Report from DOCTORS 24.5.10

We played doctors and nurses all night long.
I keep finding weird toys and instruments in my pants.


Marjorie Kanter - At The Doctors

I don’t
Know what

But it’s
Not my

It’s a bilingual soireè of love, memories, and sensuality.

Helena Humphrey - Footnote

The language of love,
Mon amour.

The language of lust,


"Je t'aime"
They shout on the streets.

"I love you"
Once and under the sheets.

Rather the rare I love you from my English man's lips,
Than the je t'aime that throbs from French mens' loins.

Who usually writes through a gynaecological eye,
dropped the speculum.

Troy Yorke - "Abandoned Reflection"

Take away this busted mirror
Take away the shards of me
Pull from me the spokes of reason
I want to lay in waste
Weeping for those who spoke too soon
And crushed their heads when the windows closed.

Anarchy at Culture Rapide: UkulHelen of Troy

And someone is leaving Paris:

I am not not good at goodbyes
I am worse at hellos,
making sloppy first impressions
like my first day of graduate school,
when I got wasted
(not on purpose,
it was not my fault)
it started as one drink,
to calm my nerves
as I sang along to the
“Sound of Music” soundtrack,
the confidence song,

I have confidence in sunshine, etc.

But it quickly turned into six drinks,
and me, at the orientation party,
telling the chair of my department
that his tie
was hot.

I retreated to my Californian apartment,
lonely and young,
the opposite of how I feel in Paris-

in particular when Alberto,
on his first visit to my house
came armed with a briefcase,
and opened it to reveal
two eggplants
like twins.
He said
“Megan, you gonna have the olive oil?”
I said,
“Yes, Alberto, I gonna have the olive oil”
and I felt home.

Megan Fernandes

Huge Hug.
See you soon.
Anywhere on this globe.

Next Episode:
31 May
Theme: Maps… les cartes géographiques

Report from TRANSLATION 17.5.10

Photos: Joa, sur les traces de Kerouac:

Leemore writes you from your other life:

Maira D'Arcy with a 30 second poem in dance form:

Jonathan in the throes of Dada poetry:

Valerie with a macaronic poem - a poem with other languages in it; she sidled along a cul-de-sac till the name came back; an expert in blowing up trains.

Other folks doing stuff included: Nicolas and his Magic Gloves, qui a fait disparaitre le Tour Eiffel. James, who missed mass on a Sunday. Charlie, who found a box full of zeroes. Lynne's the politics of weather, endless rain rushing to Hell. Antonia - who rattles the brain while they put one breath after another and go off to war. English as she is spoke, with Marie & Nicolas. What is it you want you? You hear the birds gurgling? Chris's play on love and unrequited slug. Suzanne: fromage feels so sad in the mouth, and smells like feet. Tom: Pound cake and other mysteries. Megan and Jonathan spiking drinks with illicit pills. Jason, easing his heartburn with a centrifuge... and many more esp old favourites.

Next Monday is Doctors, hosted by Alberto.

Report from MAGIC 10.5.10

Hosted by Alberto:

Featuring Natasha from Russia, you know, the country around Moscow:

Bringing a touch of elegance to SpokenWord, Claire Trev and Paul:

And Robert, lost in a sunflower sutra of California supermarkets with Allen Ginsberg:

Magic night with Lady Calmus, Charlie, Claire Trev, Rosalia, John, Natacha, Noriko, Bruce, Jean-Philippe amongst the others. I’ve tried to post a video in which a professional magician named Troy starts elocuting “Are you dead now?”, but in vain, the upload failed. Maybe it’s too heavy, maybe too hot and not allowed on TV. I’m sorry, the only way too see the tough stuff passing here, is on Monday night, live, at Culture Rapide. I leave you with some magic lines by Antonia Klimenko from “Out of Thin Air” and then I disappear:


O Universe!
Above my stereo, my computer and my cell,
You are my favorite wonder
with your mirrored-stairways leading to untold dimensions,
with your zillion galaxies flashing-
eyes opening and closing like painkillers.
While I am turning blue and tricks in the dark,
You are performing Miracles!

Why, after all these centuries
am I not yet able to reveal myself
unto myself? What other kind of magic
do you have up my sleeve?
What other mysteries must remain hidden
in order that they not lose their powers.

See you on Monday,
searching for what is lost in translation.


Report from USED 3.5.10

Antonia: "how to love openly is an Art. I do it best in my head, without you. Arms waving like banners in the land of used dreams."

Julien le barman with a barman's blues:

Louise & Arthur:

Psycho or poet..?

Noriko, in Japanese & English, "Open real":

Notes from the (poetry) underground:
Tristan poked a whole through paper-doll people. Angel sang for the Bolivian soldier. Tom dreamt a Guacamole crocodile. Michele got himself a Sun tattoo. Troy's words were all about glory holes and cruelty to cats. Stale cakes and bitter ale. Claire has the living wallpaper. Shadows of a Saracen. There was sexual tension in the library, undulating with boredom. And those cool blue sheets. Charlie was used up, washed up, cast off, put out, all gone, worn out, over. An algorithm of an air molecule. Noriko wondered how many hours awake I might be. Nicolas regretted his Brazilian bracelet qui se castre ses envies. Rosalia had a Brooklyn story. On the island of Manhatten everyone is an object of utility. I read Joan Brady's Two Women from her new book The Space Between. Alberto threw a tiny teabag from the 14th floor. Jessica asks "Are you afraid I'll take you back to where I left you long ago?"

Next Monday's theme: Magic