reality of the
landscape

Léa Abaroa - Reality Of The Landscape

Reality of the landscape
computer-generated
water reflection,
qr code,
2021

dive in

Reality of a mirror
that is no mirror.

Read full story

nothing
here
but jungle

Léa Abaroa - Nothing Here But Jungle Léa Abaroa - Nothing Here But Jungle Léa Abaroa - Nothing Here But Jungle

Nothing Here But Jungle
13 two-sided posters,
fake gold chain non-bookbinding,
2021

Wandering the suburbs

I walk back at dawn. Time stretches out along the strip.

read full story

iata:
sin

Léa Abaroa - IATA:SIN Léa Abaroa - IATA:SIN Léa Abaroa - IATA:SIN

IATA:SIN
three .gifs,
2021

Singapore

An IATA airport code is a three-letter geocode designating many airports and metropolitan areas around the world.

Singapore Changi Airport is commonly known as Changi Airport (IATA:SIN).

In a religious context, a sin is a transgression against divine law.

miami

Léa Abaroa – Miami

MIAMI
computer generated landscape, lambda print on metallic paper,
2021

unfolded
time

Léa Abaroa - Unfolded Time

Unfolded Time
Helical representation of time,
2021

Aren't there, year after year, a winter a spring a summer and a fall? Isn't dying like coming into being in reverse? --- not here - here, here - not here? why is it that we keep representing time as a straight line?

birds of
paradise
club

Léa Abaroa - Birds of Paradise Club Léa Abaroa - Birds of Paradise Club

Birds of Paradise Club
Book,
2020

On a bank of the Mekong River

It’s a wasteland on the city’s heights at the jungle’s edge. On fine nights, at sunset, we drive up there: a dozen or so cars, four or of us five by car, winding up the slopes from the town.

read full story

the
volume
of
light

Léa Abaroa - The Volume Of Light

The Volume of Light (WAVE_A)
video loops,
2020

Mediterranean sea

read full story

far side
of the
moon

Léa Abaroa - Far Side Of The Moon Léa Abaroa - Far Side Of The Moon Léa Abaroa - Far Side Of The Moon

Far Side of the Moon
photographs from the series 'Chinese City Dying Flower' altered using a video synthesizer emulator,
2020

Chongqing, China

We’re in a taxi, the humidity thickens the night. The city is red and blue; fuchsia, our pink and black skins stick to the leather interior.

read full story

Chinese
city
dying
flower

Léa Abaroa - Chinese City Dying Flower Léa Abaroa - Chinese City Dying Flower Léa Abaroa - Chinese City Dying Flower Léa Abaroa - Chinese City Dying Flower

Chinese City Dying Flower
photographs,
magazine,
2019

It’s maybe eleven o’clock at night. A man disappears into a building and she follows. An elevator ride, another floor and another man in a suit.

read full story

romeo
with a d
like rodeo

Léa Abaroa - Romeo With A D Like Rodeo

Romeo with a d like rodeo
photographs,
magazine (picture coming),
2019

Algiers, Mediterranean sea

We burn rubber through the city going nowhere and it’s like a scream and the desert dust carpeting the streets floats up as we go past, scratching at our mouths, and we pulse right through to the sea.

read full story

//

Afterparty

« In my beginning is my end. In succession Houses rise and fall, crumble, are extended, Are removed, destroyed, restored, or in their place Is »

I walk back at dawn. Time stretches out along the strip. Pierrefitte, petra ficta, 'petrified stone': more stratum than suburb. There’s Balkan Grill, Logic Tuning, Palais de la Chine: fast exotica and car dealerships - a cut-price Las Vegas. Coffee to go from the dark depths of the kebab stand. I walk through miniature industrial zones, little Manchester Cities. I say hi to the demolished poets whose block has been torn down. How I love you Petra and your series of snap-shot pasts each with their future promise. I look up. Only the sky is silent.

At the top of the street, a slab of sky, a closed horizon. I see Karim leaning against the Grill called Buffalo. Today is his last day in the city.

Karim had a life here. He drove around to Paris in a tow-truck towing a tow-truck to rustle up business. On the divorce papers it says, this man has worked all of his life. Atop the sign on his garage was a rotating light. He really just wanted to be seen through the fog at night. He really just wanted to be seen through the fog at night.

« Dawn points, and another day
Prepares for heat and silence. Out at sea, the dawn wind
Wrinkles and slides. I am here, or there
Or elsewhere. In my beginning. »

-

poem : T. S. Eliot - East Coker (excerpts)

-

-

Afterparty

« In my beginning is my end. In succession Houses rise and fall, crumble, are extended, Are removed, destroyed, restored, or in their place Is »

Je rentre à l’aube. Du bloc départ au bloc arrivée, un boulevard de temps dénudé. 93380 Pierre Figée*, banlieue sédimentée. Le long du strip c’est Balkan Grill, Logic Tuning, Palais de Chine ; fast exotica et concessionnaires auto, presque Las Vegas mais sans le cash flow. Descente au dark kebab, café à emporter. Traversée d’une micro Z.I. style welcome to Manchester City. Quartier des Poètes, démoli. Quartier des poètes démolis. J’ai tant d’amour pour toi, Petra* ; toi et tes passés en rafales qui tous promirent leur version du futur. Je lève les yeux. Seul le ciel est silencieux.

J’arrive en haut. En contre-plongée plaque de ciel, horizon clos. J’aperçois Karim adossé à la grille du Buffalo. Aujourd’hui, il quitte la ville.

Karim s’est installé ici. Il a mis une dépanneuse sur une dépanneuse pour aller se faire de la pub à Paris. Sur le jugement de divorce il est écrit, cet homme a travaillé toute sa vie. Il a pris un girofar et l’a fixé sur l’enseigne de son garage. Il voulait être vu la nuit dans le brouillard. Il voulait être vu la nuit, dans le brouillard.

« Dawn points, and another day
Prepares for heat and silence. Out at sea, the dawn wind
Wrinkles and slides. I am here, or there
Or elsewhere. In my beginning. »

-

* Pierrefitte > Lat. petra ficta : 'pierre figée au sol'

poème : T. S. Eliot - East Coker (extraits)

នៅជាយព្រៃរំលោងក្បែរទីប្រជុំជន មានទីធ្លាដីទួលខ្ពស់មួយយ៉ាងធំទូលាយ។ រាល់ពេលល្ងាច ក្រោយពេលថ្ងៃលិច នៅពេលដែលអាកាសធាតុអំណោយផល ពួកយើងនាំគ្នាជិះរថយន្តបត់បែនពីទីប្រជុំជនទៅរហូតដល់ចំណោតនៃទីទួលនោះ។ មានរថយន្តប្រហែលជាដប់ទៅដប់ប្រាំ ហើយមានមនុស្សពីបួនទៅប្រាំនាក់ក្នុងរថយន្តនីមួយៗ។ ពេលជិតមកដល់ទីទួល ក្បួនរថយន្តក៏ឈប់ ហើយពួកយើងដែលជាស្រីៗក៏នាំគ្នាចុះ រួចដើរទៅរកទីធ្លានោះ។ ពេលនោះ យើងក៏បានមកដល់កន្លែងមួយដែលមានពន្លឺ ហើយដែលយើងនាំគ្នាហៅថា ថាសមាស។ ទីធ្លានៃរង្វង់ថាសមាសនេះ ត្រូវបានកំណត់ដោយទងខ្សែឆ្មារម៉្យាងដែលទន់ថ្លាជាច្រើនរយទងហើយដែលគេដោតជាប់ដី។ ទងខ្សែនីមួយៗបញ្ចេញកាំរស្មីឡាហ្ស៊ែរពណ៌លឿងមកកណ្ដាលរង្វង់។ យើងនាំគ្នាយកលេខមួយៗម្នាក់។ យើងរង់ចាំវេនរបស់ក្រុមពួកយើងដើម្បីចូលក្នុង ថាសមាសនោះ - ពេលសម្លៀកបំពាក់របស់យើងភ្លឺឡើង ផ្កាក៏រីក។ លុះដល់វេនពួកយើងចូលទៅក្នុងរង្វង់ថាស ពន្លឺក៏មកព័ទ្ធជុំវិញខ្លួនយើង។ នៅពេលដែលពួកយើងមកដល់កណ្ដាលរង្វង់ ពួកយើងត្រូវបែរមុខទៅទិសខាងកើត ប្រៀបដូចជាយើងនៅចំពីមុខកញ្ចក់មួយ ព្រោះកញ្ចក់ថ្លានោះគឺជាពោះរបស់មេឃដែលបង្ហាញមកផែនដី។ ភ្លាមនោះ អ្នកបើកឡានរបស់យើងបញ្ជារថយន្តទៅមុខរហូតដល់គែមនៃរង្វង់ថាស។ ពេលពួកយើងលើកដៃ គាត់ជាន់ឈ្នាន់បន្ថែមល្បឿនដើម្បីជ្រែឡានជុំវិញរង្វង់នោះ ធ្វើឱ្យប៉ើងធូលីនៅចំពោះមុខយើង។ ពេលនោះ យើងធុំក្លិនឈ្ងៀមនៃកង់កៅស៊ូឡាន។ នៅចំកណ្ដាលនៃអាត្ម័នយើងគឺជារង្វង់គូទខ្យងមួយដែលវិលមិនចេះចប់។ ពួកយើងពន្យល់ការវិលមិនឈប់នេះ តាមរយៈការរាំដោយវិលជុំវិញខ្លួនឯង។ គឺជាការបង្ហាញអំពីការបម្លាស់ទីពីសភាវៈខាងក្នុង ចូលទៅសភាវៈខាងក្រៅ នេះគឺជាអ្វីដែលយើងចង់បង្ហាញទៅពិភពលោកដែលគ្មាននរណាបានធ្វើពីមុនមក។ សភាវៈក្នុងខ្លួនយើងទាំងនេះគឺចេញមកពីធម្មជាតិសុទ្ធសាធដោយគ្មានការកែឆ្នៃ។ បន្ទាប់មក យើងចាកចេញពីចំណុចកណ្ដាលនៃរង្វង់បន្តិចម្ដងៗ ដើម្បីឱ្យចំណុចកណ្ដាលនោះក្លាយទៅជាចំណុចកណ្ដាលនៃចលនាវិញ។ ពេលការវិលជុំនេះចប់ម្ដងៗ អ្នកបើកឡានធ្វើសញ្ញាមួយឱ្យទៅអ្នកជិះខាងក្រោយម្នាក់ដែលមានកាំភ្លើងខ្លីនៅក្នុងដៃ។ គាត់លោដៃទៅខាងក្រៅរថយន្តហើយបាញ់។ យើងមិនបានឮសំឡេងនៃស្នូរកាំភ្លើង និងមិនបានឃើញភ្លើងដែលចេញពីកាណុងឡើយ ព្រោះអ្វីដែលសំខាន់នោះ គឺគន្លងគ្រាប់ដែលហោះចេញពីកាំភ្លើងទៅវិញទេ ព្រោះវាគឺជាទីសម្គាល់នៃអង្កត់ផ្ចិតរង្វង់។ គ្រាប់នោះហោះកាត់រង្វង់ ដោយញែកនិងបម្លាស់ទីខ្យល់ ព្រមទាំងធ្វើរបត់ពន្លឺ ប្រៀបដូចជាការបង្ហាប់ពេលវេលា និងការសឹករិចរិលនៃលម្ហអាកាស។ ដំណើររបស់វា បង្កើតឱ្យមានជារលកនៃការផ្ទប់មួយ វាប្រៀបដូចជាឥទ្ធិពលនៃរលកយក្ស តែសម្រាប់ពួកយើងគឺជា ការរាប់ថយក្រោយមួយតែប៉ុណ្ណោះ។ យើងដឹងថាយើងអាចបង្វិលខ្លួនបានបួនជុំតែប៉ុណ្ណោះ - ជើងត្បូង កើត លិច និទាឃរដូវ វស្សានរដូវ សរទរដូវ និងសិសិររដូវ។ ដល់ជុំបញ្ចប់ ពួកយើងចេញពីរង្វង់ហើយចូលព្រៃដែលនៅជិតនោះបាត់មួយភ្លែត ដើម្បីទុកពេលវេលាដែលមិនទៀងទាត់នោះ លុបបំបាត់ស្នាមរបស់យើង។ នៅទីប្រជុំជន គេហៅពួកយើងតាមឈ្មោះរុក្ខជាតិមួយដែលផ្ការបស់វាបើកស្រទាប់មួយៗដាច់ពីគ្នា គឺជា ក្លឹបបក្សីសួគ៌ (Birds of Paradise Club)។

-

The belly

It’s a wasteland on the city’s heights at the jungle’s edge. On fine nights, at sunset, we drive up there: a dozen or so cars, four or of us five by car, winding up the slopes from the town. The trail of vehicles stops just short of our destination. We girls get out and walk to the field. There we see a golden disk, a patch of light whose circumference is picked out by a hundred or so thin, ductile, translucid, one meter high batons, sending yellow laser beams into the centre of the circle. We all take a number and line up behind each other, waiting our turn. Light catches clothing, creating shimmers, making flowers bloom. When our time comes we enter the ring and the light circles our waists. Once in the centre we look to the east, like looking in a mirror, belly first the way the sky faces the earth. Our driver moves the car to the circle’s edge. At the raising of a hand he slams on the accelerator, drifting around the ring in the dark, the front bumper glued to the light. It smells like burning rubber. At our core there is an unwinding spiral, our dance simply mirrors this movement as we turn unceasingly on our own axes. What is inside spills out and that is all we can ever offer to the world: our raw and naked inner selves. With each revolution the driver signals to the man in the back seat with a gun in his hand. An arm reaches from the car, the gun fires. The handgun’s silencer eliminates the muzzle flash shockwave: what counts here is the effect of the bullet, whose trajectory traces the circle’s diameter. The bullet flies across the circle, displacing the air, bending the light, like time compressing and wearing down space. Its passing creates an infinitesimally fine wavefront that washes through us, tsunami-like. This is our countdown: we know we can only have four rounds – north south east west spring summer autumn winter. At the end of the fourth round we leave the light and the jungle briefly swallows us, allowing the unreality of time to extinguish our trace.

Back in town they call us the Birds of Paradise Club, named for that plant with the strangely blooming flower.

« The imagination conceived in the primitiveness of its strength designates the belly as a happy, warm, quiet region. (...) It is the center of the great gray river, the center of the rain-washed sky, the buoy of the flood. It heavily digests the Universe. » - Gaston Bachelard, Earth and reveries of repose

-

Le ventre

C'est un terrain vague sur les hauteurs de la ville à l'orée de la jungle. Les soirs de beaux jours on entreprend la montée à la nuit tombée : quatre/cinq par voiture, dix/quinze voitures, serpentant depuis le quartier contre les flancs du relief. Un peu avant l’arrivée le convoi s’immobilise. Nous les filles on descend et on finit à pied. On aperçoit le disque d’or, vaste étendue lumineuse à la circonférence délimitée par une centaine de tiges plantées au sol, fines et souples, translucides, d’une hauteur d’un mètre. Chaque tige émet un rayon laser de couleur jaune dirigé vers le centre. Chacune de nous prend un numéro et attend son tour - les vêtements brillent les fleurs éclosent. Quand c'est à nous on pénètre à l’intérieur du cercle et la lumière nous entoure la taille. On se place face à l'est comme devant un miroir, ventre dehors, à la manière du ciel qui se présente à la terre. Notre driver avance sa voiture aux abords du périmètre. On lève la main. Il enfonce la pédale d’accélérateur et se met à drifter autour du cercle, dans l’ombre, le pare-choc avant collé à la lumière. Ça sent le caoutchouc qui brûle. Le centre à l'intérieur de nous est une spirale qui vrille et dans la danse on ne fait que reproduire ce mouvement, en tournant continuellement sur nous-même. L'intérieur se déverse alors dans l'extérieur et au fond ce qu’on à offrir au monde ça n’est jamais que ça : l'intérieur de nous brut et nu. À chaque révolution le driver fait un signe au passager arrière qui tient dans la main une arme de poing. Il tend le bras à l’extérieur de la voiture et tire. Sur le pistolet est monté un silencieux qui supprime l’onde et la flamme de bouche car seul compte l’effet de la balle. Elle fuse à travers la surface, déplaçant l’air, faisant plier la lumière, à l’image du temps qui compresse et use l’espace. Son passage déclenche un front d’onde d’une finesse extrême qui nous traverse tsunami-like et pour nous c’est un décompte, on sait qu’on n’a droit qu’à quatre tours - nord sud est ouest printemps été automne hiver. À la fin du quatrième on quitte la lumière, on se fait avaler par la jungle. Le temps irréel dissout nos traces.

En ville on nous appelle, d'après le nom de cette plante dont la fleur se déploie singulièrement, le Birds of Paradise Club.

« L’imagination conçue dans la primitivité de sa force désigne le ventre comme une région heureuse, chaude, tranquille. (...) Il est le centre du grand fleuve gris, le centre du ciel lavé de pluie, la bouée de l’inondée. Il digère lourdement l’Univers. » - Gaston Bachelard, La Terre et les rêveries du repos

重庆,2017。我们在出租车的后面,潮气使夜晚显得更浓密。城市是红色和蓝色的,吊钟海棠,我们粉色和黑色的皮肤粘在皮革内层。从电台里逃离出一首温柔的歌曲,也是这首歌,那天早晨在7-11收银台以及几年前在开往天津的巴士车上播放着。它具备着,这个世界偶然发生的,孤独的品质。

后来在旅馆的房间里,W塌陷进她的床。冷白色LED的弱光晕又一遍隔离她,在我的眼皮下,延伸的,之前提到的品质

-

构成这本书的图像,于2017年拍摄于重庆,通过计算机程序进行了个更改,该程序部分模拟了Rutt/Etra视频合成器的操作。原始图像中包含的亮度数据被转换为深度数据,从而使照片成为可操纵的三维元素和象征载体,一个广阔的宇宙,风景 —— 在这里,月球般虚幻的风景。

台湾歌手邓丽君演唱的1977年版《月亮代表我的心》在中国流行音乐曲目中拥有一个特殊的位置。经过数十年由革命歌曲主导的时期后,中国大陆政权授权其传播,它开启了一条新的个体轨迹,一条隐秘私人的轨迹。

标题指的是中国着陆器嫦娥四号于2019年1月3日首次成功登陆月球隐面,使生命的深度上升到天体的密度。

-

We’re in a taxi, the humidity thickens the night. The city is red and blue; fuchsia, our pink and black skins stick to the leather interior. A sentimental song floats out of the radio. That same song was playing at the 7-Eleven check-out this morning, and years ago in a bus driving to Tianjin. It carries that feeling of solitude in which whole worlds emerge.

Later in the hotel room, W. is sprawled on her bed. I see her stretched out, isolated in a dim halo of warm white LED light, and that same feeling returns.

-

This work consists of photographs from the series Room 2208. They have been altered using a computer programme that partially emulates the effect of a Rutt/Etra video synthesiser. The brightness data in the original image has been transformed into depth data, giving the photograph an adjustable, three dimensional aspect and rendering the body as a spacial expanse, a landscape.

The version of The Moon Represents My Heart sung by taiwanese singer Teresa Teng in 1977 holds particular significance in chinese pop music. Authorised for release by the mainland regime after several decades of revolutionary songs, it heralded a shift towards the individual, towards the intimate.

The title refers to humanity’s first soft landing on the « Far Side of the Moon », achieved by China’s Chang’e 4 mission on January 3rd, 2019.

-

On est à l’arrière d’un taxi, la moiteur rend la nuit dense. La ville est rouge et bleue, fuchsia, nos peaux rose et noire collent à l’intérieur cuir. Du poste radio s’échappe une chanson tendre, et c’est aussi la chanson qui passait à la caisse du 7-Eleven ce matin et il y a des années dans un bus qui roulait vers Tianjin. Elle a cette qualité de solitude dans laquelle les mondes adviennent.

Plus tard dans la chambre d’hôtel W. s’affale sur son lit. Un faible halo de LED blanc froid l’isole et de nouveau, sous mes yeux, étendue, la qualité de tout à l’heure.

-

Ces images sont issues de la série Room 2208. Elles ont été altérées à l’aide d’un programme informatique simulant en partie le fonctionnement du synthétiseur vidéo rutt/etra. Les données de luminosité contenues dans l’image originale sont transformées en données de profondeur, ce qui fait de la photographie un élément en trois dimensions manipulables et, du corps représenté, une étendue spatiale, un paysage.

La version de The Moon Represents My Heart interprétée par la chanteuse taiwanaise Teresa Teng en 1977 occupe une place particulière dans le répertoire chinois de pop music. Autorisée à la diffusion par le régime de Chine continentale après plusieurs décennies de chants révolutionnaires, elle ouvre une autre trajectoire, individuelle – une trajectoire de l’intime.

Le titre fait référence au premier alunissage réussi sur la « Face cachée de la Lune », le 3 janvier 2019, par l’atterrisseur chinois Chang’e-4.

v = fλ.
n = c/v
I = P/(4πr²)
(sinφA)/(sinφB) = vA/vB
nAsinφA = nBsinφB
sinφc = nB/nA
P = l/f
l/o + l/i = l/f
m = - i/o
P = P1 + P2
P = l/f = (n - 1)(l/R1 - 1/R2)
φ/2π = D/λ
mλ ≈ dsinθ
(m+1/2)λ ≈ dsinθ
y ≈ (mλ x)/d
y ≈ ((m + 1/2)λ x)/d
sinθ = (mλ)/a
sinθ = 1.22λ/a
Iout = Iin cos2θ
Iout = 1/2Iin
tanφp = n2/n1
r = 1.22 λ/ f
α ≈ h/d
M = β/α
β ≈ h/fe ; αmax ≈ h/dv ; Me ≈ dv/fe
|mo| ≈ g/fo ; M = |mo|Me

-

Everybody here is saying that light is an electromagnetic wave and wave is a form of energy and energy has no volume. I would like to contradict those sayings. Light is made up of photon particles. Photon is one of the fundamental particles of physics' standard models. Photon is responsible for electromagnetic force. It has a spin of 1 and a mass of 0<1×10^-18 ev/c² . Its mass is lower than 0 so it seems somehow negligible according to our science. Negligible because our science isn't that developped. Our science forces us to say that it has no mass. Still photon has a mass and it has volume though our science fails to precisely measure it and that's why we call it point particle having zero volume, same way we call dark matter a certain kind of matter that is unkown to us and that we can't explain. Our knowledge of measurements is still very limited.*

*Somehow poetic comment found in an internet thread

-

Vous dites tous que la lumière est une onde électromagnétique et qu'une onde est une forme d'énergie et que l'énergie n'a pas de volume. J'aimerais vous contredire. La lumière est composée de photons. Le photon est une des particules élémentaires du modèle standard de la physique des particules. Il est vecteur de l'interaction électromagnétique. Son spin est de 1 et sa masse de 0<1×10^-18 ev/c². Sa masse est plus petite que 0, c'est pour ça qu'elle nous paraît négligeable. Négligeable parce que notre science n'est pas si développée. Notre science nous fait dire qu'un photon n'a pas de volume. Il a pourtant une masse et un volume, bien que notre science ne puisse pas les mesurer précisément et c'est pour ça qu'elle l'appelle particule idéale, comme on appelle énergie sombre un certain type d'énergie qui nous est inconnue et qu'on ne peut expliquer. Notre connaissance en matière de mesure est, en un sens, encore très limitée.*

*commentaire trouvé sur internet, poétique à sa façon

大概晚上十一点钟,男人冲进大楼, 她跟随在后。先是电梯,然后,在楼上,另一个男人,身穿西服。第一个走廊,漫长且狭窄,我们透过玻璃门偷窥几伙年轻人 —— 卡拉ok。走廊的尽头是楼顶,深夜黢黑。被身后巨大的形意图霓虹灯照明,一队身穿迷你裙的女人正准备借用第二条走廊。她说真好,一间舞会。她进入了第二条走廊,和第一条一模一样。假如这只是几扇门,不透光线的,戴对讲耳机的守卫在前面竖立着。一扇后门,队伍停了下来。一个守卫,女人们一个接一个,没收手机。门微微开启,三个粗壮的男人。我抓紧他的胳膊,老板们。

另一日,在电梯里。商人西尔维奥递给她一张卡。一到房间,她给他写了一封邮件,她觉得钱不够多。晚些日子,一天早晨,她收到接待处打来的电话。他留下了一个信封,一些钞票,三百人民币,总共四十三点六二美元。她笑了。

另一日她说,

我一直想要变得美丽。

-

It’s maybe eleven o’clock at night. A man disappears into a building and she follows. An elevator ride, another floor and another man in a suit. Down the first, long, narrow corridor, groups of young people sing karaoke behind glass doors. At the end of the corridor - the rooftop, it’s dark out. Backlit by giant neon ideograms, a line of girls in micro-dresses queue up for the second corridor. Yes, a dance party, she says. She takes the corridor, identical to the first, but for the opaque doors and bouncers with headsets stationed in front. The line of girls stops outside the last door. A bouncer takes each girl’s telephone one by one. Through a gap in the door - three large men. I grab her arm, let’s go.

Another day in the elevator, Sylvio the business man hands her his card. Back in the room, she writes him an email, she thinks we don’t have enough money. Later, one morning, she gets a call from reception. He’d left an envelope with notes, 300 renminbi, 43.62 dollars in total. She laughs.

Another day she says,

I always wanted to be beautiful.

-

Il est peut-être onze heures du soir, un homme s’engouffre dans un immeuble et elle le suit. D’abord un ascenseur, et, à l’étage, un autre homme, en costume. Un premier couloir, long et étroit, des portes en verre à travers lesquelles on observe des bandes de jeunes – karaoké. Au bout du couloir le toit, il fait nuit noire. Rétroéclairée par de gigantesques néons-idéogrammes, une file de filles en micro-robes s’apprête à emprunter le second couloir. Elle dit trop bien, un bal. Elle emprunte le second couloir, identique au premier, si ce ne sont les portes, opaques, et les gardes à oreillettes plantés devant. Une dernière porte, la file s’arrête. Un garde, fille après fille, confisque les téléphones. La porte s’entrouvre, trois gros hommes. Je l’attrape par le bras, partons.

Un autre jour, dans l’ascenseur. L’homme d’affaire Sylvio lui tend sa business carte. En arrivant dans la chambre elle lui écrit un mail, elle trouve qu’on n’a pas assez d’argent. Plus tard, un matin, elle reçoit un coup de téléphone de la réception. Il a laissé une enveloppe, des billets, 300 renminbi, 43.62 dollars en tout. Elle rit.

Un autre jour elle dit,

j’ai toujours voulu être belle.

روميو، بالدال مثل "روديو"، جمالك ألذع من حرارة الشمس، هذه الشمس التي تقتل الأسئلة. وها أنت تحت، تنتظرني هناك انتظار الأسير في سيارتك العتيقة حرصا على جولة أخرى أو رحلة أخرى. ويوسّع من حولي الغشاء الفولاذي حدود الألفة. نجوب المدينة مسرعين بلا وجهة مثل صرخة. ويثير سيرنا غبار الصحراء الذي يكسو الشوارع فيخرش أفواهنا، ونؤزّ حتى نبلغ البحر، هذا الحد الذي ليس بعده حد. نقطع المدينة ولا اتجاه لنا.

وفي أسفل المدينة، في "الكورنيش" شارع سعيد توفديت، جثة سفينة زاعقة تواجه السماء الزرقاء وكأنها إخفاق أو خيبة. فتعترينا رغبة عارمة في الهرب ولكن لا نهرب - وإلا فنرجع إلى هنا. وتزدحم المدينة حتى الانيار العظيم تحت عبء الذين يضطربون في التشرد، سواء أكانوا قد اختاروه أو لأنهم يعانون غياب الإمكانيات وهم حائرون.

-

Romeo with a d like rodeo your beauty is rougher than the sun. Around us the steel membrane is intimate space expanded. We burn rubber through the city going nowhere and it’s like a scream and the desert dust carpeting the streets floats up as we go past, scratching at our mouths, and we pulse right through to the sea. Going nowhere, we burn through the city.

Way down low, on the coastal boulevard Saïd Touafdit, the shell of a screaming vessel lies like defeat looking out at the blue and we’re gripped by the desire to run. But we don’t run, or if we do we come back, and the city chokes up until it implodes majestically under the weight of those who live wandering, refusing to accept, or enduring, disoriented, the possibilities they are denied.

-

Roméo avec un d comme rodéo ta beauté est plus rude que le soleil. Autour de nous la membrane d'acier élargit l'intime. Sans destination on dévale la ville et c'est comme un cri, et la poussière du désert qui tapie les rues se soulève sur notre passage et griffe nos bouches et on fonce jusqu'à la mer. Sans destination on avale la ville.

En bas tout en bas, sur la corniche boulevard Saïd Touafdit, le cadavre d’un vaisseau hurlant gît face à l’azur comme un échec et l’envie de fuir nous étreint mais on ne fuit pas ou alors on revient, et, sous le poids de ceux qui vibrent dans l’errance, par refus ou parce qu’ils subissent, désorientés, l’inexistence des possibles, la ville se congestionne, jusqu’à l’implosion majestueuse.