art mécanik
Eden Motel
Film film



L'esplanade des Mosquées
28ème pierre de lancée


Don’t let her bleed to much

My drug. My addiction. My love.

Rent a Car. Makhtesh, the small crater. Neguev desert. Black crows fighting on the highway. Wet dream in Eilat bed, bug bite. Blood on ankle in the morning. Lonesome hangover. Since, stones from the Dead Sea fall in my suitcase. Dust from the small crater…

Eskabel, fill my bed with forbidden apples. Kill the snake path that ate us alive, bury down the black rocks, coal, fuel, empty pillows, I still dream of you. Eskabel, fill my mouth with skin cherry, fill my house of children, fill my eyes of smiles… Eskabel, please, make the clouds clement, break the cement sky, I cried on the highway twice. Don’t throw rocks. Don’t walk on grass. Don’t feed the goldfishes in my starving eyes.

Don’t kiss me if you don’t love.

Don’t make me cry. No photograph, my bed is a military zone, my heart is a crater, big, black mountain on my shoulders, black desert. Slow. Curves ahead. Dangerous. Beware of falling rocks. Beware of weird melodies. Beware of man jumping, beware of falling bodies. Don’t kiss me for free, beware of falling words, empty words, floating, falling. Follow the skin path. Black crows fighting on the highway. Emptiness.

Snake skin on the bedroom floor. Bulletproof bra. Kiss me in the moonlight, forget love, just kiss me, Red sea empty. No more blood. Red bed, red bath, I need you, life here is thrown on a wall, 8 meters. Dead toads dry on the highway. Camels… Sun burn and dry hands, lips blistered no one to love, my ripped skin between your teeth, cold nights, oven days 450 degrees, put my life on hold, put my love on a nail, beware of barking dogs, mind fields, blind curve ahead. Beware of lies. Beware of falling words that have no weight. Beware of lies.

Flammable minds, flammable hands. Mind games I lose. No walls high enough. No skin soft enough. Nobody to dream, to sleep on me, in my crater, big. I sleep alone. My hand moist. I caress emptiness. I kiss ruins. Old history.

I cried twice on the highway.

Once in the middle of the Neguev desert. No photography. Emptiness filled by you. Everywhere. Mirage. Our love was only a mirage. I have to forget.

Once between Bethlehem and Jerusalem. Coming out of a tunnel. The wall everywhere. On the left. On the right. 8 meters high. Dead olive trees. Landscape invisible. Only cement. Blind curve ahead. In the west bank, on a highway only settlers can take. Only the yellow license plates. Why?




Debut de L'esplanade des Mosquées

Texte suivant

Debut de L'esplanade des Mosquées