between the lines

What did we do with France?

  • In France, the president can say “Piss off, you dumbass” to one of his citizen and nothing happens. But when a citizen is yelling at the president cause he is unhappy, then he get sued and has to pay a fine. Apparently, the french revolution abolished the privileges but our new government brought them back.
  • In France, a member of the government can make very racist comments but  doesn’t have to resign his job and can keep on stigmatizing some minorities, cause after all, they are all criminals, aren’t they? You got to admire how good our politicians are in history as they are reproducing some 1940′s techniques when they are rounding up some immigrants and also in their way of talking about them… Ah! The Vichy government left us some very useful teaching!!!!

une petite parenthèse pour elle.

Une fenêtre entrouverte, des rideaux bercés par la douce brise du soir, un soleil couchant et elle.

Elle dansait.

Elle ne se préoccuppait de rien. Ni de sa spectatrice émerveillée avachie sur le canapé, ni des passants qui risquaient de la voir attirés par la musique et le jeu des ombres qu’elle projettait sur le trottoir.

Seulement vêtue d’un soutien gorge et d’une jupe orientale aux couleurs vives, elle faisait miroiter les rayons du soleil sur les inombrables sequins qui pendaient le long de sa taille et de ses hanches.

Elle était belle.


Drôle de vie- Funny life

Tout ce qui brille – Ma drôle de vie  

During all afternoon I have been looking for the french movie “Tout ce qui brille” (everything that sparkles) but no luck in downloading it. The only thing I finally found to satisfy my craving for some nice fresh french comedy was the music video from the movie OST (see link above).

It made me in a nostalgic mood….Ah! That month of July spent in my hometown in Montpellier (south of France) with my best friend. 2 girls taking life one day at a time, having fun as the summer was going to be short and the separation near.

It was like a pilgrimage. How to be close again with a friend I haven’t seen for such a long time and wasn’t going to see for again a long time.


3 days ago it was Gilad Shalit’s birthday…

3 days ago, she was out, with some friends. She spent a great evening, laughing, drinking.

There was, in a bar in Haeundae, a stand up comedy show, where some of her friends were performing. They were making jokes about those little things that happens in their everyday life, about the human stupidity, about the world in general.

And she was laughing. She couldn’t stop.


hide and seek

Yesterday, I became a ninja.

I went to the supermarket in order to buy some food and a present to celebrate the birthday of my father in law. Everything was ready. I had a list of the ingredients I had to buy to prepare the traditionnal birthday soup, the Miyok Guk (미역국) and I was looking around for some present that would make him happy.

Suddenly, while I was in front of the different brands of Miyok asking my boyfriend on the phone which type of dried seaweed I should use, he told me: “but be carefull, I just phoned my dad, and he is in the supermarket too. You might see him…”


3 kleine songs made my day.

An other afternoon in CCC Cafe in Busan enjoying a bit of time alone. A cup of tea on the table and my computer in front of me, I decided to listen to a bit of music instead of watching some videos or reading.

And this afternoon I was in the mood for an all foreign music day. So exit my english and french songs that I usually listen to. I wanted to listen to some songs that I enjoy even though I can’t fully understand the lyrics and have to spend hours finding the translations on internet!! Just the sounds of the languages and the melody, and time flies away…


A Korean 15th of August

It was the 15th of August, national day in Korea. The Korean flags were flourishing on the windows. But nothing else did seem to change from the usual daily life in Busan. The wind was blowing, the sky was depressingly grey and the day was punctuated by quick showers that were refreshing the heavy atmosphere of this middle of August.

 

The old man was sitting in the kitchen. A cup of tea in front of him and a notebook filled with his elegant writing. He was tired. The day was over.

He seemed weirdly small in that kitchen. Like he didn’t belong there, like something was missing in the picture.


It always starts with beautiful words…and ends in blood, tears and sweat.

“She wanted to be a Jew but at the same time couldn’t stop admiring Louis Ferdinand Celine. This attraction for his writing, for his “little music” was making her sick. How could she forget his most anti-semitic pamphlets? How could she forget this man’s most disgusting tendencies just because he was a genius? Just because her teachers, backed up by the french self -righteous intelligentsia were arguying  that he never developped any racist theories in his novels. Was it possible for her to love the writer and deeply despise the man?  


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