moi ; me tenir tête, me faire éclater de rire alors que je devrais te réprimander.

J’aurais aimé t’entendre parler, chercher tes mots, te tromper et me demander de l’aide, silencieusement en un regard. Crier de colère, affirmer ce que tu es.

Je t’aurais accompagné⋅e, tu sais. Aussi longtemps que tu l’aurais voulu. J’aurais été là pour te rattraper lorsque tes ailes neuves n’auraient supporté tes désirs de…

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giving some news

Hi there,

I apologize in advance, I think I’m gonna write in English for this one article; I’ve been translating ALL DAY ALL NIGHT lately and this masochist move has affected me a lot, since I can’t even seem to think in French anymore.

I’m sorry the blog hasn’t had any recent upload in the past few… weeks, months maybe, I don’t know. I’m not particularly worried about the impatience of a hypothetical fanbase, since no one seems to read this blog (it’s alright, I think I wouldn’t read it either, I merely do it for my own purpose anyway.) Thus, perhaps this article is all about apologizing to myself and making things clear. I tend not to work very well or quickly if I don’t know where exactly I’m heading to, and I found that my goals are kind of messy at the moment!

As I said, I’ve been translating like crazy, and fighting a lot of battles at the same time. I first started to translate two different academic essays: one in English, one in German (I figured I should try translating in my third language as well, and though I need a dictionnary next to me all the time, I have to say it is quite fun -and I am quite surprised-).
These two essays are called Homosexuality at the online Hogwarts and All of the Greek and Roman Classics; both of them are about fanfictions and pop-culture, and how they are influenced either by current sociopolitical context or ancient references/intertexts. I actually plan on publishing my French translations on when I’m done, since I have the authorization of the original authors!

I also started to translate (with her agreement!) Celine Schillinger’s blog, and I’ll keep you updated about it as I am very excited about how it will turn out!

And finally, I plan on doing the NaNoWriMo again this year. You might not know the NaNo: its full name is National Novel Writing Month and the idea, to put it simply, is: you get to write a full 50K-words novel in one month, from November 1rst to 31rst.
The thing is, I’m terrible at long stories, I can’t even seem to write novels of more than 5 Word pages; so I won’t be using the NaNo this way. Last year, the alternative I found was the following: ‘if you don’t write 50K words, at least try to translate 50K words.’ I actually translated about 30K, which was quite good knowing 1. I hadn’t planned on doing it and only started a week and a half after the others (on the 9th of November I think) 2. Prépa isn’t the least time-consuming course of study and I had tons of tests to prepare, and still managed to pull out about 2K words per day.

And when one of those projects is over, I think I’ll try translating some TedEx talks as well (but this isn’t my concern for now, I have too much on my plate already).

So that’s it folks! Two academic essays (20 pages long each…), plus one blog, plus 50K of fictions and fanfictions for the NaNoWriMo. With my family we also plan on going to Turin for the All Saints’ vacation this year, and though I went last year, I feel like it’s been years since the last time I was in Italy and I’m so! happy!! I get to finally see Turin!!! (and its apparently wonderful Cinema Museum. yay. i’m exCiTED). Also, I’m doing just fine in Prépa for now, my grades don’t suffer quite as much as last year, and it’s so cool to see I’m getting somewhere! (I just have to plan my work/nap time more carefully) In short: lots of projects, lots of good news, lots of keeping my head above the water and denying my sleeping cycle. To quote « Hamilton, a American Musical » (which I’ve been listening ad infinitum): Look around, look around at how lucky we are to be alive right now. 

Thank you for reading my rambling, and I’ll see you soon!,
Good day, guys, gals and non-binary pals 

T.S. Eliot – La Chanson d’amour de J. Alfred Prufrock (The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, 1917)


La Chanson d’amour de J. Alfred Prufrock décrit les états d’âme d’un homme dans la quarantaine, esseulé et sans amour, conscient que ses aspirations et ses envies sont beaucoup plus profondes que celles du reste du monde. L’orateur sait que les femmes ne le regarderont pas s’il n’attire pas leur attention par quelques actes violents; il ressent la nécessité d’attirer l’attention mais craint d’être rejeté et raillé. Un des éléments thématiques principaux du poème est d’ailleurs le vieillissement : L’orateur contemple les détails de sa détérioration physique, et médite l’idée d’une mort imminente.

T.S. EliotS’io credesse che mia risposa fosse
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma perciocche giammai di questa fondo
Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero,
Senza tema d’infamia ti respondo.

Allons-nous en donc, toi et moi,
Lorsque le soir est étendu contre le ciel
Comme un patient anesthésié sur une…

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[Analysis] « Details of the Woods » by Richard Siken

« I looked at all the trees and didn’t know what to do.

A box made out of leaves.
What else was in the woods? A heart, closing. Nevertheless.

Everyone needs a place. It shouldn’t be inside of someone else.
I kept my mind on the moon. Cold moon, long nights moon.

From the landscape: a sense of scale.
From the dead: a sense of scale.

I turned my back on the story. A sense of superiority.
Everything casts a shadow.

Your body told me in a dream it’s never been afraid of anything. »




The first time I read this poem, I felt strangely moved, even quite shaken, but didn’t really grasp the meaning of it. I felt as if something else -something bigger- went on behind the words and I felt its might without seeing it.

I found out, reading Richard Siken’s poems (I recommend Details of the Woods but also his prose poem Language of the Birds, which I find marvelling) that I do like contemporary English and American poetry very much. I sensed it quite a while ago, while reading and translating William Carlos Williams or Lyn Hejinian, but reading and loving a third contemporary poet right on the spot proved my point.

Just as I realized it, I also found out I like contemporary poetry because I can never quite grasp the meaning of it right away.
I have this feeling– that if I want to go on analyze the poem, I can, and I will be allowed to see its might properly; but if I don’t want to see and prefer to just wonder without knowing (and wondering without knowing is a beautiful concept in itself), I can just as well. I think this is a rare double-option. I am amazed by it.

(Then again, I find myself amazed with many small things in life, but it doesn’t spare the beauty of it all.)

Tonight I allowed myself to go a little further and analyze what I read. It’s more of an impression than a true analyze but I want to write it down so I don’t forget it.




One possible meaning of the poem resides entirely on the sentence: « Everyone needs a place. It shouldn’t be inside of someone else. »
The whole poem is about finding your own place, outside of someone else; be able to stand as a whole. Be able to be independant, or to grow out of someone’s grasp. Maybe about going out of an abusive relationship– but maybe just about being you and not living through another person.

« I looked at all the trees and didn’t know what to do. »

The poet, right here, has just found his own place, symbolized by the woods. He came there, maybe by accident, and just stands there, slowly realizing and contemplating how it feels to be alone. He has never felt this way -not in a long time at least- and finds himself estranged to this newborn solitude.

« A box made out of leaves.
What else was in the woods? A heart, closing. Nevertheless. »

My opinion is, this box (‘made out of leaves’, which, contrary to the trees, won’t grow for they have already died) keeps all memories of his previous relationship, where he lived through his partner. Along with his memories, his heart is already in the woods; it’s his mind (himself) that has to go the way.
His heart is closing, because he doesn’t get to be himself anymore. But the « nevertheless » links this stanza to the following one. There is a solution to your uneasiness:

« Everyone needs a place. It shouldn’t be inside of someone else.
I kept my mind on the moon. Cold moon, long nights moon. »

There. There is the solution. You have to find the strength to look out to your own place, and settle down there, or you will get overwhelmed by the other. You have to exist by yourself.
But it’s hard to realize that all at once, and so the poet/narrator keeps his mind of something else– the moon, which doesn’t seem very comforting but is at the same time charactized (almost personified) as the ‘long nights moon’, the one that kept him company when he couldn’t sleep. Like all of us, in times of trouble, he focuses on the familiar.

« From the landscape: a sense of scale.
From the dead: a sense of scale. »

I still don’t really get these verses, but I think he is finally trying the woods as they are, what surrounds him and what is already dead — maybe his relationship is, while his inner self -the trees- is growing, verdant. He derives from this impression a sense of scale, of size: finally, he becomes aware of his own self and its proportion (it’s not just somebody’s other body part).

« I turned my back on the story. A sense of superiority.
Everything casts a shadow.
Your body told me in a dream it’s never been afraid of anything. »

He lets go of the relationship he still held on to, and feels he has accomplished something here.
Still, ‘everything casts a shadow’: the memory of that relationship and the love still remains, and they are the transition to the last verse:
Even the body of his previous lover told him it’s never been afraid of anything. It’s in a dream, which is poetically speaking the vision of the ideal: what you could develop from this is, ‘in a dream, you told me you’ve never been afraid of anything, and I shouldn’t either.’ He’s reversed and retrieved even his most painful memory (his lover) and turned it into a inspirational dream. He is ready to let go and exist on his own: he’s made the memories his own, and they can’t hurt him anymore.


Parler (2) ~ Philippe Jaccottet

enjambées fauves




Chacun a vu un jour (encore aujourd’hui on cherche à nous cacher jusqu’à la vue du feu)
ce que devient la feuille de papier près de la flamme,
comme elle se rétracte, hâtivement, se racornit,
s’effrange… Il peut nous arriver cela aussi,
ce mouvement de retrait convulsif, toujours trop tard,
et néanmoins recommencé pendant des jours,
toujours plus faible, effrayé, saccadé,
devant bien pire que du feu.

Car le feu a encore une splendeur, même s’il ruine,
il est rouge, il se laisse comparer au tigre
ou à la rose, à la rigueur on peut prétendre,
on peut s’imaginer qu’on le désire
comme une langue ou comme un corps ;
autrement dit, c’est matière à poème
depuis toujours, cela peut embraser la page
et d’une flamme soudain plus haute et plus vive
illuminer la chambre jusqu’au lit ou au jardin
sans vous brûler — comme si, au contraire,
on était dans…

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