Saint-Valérien (89) : lettre du maire au prefet concernant la mosquée et l'école coranique du village  C'est parti pour un bon compost.  Bien joué le trollage !

Saint-Valérien (89): letter from the mayor to the prefect concerning the mosque and the Koranic school of the village. We’re on the way to a good compost. Well done the trolling!


Saint-Valérien (89) : lettre du maire au prefet concernant la mosquée et l'école coranique du village  "Dit-il alors qu'il a postés des commentaires sur une période de 3h pour ce samedi"   edit: si jamais des gens passent par là, voici le message privé que j'ai reçu par le redditeur au dessus: "MDR  u/samsng2 , de 11h à 19h, pendant 8h, 24 commentaires postés (sur 365) sur le même fil de discussion, et 41 au total...  Un gamin d’extrême-droite de mauvaise foi, no-life en plus, qui a glandé devant son ordi tout un samedi après-midi pour défendre sa « cause ».

Saint-Valerian (89): Letter from the mayor to the prefect concerning the village mosque and Koranic school.


Saint-Valérien (89) : lettre du maire au prefet concernant la mosquée et l'école coranique du village  Donc interdiction du catéchisme ?

Saint-Valerian (89): letter from the mayor to the prefect concerning the mosque and the Koranic school of the village So prohibition of religious teachings?


Saint-Valérien (89) : lettre du maire au prefet concernant la mosquée et l'école coranique du village  > D'une part, t'en sais rien.

Saint-Valérien (89) : Letter from the mayor to the prefect concerning the mosque and Koranic school of the village > On one hand you don’t know anything.


Saint-Valérien (89) : lettre du maire au prefet concernant la mosquée et l'école coranique du village  Etant donné que le coran est utilisé comme livre de lois, la seule loi adaptée à l'islam est l'islam lui même.  Checkmate atheists!

Saint-Valérien (89): letter from the mayor to the prefect about the mosque and the Koran school in the village. Given that the Koran is used as a book of laws, the only law appropriate for Islam is Islam itself. Checkmate, atheists!


Saint-Valérien (89) : lettre du maire au prefet concernant la mosquée et l'école coranique du village  J'avais des amis en lycée privé catholique et ils me parlaient d'un heure par semaine au début puis c'est devenu facultatif.   Et il semblait que leur lycée catholique regroupait une minorité de religieux et c'était un lycée avec contrat     Mais j'imagine que ca doit être hilarant :D

St. Valerian (89): letter from the mayor to the prefect concerning the mosque and the Koranic school of the village. I had friends in private Catholic high school who talked about an hour per week at the beginning before it became optional. And it seemed that their Catholic high school had a religious minority and it was a high school on contract. But I guess it must be hilarious: D


Saint-Valérien (89) : lettre du maire au prefet concernant la mosquée et l'école coranique du village  Je trouve l'attitude de maire plutot courageuse  Il faut distinguer deux types d'application des religions: celles qui s'adaptent au monde moderne et celle qui ne veulent pas et qu'on qualifie d'integrisme religieux  Je rappelle que l'application integriste des religions sont des sales merdes et notamment l'islam (mais pas que). Pour memoire  * elle prone le racisme et tuer les infideles n'est pas un probleme  * considere les femmes comme des sous merdes (etre recompensé par des vierges en dit suffisament...)  * accepte la polygamie et de se marier avec des gamines de 10 ans  * sont clairement homophobes, contre l'IVG etc.  Bref, pas de souci pour defendre l'application moderne des religions (encore qu'il faille etre vigileant) mais l'integrisme doit etre combattu.  Le maire , ici, ne fait que denoncer une ecole à tendance integriste. Ce ne me semble pas ahurissant. Et meme s'il se trompe il a le droit d'emettre un point de vue, car de toute facon la situation actuelle est telle qu'il me semble plutot raisonnable de s'assurer qu'on ne se trompe pas et qu'on surveille un peu attentivement cette ecole

Saint-Valérien (89): Letter from the mayor to the prefect concerning the mosque and the Koranic school of the village. I find the mayor's attitude quite brave. We must distinguish two types of religious application: those who adapt to the modern world and that which doesn't want to and may be called religious fundamentalism. I remind you that the religious fundamentalist application is dirty shit, especially Islam (but not only). Remember * It's prone to racism and killing infidels is not a problem * It considers women to be lower than shit (Being rewarded with virgins says it all ...) * It accepts polygamy and marrying  girls as young as 10 * They are clearly homophobic, against abortion etc. In short, there is no need to defend the modern application of religions (although one needs to be vigilant), but fundamentalism must be fought. The mayor here only denounces a school with a fundamentalist tendency. It does not seem bewildering to me. And even if he is mistaken, he has the right to express a point of view, because in any case the current situation is such that it seems to me rather reasonable to make sure that we are not mistaken and that we watch this school a little bit more carefully


Saint-Valérien (89) : lettre du maire au prefet concernant la mosquée et l'école coranique du village  Je vois par ce message que le rare passage (un lien internet) que tu as lu...tu l'as mal compris (c'est une fusillade pas un incendie = shooting) Pourtant j'ai fais attention et j'ai mis en gras les phrases importantes et tu as réussi à passer à côté. Je t'invite toi et les shills à s'intéresser d'avantage à mon post (ne pas lire en diagonal) , à te documenter davantage sur l'islam (car c'est beaucoup plus complexe que ce que tu en décris). je vais réécrire les phrases quand même on sait jamais :  > **Croire que la nocivité et l’incompatibilité d'une religion à une société se manifeste que par le biais d'un seul type d'action est une erreur majeure.**   > **Résumer la religion musulmane et la réduire par les exactions d'UN groupe d'individu (aussi large soit-il) dans UNE époque donnée (parce qu'il ne faut pas oublier les autres paramètres facteurs de dev de la radicalité) est une preuve d'une naïveté et d'un manque de connaissance aussi (voir plus) élevé que le post que tu viens de répondre.**

Saint-Valérien (89): letter from the mayor to the prefect about the mosque and Koran school of the village. I see in this message that the rare passage (internet link) that you read... you didn't understand (it was a shooting, not a fire). Yes I'm paying attention and putting in bold the important phrases, and you managed to ignore them. I invite you and the shills to take more interest in my post (don't read diagonally), to get more information about Islam (because it's much more complex than what you describe). I'm going to re-write the phrases still, you never know: > **Believing that the harmfulness and incompatibility of a religion with a society is shown only through a single time of action is a major error.** > **Summarizing Islam and reducing it to the actions of ONE individual groupe (as large as it may be) in ONE given time period (because don't forget other factors that develop radical behavior) is a proof of naivety and a lack of knowledge as high (even more) as the post you just replied to.**


Saint-Valérien (89) : lettre du maire au prefet concernant la mosquée et l'école coranique du village  La différence est que celui qui commet un crime sait qu'il est mauvais et fait ça pour s'en sortir   Celui qui fait un attentat croit faire le bien et le fait pour une raison idéologique      Et pour comparer il faudrait voir le nombre d'attentats qu'il y aurait en Europe (population égale) si le port d'arme était legal

Saint-Valérien (89): letter from the mayor to the prefect concerning the mosque and the Koranic school. The difference is that the one committing a crime knows that he's being bad and does it to get out. The one carrying out an attack believes it does good and does it for an ideology's sake. And to compare, you should see the number of attacks that there would be in Europe (equal population) if bearing arms was legal.


Saint-Valérien (89) : lettre du maire au prefet concernant la mosquée et l'école coranique du village  > le fait que tu dévies le sujet signifie implicitement que tu es d'accord avec ce qu'il dit sur le fond.

St. Valerian (89): letter from the mayor to the prefect concerning the mosque and the Koranic school of the village> the fact that you deviate the subject implicitly means that you agree with what he says on the merits.


Saint-Valérien (89) : lettre du maire au prefet concernant la mosquée et l'école coranique du village  mais comment tu peut etre downvote ?

Saint-Valérien (89): letter from the mayor to the prefect about the village mosk and Koranic school. How can you be downvoted?


Saint-Valérien (89) : lettre du maire au prefet concernant la mosquée et l'école coranique du village  On répond comment à quelqu'un qui généralise en se métant des oeillères ?

Saint-Valérian (89): letter from the mayor to the prefecture about the mosque and Koran school in the village. How do you reply to someone who generalizes things by wearing blinders?


Saint-Valérien (89) : lettre du maire au prefet concernant la mosquée et l'école coranique du village  Pas de souci, bonne journée !

Saint-Valérien (89): letter from the mayor to the prefect about the mosque and Koran school in the village. No problem, have a nice day!


Saint-Valérien (89) : lettre du maire au prefet concernant la mosquée et l'école coranique du village  Pourquoi tu ne reponds pas  tu prends les gens de haut comme si seul toi avec la connaissance. Tu es juste dans le mépris. Quand on veut donner des lecons de savoir vivre, ca la fout mal  Quant a la definition de racisme, si ca ne concerne pas les races ou les ethnies alors ca peut s'appliquer a tout et c'est ridicule. C'est juste cela que tu ne comprends pas c'est pourquoi tu n'argumentes pas.   Est-ce qu'un opposant au FN est raciste ? Un opposant a l'extreme gauche ? C'est juste ridicule  Si un jour tu fais un effort et que tu poursuis dans cette voie tu arriveras peut etre a te faire ton opinion par toi meme et a reflechir. Y'a du boulot mais si tu insistes tu peux esperer y arriver.

Saint-Valérian (89): letter from the mayor to the prefect about the mosque and Koran school in the village. Why don't you answer? You're taking people from on high as if you're alone with your knowledge. You're just in contempt. When you want to give you life lessons, it goes badly. As for the definition of racism, if it doesn't concern races or ethnicities, well, it could apply to anything and it's ridiculous. It's just this that you don't understand, which is why you can't argue anything. Is an opponent to the FN a racist? An opponent to the extreme left? It's just ridiculous. If one day you make an effort and continue down this path, you'll perhaps manage to make your opinion by yourself and think. There's work to be done, but if you insist, you can hope for it and get there.


Saint-Valérien (89) : lettre du maire au prefet concernant la mosquée et l'école coranique du village  Quand tu donnes un endroit clair et public pour dispenser un enseignement, il arrive qu'une majorité de parents refuse quand même d'y mettre leurs enfants.  On a des témoignages comme le livre de Bernard Ravet,  Principal de trois collèges de Marseille pendant quinze ans. Il explique que, certes, l'Education Nationale est restée sourde à ses alertes mais il dit aussi que les parents ont tendance à mettre leurs enfants à l'école coranique même quand la même matière est proposée par l'école publique.  Extrait:  « On a une centaine d’enfants qui suivent des cours d’arabe - dans le cadre de ce qu’on appelle les Elco, les enseignements de langue et culture d’origine. Ils doivent arrêter en collège. Pourquoi ne pas les fidéliser en créant un enseignement de la langue au collège Versailles?   Nous montons le projet de classe bilangue dès la sixième, qui déboucherait sur de l’arabe en LV3 en quatrième pour ceux qui veulent, et commençons à faire le tour des écoles primaires du secteur afin d’identifier les meilleurs élèves inscrits en Elco. Nous organisons une réunion avec les familles, en juin, pour leur présenter cette nouvelle classe. Déception. Sur les 24 élèves nécessaires à l’ouverture de la classe, seule une dizaine a répondu à l’appel. Je veux en avoir le coeur net. Une famille du quartier, que je connais bien, a déjà deux enfants au collège -deux filles, brillantes- et leur frère est en CM2. Un soir de juin, je croise le père.  « Votre fils, il ne va pas aux cours d’arabe à l’école?  – Si ! Le professeur dit même que c’est le meilleur.  – Vous n’avez pas entendu parler de la classe bilangue que nous créons?  – Si, si…  – Et pourquoi ne l’inscrivez-vous pas? Vous avez peur que ce soit trop de travail?  – Ecoutez, M. Ravet… Personne n’ose vous le dire mais je vais le faire. Vous n’aurez quasiment personne dans votre classe. L’imam nous a dit que vous n’allez pas enseigner le bon arabe.  – Le bon arabe?  – L’arabe de la religion. Celui que l’imam enseigne à l’école coranique. C’est là que vont tous les enfants pour apprendre. »   Pour une fois, l’institution n’a pas été tatillonne, en partie car je ne demandais pas de moyens supplémentaires. J’ai ouvert la classe pour 12 élèves afin d’affirmer que nous, Education nationale, institution d’Etat, pouvions offrir une reconnaissance culturelle à ces enfants et à leur famille. […]

In Saint-Valérien (89) : Letter from the Mayor to the Prefect regarding the mosque and Koranic school of the village. When you give a public and defined place in order to provide schooling, it sometimes happens that a majority of parents still refuse to send their kids there. We have testimonies such as the book of Bernard Ravet, who was the Principal of three middle schools in Marseille for fifteen years. He is explaining that the Ministry of Education certainly remained deaf to his warnings, but he also says that parents tend to send their children to Koranic schools, even when the same subject is taught at public schools. Here is a glimpse : « We have about a hundred children who are taking Arabic classes - within this frame we call them ELCO, a French acronym for Heritage Language and Culture Classes. They have to stop in middle school. Why not keeping them by creating classes of the language at Versailles Middle School? We are setting up the bilingual class project from the sixth grade, which would lead to Arabic being studied as a third foreign language in the eight grade for those who want, and start going around elementary schools of our territory in order to identify the best pupils so that they join the ELCO program. We are organizing a meeting in June with families in order to introduce them with this new class. What a deception. Out of the 24 students we need to open a class, only about ten were interested. I want to find out why. A family from the neighborhood that I know well, has already two kids in middle school - two smart girls - and their brother is in fifth grade. I ran into their father someday in June in the evening. « Your son isn't taking Arabic classes at school? - He does! His teacher even says he is the best. - Haven't you heard about the bilingual class we are setting up? - I did, I did... - Then why don't you sign him up for it? Are you scared it is too much work? - Well, listen Mr Ravet... Nobody dares to tell you but I will tell you the truth myself. You'll virtually have nobody joining your class. Our imam told us you are not going to teach correct Arabic there. - Correct Arabic? - Arabic used for religion. The kind of that this imam teaches at the Koranic school. This is where all the kids go to learn it. » For once, the institution had not been very demanding, partly because I was not asking for additional funds. I opened this class for 12 students in order to assert that we, as a national institution such as the National Education, can provide some cultural recognition to these children and their families. […]


Saint-Valérien (89): letter from the mayor to the prefect concerning the mosque and the Koranic school of the village When you give a clear and public space to teach, it happens that a majority of parents refuse to enroll their children. We have testimonies like Bernard Ravet's book, headmaster of three colleges in Marseille for fifteen years. He explains that, admittedly, the National Education remained deaf to his warnings but he also says that parents have the tendancy to place their child in the Koranic school even when the same subjects are taught in public school. Extract "We have a hundred-ish children learning Arabic - as part of what we call the Elco, the teachings of native language and culture. They have to stop in college. Why not build their loyalty by creating a teaching of the language at the Versailles college? We build the class project from grade six, that would lead to Arabic as a third language in grade eight for those who want to, and start going around the area's primary schools in order to identify the best pupils enrolled in Elco. We organise a meeting with the families, in June, to introduce to them this new class.\\nDisappointment. Out of the 24 pupils necessary to open the class, only a dozen came. I want to make clear in my mind about it. A family of the neighborhood, that I know well, already has two children at the college - two girls, brilliant - and their brother, who's in fifth grade. One evening of June, I come across the father "Doesn't your son go to Arabic lessons at school? 'He does! The teacher even said he was the best. 'Haven't you heard about the bilingual class we're creating? -I have, I have... -Why don't you enroll him? Are you afraid it will be too much work? -Listen, Mr Ravet... Nobody dares telling you but I'm going to. You will have almost no one in your class. The imam told us you wouldn't teach the correct Arabic. -The correct Arabic? -The religious Arabic. The one that the imam teaches at the Koranic school. That's where all the children go and learn."\\nFor once, the institution wasn't fussy, partly because I wasn't asking for additional resources. I opened the class for 12 children in order to affirm that we, the National Education, State Institution, could offer a cultural recognition to these children and their family. [...]


Saint-Valérien (89) : lettre du maire au prefet concernant la mosquée et l'école coranique du village  Quand tu donnes un endroit clair et public pour dispenser un enseignement, il arrive qu'une majorité de parents refuse quand même d'y mettre leurs enfants.

Saint-Valérien (89): letter to the prefect mayor regarding the village mosque and Koranic school.


Saint-Valérien (89) : lettre du maire au prefet concernant la mosquée et l'école coranique du village  Rajoute une majuscule à *Oh*, un espace entre *parce* et *qu'il*, et peut-être un point à la fin, et ça devrait être bon.

Saint-Valerian (89): letter from the mayor to the prefect concerning the mosque and the Koranic school in the village Add a capital letter to * Oh *, a space between * because * and *  it *, and perhaps a period at the end, and it should be good.


Saint-Valérien (89) : lettre du maire au prefet concernant la mosquée et l'école coranique du village  Si ça t'interesse réelement j'ai les statistiques par religion   Il y a un "global terrorism index" sur le net tenu par une université améeicaine qui reférence tout les actes de terrorisme   Evidememt l'Islam est la religion qui fait le plua de victimes

Saint-Valérien (89): Ketter from the mayor to the prefect concerning the mosque and the Koranic school of the village. If it really interests you I have the statistics by religion. There is a "global terrorism index" on the net maintained by a american university that refers to all acts of terrorism. Apparenylu Islam is the religion that creates the most victims,


Saint-Valérien (89) : lettre du maire au prefet concernant la mosquée et l'école coranique du village  Si. Tout ce qui est scolaire est heureusement réglementé.

Saint-Valérian (89): letter from the mayor to the prefect about the mosque and Koran school in the village. Yes. Anything to do with school is fortunately regulated.


Saint-Valérien (89) : lettre du maire au prefet concernant la mosquée et l'école coranique du village  Source?  Edit: aucune, évidemment

Saint-Valérien (89) : a letter to the mayor about the mosque and the koranic school in the village. Source? Edit: none, obviously


Saint-Valérien (89) : lettre du maire au prefet concernant la mosquée et l'école coranique du village  T'as lu ce que j'ai écris, ou t'as renoncé à même un semblant de cohérence ?  Tu établis une différence Catho/Islam parce que les cathos n'auraient pas tué en masse depuis longtemps.  Ensuite, tu établis une différence Catho/Islam sur les actions de figures fondatrices disparues il y a 2000 et 1300 ans.  Bref, l'éloignement temporel comme argument à double vitesse.

Saint-Valérien (89): letter from the mayor to the prefect about the mosque and Koran school in the village. Did you read what I wrote, or did you renounce it directly with an ounce of coherence? You established a difference between Catholicism and Islam because Catholics wouldn't have done mass killings in a long time. Then, you established a difference between Catholicism and Islam about the actions of founding figures who died 2,000 and 1,300 years ago. Anyway, temporal distance is a dual-speed argument.


Saint-Valérien (89): letter to the prefect mayor regarding the village mosque and Koranic school. Did you read what I write or simply choose to forgo even some semblance of coherence? You establish a difference between Catholicism and Islam, yet Catholics have apparently never committed mass murder. You then establish You establish a difference between Catholicism and Islam on the actions of disappeared founding members from 2000 and 1300 years ago. Basically, you're using chronological distance as a double-standard argument.


Saint-Valérien (89) : lettre du maire au prefet concernant la mosquée et l'école coranique du village  "Tuez les tous, Dieu reconnaitra les siens."

Saint-Valérien (89): letter from the mayor to the prefect concerning the mosque and the Koranic school in the village "Kill them all, God will recognize his own."


Saint-Valérien (89) : lettre du maire au prefet concernant la mosquée et l'école coranique du village  Tu lis, ou pas ? Je juge sur les éléments concrets qu'il me donne. Il veut convaincre, et j'explique très exactement pourquoi je ne suis personnellement pas convaincu.  > Ca te gene juste qu'on puisse critiquer la creation d'une ecole coranique. Tu ne supportes pas cela.   Qui porte un jugement basé sur des impressions, là ?  Sache donc que j'estime, à titre personnel, que les religions sont aujourd'hui le plus gros frein au développement harmonieux de l'humanité. Elles sont un danger, et sont toutes à bannir.  Sauf que je crois encore plus à la valeur de la démocratie, et à la valeur des règles que nous nous imposons par son biais.   Ce qui renvoie à mon com précédent :  > Non, c'est plutôt parce qu'on en appelle aux émotions et à une appropriation indue de valeurs républicaine pour contourner la loi quand on est insatisfait de ce qu'elle propose.

Saint-Valérien (89): letter from the mayor to the prefect about the mosque and Koran school of the village. Can you read or not? I'm judging the concrete elements he's giving me. I want to convince him, and I explains very precisely why I'm not convinced. > This bothers you just because you can criticize the creation of a Koran school. You can't stand this. Who's making judgment based on impressions here? Son know that personally, I feel that religions today are the greatest hindrance to the harmonious development of humanity. They are a danger, and should all be banned. Except, I believe more in the value of democracy, and the value of the rules we impose through it. This refers back to my previous comment: > No, it's more because we call on emotions and an undeserved appropriation of Republican values to get around the law when you're dissatisfied with what it offers.


Saint-Valérien (89) : lettre du maire au prefet concernant la mosquée et l'école coranique du village  Vous ? Tu peux me tutoyer tu sais. Au passage c'est mon premier post de la journée. Un conseil par contre décroche de l'ordinateur ça te réussi pas mon grand :)

Saint-Valérien (89): Mayor's letter to the prefect about the mosque and the koranic school of the town. You?  You can use the familiar form you know. By the way it's not my first post of the day. An advice though, let go of the computer, it's not working out for you bud :)


Sais-tu au moins ce qu'est un dictateur, mon cher Saerkozi?

Do you even know what a dictator is, my dear Saerkozi?


Sais-tu combien de programmeurs hobbyiste de jeux au Québec sont unilingue Français?


Salaire normal = fiscalisé mais qu'on peut utiliser sans restriction.

Normal salary = inspected but that you can use without any restrictions.


Salle de shoot à Paris : l’agression d’une femme enceinte ravive la colère des riverains  > avec un suivi  C'est pas une incantation qui règle tout les problèmes, tu sais ?

Paris fix room: assault on a pregnant woman revives the anger of neighbors. > With a follow-up. IT's not an incantation that can solve all problems, you know.


Salle vide, 400 places, je me pose pile au milieu.

Empty theater, 400 seats, I sit right in the middle.


Salut AirFrance ! J'ai trouvé six années de courriers internationaux, à découper, j'ai donc tenté mon premier collage  Manque une petite histoire / blague mais très beau découpage =)

Hi Air France! I found six years worth of international letters to cut, so I tried my first collage. Missing a little story / joke but very beautiful carving =)


Salut! Sauriez-vous me dire si il s'agit bien de Paris sur ce gif?  Cette forme... Mais c'est ? C'est la tour de l'enfer ! La tour EY/EulerHermes !

Hey ! could anyone tell me if it's Paris on this gif? This shape.... But it's ? It's the tower of hell ! The tower EY/EulerHermes !


Samedi Écriture / Club de Lecture sur Le désert des Tartares de Dino Buzzati - "Nous avons une mission très importante à vous confier"  « Essaie-ça ».  Ma monture – une magnifique licorne violette – me fit passer via un rayon tracteur un petit bout de fromage.  « Absorbe-le, tu vas voyager ».  Je dépose le petit cube sur ma langue.   Verdict de l'expérience : j'ai passé 15 ans sur une autre planète, cultivé des plantes adamantines, assisté aux levers de soleils nitides, dont les rayons conjugués à l'effet de puissants engrais pulvérulents ont fait croître – à ma plus grande surprise – de majestueux plant de grille-pains. Des musiciens ont déclamé un chant sybillin concernant un nouveau prophète.   Je suis redescendu et ai soupiré : de telles évasions me rendaient invariablement chafouin, confronté au retour de cette triste réalité de princesses à occire et de dragons à sauver.   Monde de merde.

Writing Saturday/Reading Club about The Desert of the Tartars by Dino Buzzati - "We have a very important mission to give you." "Try this." My mount (a gorgeous purple unicorn) passed me a small piece of cheese with a tractor beam. "Absorb it. You're going to travel." I put the small cube on my tongue. Verdict of the experience: I spent 15 years on another planet, grew adamantine plants, watched Nitide sunrises with rays blending with the powerful effect of the powdered fertilizers (to my great surprise) to make you think you're watching majestic toaster wires. Musicians perform a Sybillin song about a new prophet. I got back down and sighed: such journeys always make me surly when I'm faced with returning to the sad reality of princesses to slay and dragons to save. What a shitty world.


Samedi Écriture / Club de Lecture sur Le désert des Tartares de Dino Buzzati - "Nous avons une mission très importante à vous confier"  « Essaie-ça ».

Saturday Writing / Reading Club on Le désert des Tartares by Dino Buzzati - "We have a very important mission for you"  "Try this".


Samedi Écriture / Club de Lecture sur Le désert des Tartares de Dino Buzzati - "Nous avons une mission très importante à vous confier"  Les commentaires qui ne sont pas des histoire, récits, bd, scripts de cinéma (muet ou non), poésies, histoire drôle (en lien avec le sujet), ou sagas épiques en 8 volumes, c'est ici en réponse à ce commentaire.  Merci.      ping /u/drakoulious le Samedi écriture/Club de lecture est potellisé ! (Bon je savais pas trop comment faire apparaître les deux dans le titre au mieux, donc j'ai improvisé)

Writing Saturday/Reading Club, on Le Désert des Tartares by Dino Buzzati - "We have a very important mission to give you." The comments that aren't in the story, tales, comic, movie scripts (silent or not), poetry, funny stories (having to do with the subject) or epic 8-volume sagas, here is the reply to this comment. Thank you. Ping /u/drakoulious on Writing Saturday/Reading Club is posted! (Well, I didn't really know how to make both appear in the title best, so I improvised).


Samedi Écriture / Club de Lecture sur Le désert des Tartares de Dino Buzzati - "Nous avons une mission très importante à vous confier"  Les commentaires qui ne sont pas des histoire, récits, bd, scripts de cinéma (muet ou non), poésies, histoire drôle (en lien avec le sujet), ou sagas épiques en 8 volumes, c'est ici en réponse à ce commentaire.

Saturday Writing / Book Club on Le Désert des Tartares by Dino Buzzati - "We have a very important mission for you"  Comments that are not stories, tales, comics, screenplays (silent or not), poems, funny anecdotes (connected to the topic) or epic 8-volume sagas, post them here in response to this comment.


Samedi Écriture / Club de Lecture sur Le désert des Tartares de Dino Buzzati - "Nous avons une mission très importante à vous confier"  **Oui bon, ca va paraitre normal, mais c'est pété de spoilers hein...**  Donc, c'est avec réticence que je me suis lancé dans le désert des tartares: Jamais entendu parlé, ni de l'auteur, ni du bouquin. En soit, c'est parfaitement normal, j'ai n'ai aucune connaissance en littérature "normale". Donc, j'y suis allé a reculons.  Ce qui est exactement l'esprit optimal pour lire ce livre. Je me suis fait avoir comme un bleu (bon, j'en suis un donc ça passe).  Drogo, m'a semblé être le stéréotype même du personnage de roman lambda, avec rien pour lui, qui a tout pour vivre de splendides aventures, trouver l'amour, être heureux, et quelque-part être le plus chiant des protagonistes du bouquin tellement tout parait cousu de fil blanc dés le départ. Il n'a plus que sa mère (problème d'absence du père), vit dans une grande maison (surement une bonne naissance), et en plus a choisi l'armée comme carrière... Bref, pas grand chose de folichon.  Mais tout commence des son départ de chez lui vers le fort Bastiani, qu'il imagine fantastique, mais se trouve complètement paumé dans les montagnes. Le trajet est long, et déjà chiant. On s'ennuie avec lui et la perspective qu'il puisse parler a quelqu'un est réjouissante, mais toujours repoussée. Lors qu’enfin il peut discuter, on est déçu. Et ce n'est que le début.  J'avais réussi, a me dire que c’était peut être une critique de la rigueur militaire et de son ennui (rappelez vous que je n'y connais rien), et pendant une bonne moitié de bouquin je me suis fait avoir. Ça semblait concorder, et c'est un sujet que je connais un peu, donc je n'ai rien vu venir. On fait des rondes, des parades inutiles, on a des problèmes de chaudières, et les gens sont embourbés dans une vie ou l'apparat et faire comme si un ennemi allait arriver a tout moment semble être important.   Et patatra, il y a l’épisode de la montagne et des bottes trop fines pour la rando. Et la ça me frappe: mourir comme un con gelé (j'ai osé) serait une bonne chose? C'est donc le mieux que ces gens puissent attendre de leurs vies pourries... En fait, le fait qu'ils soient militaires n'est qu'un prétexte, on parle de la vie, de la vanité, et du besoin de réalisation. Pour eux, la vie se résume au fort, et ils espèrent une bonne boucherie pour se prouver qu'ils n'ont pas existé pour rien. Certain comprennent que c'est inutile assez tôt pour partir, d'autres restent piégés.  Et au final, en ayant (surement très tard), enfin compris le thème du livre (je suppose que j'ai bon), j'ai réussi a être tour a tour dépité, énervé, en colère et résigné avec le héros. Le même que je considérait comme un peigne cul bien né. On ne sait plus si on s’ennuie, ou si la description de l'ennui lui même est trop bonne, on veut une bataille, mais on attend des années/pages inutiles avec Droggo. Et lorsque ça arrive, c'est encore pire que la bataille des cinq armée. On ne verra rien, notre héros n'aura même pas le droit d'assister a ce qu'il a attendu toute sa vie...  Bon bref, j'ai adoré le bouquin, je me suis fait chier avec le héros, j'ai voulu une bataille avec lui juste pour casser l'ennui, je me suis fait balader par l'auteur, et putain, j'aurai vraiment aimer voir des tartares, peut être encore plus que Droggo. Et franchement, réussir a faire passer une mort en tapant le carton tout seul par -20 comme un acte de bravoure, c'est quand même la classe, chapeau Dino.   Donc merci pour le club lecture, ça m'a fait découvrir un livre qui m'a marqué, et que j'aurai jamais lu autrement.

Writing Saturday/Reading Club on Le Désert des Tartares by Dino Buzzati - "We have a very important mission to give you" **Yeah, well, it's going to appear normal, but it's full of spoilers, ok?** So, reluctantly, I set off to the Tartar Desert: Never heard of it, the author or the book. In itself, it's perfectly normal. I had no knowledge in "normal" literature. So, I went in backward. Which is the perfect mindset for this book. I fell for it like a fool (well, I am one, so it's ok). Drogo seemed to be to be the very stereotype of a character from any ordinary novel, with nothing going for him, who has everything he needs to have splendid adventures, find love, be happy, and perhaps be the most awful protagonist in the book, since everything seemed so predictable from the beginning. The only thing left was for his mother (problem with an absent father) to live in a big house (surely by good birth) and also to have chosen a career in the army. Anyway, nothing too crazy. But everything started when he left home for Fort Bastiani, which imagines to be a fantasy, but is located completely hidden in the mountains. The journey is long, and already boring. We get bored with him and the perspective he can talk to someone is enjoyable, but always brushed aside. When finally he can talk, we're disappointed. And it's only the beginning. I managed to tell myself that this was perhaps a critique of the military discipline and his boredom (remember that I didn't know anything about it), and for a good half of the book, I fell for it. It seemed to fit, and it's a subject I know a bit about, so I didn't see anything coming. They went around in circles, put on useless marches, had problems with heaters, and people are stuck in a life where ceremony and pretending as if an enemy would arrive at any time seemed to be important. And bang! There's the episode of the mountains and the boots that are too thin for hiking. And then it hits me: would dying like an frozen idiot (yes, I said it) be a good thing? It's the best that these people can expect from the awful lives. Actually, the fact that they're soldiers is only a pretext. We're talking about life, vanity, and the need for actualization. For them, life is summed up to the fort, and they hope for a nice massacre so they can prove that they didn't exist for nothing. Some understand that it's useless, too early to leave, and others stay trapped. And in the end, by finally having (surely very late) understood the theme of the book (I supposed I have the right one), I managed time and time againt to be peeved, angry, furious and resigned with the hero. The same one I considered as a jerk with a lucky birth. They don't know if they're bored of if the description of the enemy itself is too good. They want a battle, but they'll wait for years/pages uselessly with Droggo. And when it happens, it's even worse that the Battle of the Five Armies. They can't see anything. Our hero can't even watch what he's been expecting his entire life. Anyway, I loved the book, but I got bored with the hero. I wanted a battle with him, just to break the boredom. I was taken for a ride by the author, and shit, I would really have loved to see the Tartars, maybe even more than Droggo. And frankly, managing to sneak by a dead man by hitting the cardboard all alone in -20 degrees is still really classy, so hats off to Dino. So, thank you for the Reading Club. This made me discover a book that marked me, and which I'd never have read otherwise.


Samedi Écriture - Je ne le savais pas mais cette rencontre allait changer ma vie  **Enfermé dans les nuages**   > La ville s'étendait sur l'horizon comme un aplat gris sur une toile. D'ici elle restait silencieuse, ou presque; un léger vrombissement caressé l'air comme la marque d'une présence humaine en ces terres, souffle mécanique de la bête qu'ils avaient créer. Du haut de la montagne où il s'était retrouvé, où il avait décidé qu'il passerait ses derniers jours de liberté, il regarda le colosse qui allait bientôt l'engloutir, lui aussi, dans les jours et le siècle. Le temps passa en douceur, comme du miel tombe sur du pain, et ajouta à sa contemplation des nuages et des astres une aura particulière, presque magique, le retenant dans un instant éternel. Il bivouaqua, installa sa tente - une toile retenue par quatre batons - alluma un feu et mangea quelques fruits, du pain et un bout de fromage. Demain il partirait.  _ > Le train qui l'emmena du terminal de la bordure extérieur à la station d’accueil était calme. La station n'était peuplé que d'une vielle dame, assise au guichet, dont le poste avait perdu sa fonction bien des années auparavant. Sa maison bordée le terminal; sa tâche matinale reflétait l'écho de sa vie, elle y était attaché. Mais le train quotidien, autrefois abondant de voyageur, n'avait plus besoin de ces sujets extérieurs. Il venait et partait tout les jours à la même heure; les tickets avaient disparus mais peu, si peu de personnes le prenait encore qu'il traversa souvent la plaine tel un fantôme, un serpent en quête de sens. Il pris place à un siège au milieu du wagon, un siège aux couleurs bleus. Il posa sa tête contre la vitre froide où sa chevelure lui offrait quelques protections éparse, se posa sur sa respiration, laissa le flux des couleurs abreuver ses rétines.  _ >Rapidement il pris des fonctions dans l'administration des systèmes d'écoulement de la ville. Il partait chaque matin à 6h25, descendait les niveaux successifs qui l'emmenait aux secteurs des administrations urbaines, passé son badge, rentrer dans la tuyauterie des allées le menant à son bureau, s'installa et commença sa tâche quotidienne. Il était un rouage d'une entité plus grande qui ne se questionnait pas de sa présence, c'était là une façon de survivre dans un monde qui s'appauvrissait de plus en plus. La bête avalée tout, la bête consommait tout, il valait mieux être une de ses puces que l'une de ses gourmandises quotidienne. Pour survivre il fallait s'adapter.  _ >Il la rencontra un soir près d'un café. Elle avait les cheveux court, châtain, diffus, le regard perdu à travers une vitrine qui exposée des buveurs pris par les sons d'une guitare acoustique. Elle chancelait sur place, comme prise par des vagues intérieurs, les vibrations seules des cables de bronzes semblaient la garder en lien avec ce monde. Il passa près d'elle et fut alors subjugué par un charme sauvage, il l'observait qui observait. Un hors-temps passa dans un espace presque tangible, quelques minutes d'un temps sans fin. Puis, comme pris d'une inspiration soudaine, elle se retourna vers lui, lui souris, puis disparue à l'angle d'une rue. Il l'entendait susurrer ces mots en son sein : « j'ai su cueillir sur tes lèvres l'ambroisie de ma résurrection ». C'était un rêve fantasmé, possédant tout les propriétés de la réalité sans y appartenir. Elle glissa de sa vue, elle n'était plus là. Exista-t-elle seulement ?  _ >Les mois passèrent, peu à peu les souvenirs passées perdaient de leurs couleurs et de leurs vivacités. La petite enfance passée près de la rivière avec ses cousins, l'odeur du blé au vent au début du printemps, la texture moelleuse des patisserie de sa mamie, les vielles habitations de pierres blanches, le bois d'hêtre luisant au dernier lueur du jour qui emplissait les maisons. La vie chez lui était plus simple, il connaissait les gens depuis toujours. Un horizon peu étendue mais rassurant. La proximité des autres était autant de fenêtre sur sa propre âme, ses amies étaient partie de lui. Dans la cité sur patte du fin fond de la plaine, les visages était multiple, presque infinies. Chaque semaine relevait d'occasions de rencontrer de nouveaux visages, de nouvelles ouvertures sur ce que l'Univers entendais être. Mais ces visages n'était que des esquisses éphémère qui s'évanouissait avec la nuit, tout n'étaient que de passages, attendant leur élévation vers d'autres hauteurs de la ville leur ouvrant sans doute une vision juste sur ce qu'ils étaient.  _ >C'était un soir comme le premier : il rentra par un chemin de traverse qu'il affectionnait particulièrement, fait de couloirs et de petits escaliers. Cette escapade lui rallongée son retour journalier mais l'anesthésiais pour la journée à venir. Pendant quelques temps, dans ces incongruités urbaines, il retrouvait le sens de la poésie, d'un élément organique qui évoquait en lui son enfance, son village, sa vie d'avant. C'est à la remonté d'un escalier particulièrement pentu qu'il arpenta avec ardeur - tant et si bien qu'il atteint les dernières marches essoufflé et sans grande conscience de ce que son entourage présentait - qu'il la trouva. Elle était là, derrière le mur qui soutenait l'arche au bout de la montée : dos appuyé contre la paroi, en robe blanche et petit ceinturon gris, elle happait les impressions du lieu et attendait une inspiration divine. Il l'a remarqua avec surprise, mêlé d'un sentiment étrange : la voir était comme rentrer en lien avec une partie de lui disparue depuis longtemps mais toujours présente, elle donnait sens à tout ce qui l'entourait et à ce qu'il était alors. En la voyant il sortait du sommeil ou ses jours l'embaumait. Il pris conscience de sa mortalité et de sa vitalité. Il était bien.   ----   « Topinambour ! »  « Quoi topinambour ? »   « On dit pas "Qkwaa" on dit Co-mment, prends ton stylo et note »  Cette cocotte me toisa de son ère d'intellectuelle bobotte parisienne toute clichée. Toute belle plante qu'elle était je sors généralement les griffes quand on me balance des absurdités pareilles au beau millieu d'un buffet top-select d'éditeurs et auteurs en vues, dont je ne sais quel génie sournois (ou bienheureux!) m'avait conviée.  « T'es vraiment pas à la page toi hein ? » avait été ses premiers mots, enrobés d'un sourire malicieux et suave, d'une tendresse dure et cachée, me laissant coitte et désarçonnée. Elle ne l'était pas du tout, elle me montra vite les ficelles du millieu, me pris par la main et me guidant dans le méandre des ses dynamiques sociales désincarnée.   Moi je me laissé entraîner dans son sillage, tel l'albatros hypnotisé par les gouffres amers d'un navire méditerrannéen déboussolé.. elle m'aspira de son être vers une grandeur en moi encore cachée.

Saturday Scripture - I did not know it but this meeting was going to change my life ** Locked in the clouds **> The city extended into the horizon like a gray solid on a canvas. From here she remained silent, or almost; a slight humming caressed the air as the mark of a human presence in these lands, mechanical breath of the beast they had created. From the top of the mountain where he had found himself, where he had decided that he would spend his last days of freedom, he looked at the colossus which was about to engulf him, too, in the days and the century. Time passed gently, as honey falls on bread, and added to its contemplation of clouds and stars a special, almost magical aura, holding it back in an eternal moment. He bivouacked, set up his tent - a canvas held by four sticks - lit a fire and ate some fruit, bread and a piece of cheese. Tomorrow he would leave. The train that took her from the outside border terminal to the dock was quiet. The station was populated only by an old lady sitting at the ticket office, which had fallen into disuse many years earlier. His house lined the terminal; her morning task reflected the echo of her life, she was attached to it. But the daily train, once abundant as a traveler, no longer needed these external subjects. He came and went every day at the same time; the tickets had disappeared but few, so few people still took it that he often crossed the plain like a ghost, a snake in search of meaning. He took a seat in the middle of the wagon, a seat with blue colors. He put his head against the cold window where his hair offered him some sparse protection, rested his breathing, let the flow of colors water his retinas. _> Quickly he took a job in the administration of the sewer systems of the city. He left every morning at 6:25 am, descended the successive levels that took him to the sectors of urban administrations, swiped his badge, entered the pipe corridors leading to his office, settled down and began his daily task. He was a cog in a larger entity that did not question his presence, it was a way to survive in a world that was getting poorer and poorer. The beast swallowed everything, the beast consumed everything, it was better to be one of his chips than one of his daily treats. To survive, you had to adapt.He met her one evening near a cafe. She had short hair, chestnut, diffuse, the look lost through a showcase that exposed drinkers caught by the sounds of an acoustic guitar. It staggered on the spot, as if taken by interior waves, the vibrations alone of the bronze cables seemed to keep it in connection with this world. He passed near her and was then subjugated by a wild charm, he watched her observing. An aside passed into an almost tangible space, a few minutes of endless time. Then, as if suddenly inspired, she turned to him, smiled at him, then disappeared at the corner of a street. He heard her whispering these words in her womb: "I knew how to pick on your lips the ambrosia of my resurrection". It was a fantasy dream, possessing all the properties of reality without belonging to it. She slipped out of sight, she was no longer there. Existed only? The months passed, little by little the past memories were losing their color and liveliness. The early childhood spent near the river with his cousins, the smell of wind wheat in early spring, the mellow texture of his granny's pastries, the old houses of white stones, the beech wood shining in the last light of the the day that filled the houses. Life at home was simpler, he had known people forever. A small horizon but reassuring. The closeness of others was so much a window into his own soul, his friends were part of him. In the city on the foot of the bottom of the plain, the faces were multiple, almost infinite. Each week saw opportunities to meet new faces, new openings on what the Universe meant to be. But these faces were only ephemeral sketches that vanished with the night, all were just passages, waiting for their elevation to other heights of the city probably opening a fair vision of what they were. It was an evening just like the first: he returned via a crossing which he particularly liked, made of corridors and small stairs. This escapade lengthened his daily return but anesthetized him for the day to come. For some time, in these urban incongruities, he found the sense of poetry, an organic element that evoked in him his childhood, his village, his life before. It was at the end of a particularly steep staircase that he paced with ardor-so much so that he reached the last steps, panting and without much awareness of what his entourage was presenting-that he found it. She was there, behind the wall that supported the arch at the end of the ascent: leaning back against the wall, in a white dress and a little gray belt, she caught the impressions of the place and awaited a divine inspiration. He noticed her with surprise, mixed with a strange feeling: seeing her was like getting in touch with a part of him that had disappeared for a long time but still present, she gave meaning to everything around her and to what was then. Seeing her, he came out of his sleep or his days embalmed him. He became aware of his mortality and vitality. He was good. ---- "Jerusalem artichoke! "What is Jerusalem artichoke?  "We do not say "what?", we say "pardon", take your pen and write it down" This sweetie looked at me from her era of intellectual parisian middle class pretension, all cliché. Such a beautiful plant it was that I usually get out my claws when I hear absurdities like that right in the middle of a top-select buffet of publishers and writers in sight, which I do not know what sly (or blessed!) genius which had been invited to see me. "You're really not up to date, are you? Had been her first words, wrapped in a malicious and suave smile, with a hard and hidden tenderness, leaving me off guard and unhinged. She was not at all, she quickly showed me the strings in the middle, took me by the hand and guiding me through her disembodied social dynamics. I let myself be dragged along in its wake, like the albatross hypnotized by the bitter chasms of a disoriented Mediterranean ship. She sucked me from her being to a greatness in me which was still hidden.


Saturday Writing - I did not know it but this meeting was going to change my life **Locked in the clouds** > The city extended on the horizon like a gray flat tint on a canvas. From here she remained silent, or almost; a slight humming caressed the air as the mark of a human presence in these lands, mechanical breath of the beast they had created. From the top of the mountain where he was, where he had decided that he would spend his last days of freedom, he looked at the colossus that was about to engulf him, him too, in the days and the century. Time passed gently, as honey falling on bread, and added to its contemplation of clouds and stars a special, almost magical aura, holding him back in an eternal moment. He bivouacked, set up his tent - a canvas held by four sticks - lit a fire and ate some fruit, bread and a piece of cheese. Tomorrow he would leave. The train that took him from the outside border terminal to the station was quiet. The station was populated only by an old lady who was seated at the ticket office, whose post had lost its office many years before. Her house lined the terminal; her morning task reflected the echo of her life, she was attached to it. But the daily train, formerly abundant with travelers, no longer needed these external subjects. It came and went every day at the same time; the tickets had disappeared but few, very few people still took it that it often crossed the plain like a ghost, a snake in search of meaning. He took a seat in the middle of the wagon, a seat with blue colors. He put his head against the cold window where his hair offered him some sparse protections, rested on his breath, let the flow of colors water his retinas. _ > Quickly he took office in the administration of the flow systems of the city. He left every morning at 6:25 am, descended the successive levels which took him to the urban administration areas, run his badge, entered the pipework of the alleys leading him to his office, settled down and began his daily work. He was a gearwheel in a larger entity that did not question his presence, it was a way to survive in a world that was getting poorer and poorer. The beast swallowed everything, the beast consumed everything, it was better to be one of his chips than one of his daily treats. To survive, you had to adapt. He met her one evening near a cafe. She had short brown color hair, vague, the lost look through a showcase that exposed drinkers caught by the sounds of an acoustic guitar. She staggered on the spot, as if taken by interior waves, the vibrations alone of the bronze cables seemed to keep her in connection with this world. He went near her and was then enthralled by a wild charm, he watched her who was observing him. An off-time passed into an almost tangible space, a few minutes of endless time. Then, as if suddenly inspired, she turned to him, smiled at him, then disappeared at the corner of a street. He heard her whispering these words in her heart: "I knew how to pick from your lips the ambrosia of my resurrection". It was a dream of fantasy, possessing all the properties of reality without belonging to it. She slipped out of sight, she was no longer there. Did she only exist? The months passed, little by little the past memories were losing their color and liveliness. The early childhood spent near the river with his cousins, the smell of wheat in the wind in early spring, the mellow texture of his granny's pastries, the old houses of white stones, the beech wood shining in the last light of the the day that filled the houses. Life at home was simpler, he had known people forever. A small horizon but reassuring. The closeness of others was so much window on his own soul, his friends were part of him. In the city at the foot of the bottom of the plain, multiple faces, almost infinite. Each week there were opportunities to meet new faces, new openings on what the Universe meant to be. But these faces were only ephemeral sketches that vanished with the night, all were just passages, waiting for their elevation to other heights of the city probably opening a fair vision of what they were. _ > It was an evening like the first: he returned by a crossroads that he particularly liked, made of corridors and small stairs. This escapade lengthened his daily return but anesthetized for the day to come. For some time, in these urban incongruities, he found the sense of poetry, an organic element that evoked in him his childhood, his village, his life before. It was at the end of a particularly steep staircase that he paced with ardor - so much so that he reached the last steps breathless and without much awareness of what his surroundings presented - that he found her. She was there, behind the wall that supported the arch at the end of the climb: leaning back against the wall, in a white dress with a little gray belt, she caught the impressions of the place and was waiting for a divine inspiration. He noticed her with surprise, mixed with a strange feeling: to see her was like getting in touch with a part of him that had disappeared for a long time but still present, she gave meaning to everything around her and to what was then. Seeing her, he came out of his sleep or his days embalmed him. He became aware of his mortality and vitality. It was good. ---- "Jerusalem artichoke! "What is Jerusalem artichoke? »« We do not say "What" we say How, take your pen and note» This sweety looked at me with her all Parisian cliché intellectual era look. Any beautiful plant that it was I usually go out claws when I sway absurdities like the beautiful middle of a top-select buffet of publishers and writers in sight, which I do not know what sly genius (or blessed!) M had invited. "You're really not up to date, are you?" Had been her first words, wrapped in a malicious and suave smile, with a hard and hidden tenderness, leaving me seated and unhinged. She was not at all, she quickly showed me the strings of the middle, took me by the hand and guiding me in the meander of its disembodied social dynamics. I let myself be dragged along in its wake, like the albatross hypnotized by the bitter chasms of a disoriented Mediterranean ship. She sucked me from her being to a greatness in me still hidden.


Saturday Writing - I did not know that but this meeting was going to change my life **Locked in the clouds**> The city covered the horizon like a gray solid color on a canvas. From here it remained silent, or almost; a slight humming caressed the air as the mark of a human presence in these lands, mechanical breath of the beast they had created. From the top of the mountain where he was, where he had decided that he would spend his last days of freedom, he looked at the colossus who was about to engulf him, it too, in the days and the century. Time passed smoothly, as honey falling on bread, and added to its contemplation some clouds and stars that added a special, an almost magical aura, holding it back in an eternal moment. He bivouacked, set up his tent - a canvas held by four sticks - lit a fire and ate some fruit, bread and a piece of cheese. Tomorrow he would leave. The train that took him from the outside border terminal to the station was quiet.There was only an old lady at the station, sitting at the ticket office, who had lost her position many years ago. Her home was at the edge of the terminal; her morning task reflected the echo of her life, she was attached to it. But the daily train, which was once crowded with travelers, no longer needed these external subjects. It came and went away every day at the same time; the tickets had disappeared but a few. A few people still took it that it often crossed the plain like a ghost, a snake in search of meaning. He took a seat in the middle of the wagon, a seat with blue colors. He put his head against the cold window where his hair offered him some scattered protections, landed on his breath, let the flow of colors water his retinas. _> Quickly he took office in the administration of the flow systems of the city. He left every morning at 6:25 am, descended the successive levels which took him to the urban administration areas, passed his badge, entered the pipework of the alleys leading him to his office, settled down and began his daily work. He was a cog in a larger entity that did not question his presence, it was a way to survive in a world that was getting poorer and poorer. The beast swallowed everything, the beast consumed everything, it was better to be one of his sweethearts than one of his daily treats. To survive, he had to adapt. _ > He met her one evening near a cafe. She had short hair, brown color, vague, the lost look through a showcase that exposed drinkers caught by the sounds of an acoustic guitar. She staggered on the spot, as if taken by interior waves, the vibrations alone of the bronze cables seemed to keep it in connection with this world. He passed by near her and was then enthralled by a wild charm, he watched her observing him. An off-time passed into an almost tangible space, a few minutes of endless time. Then, as if suddenly inspired, she turned to him, smiled at him, then disappeared at the corner of a street. He heard her whispering these words in his heart: "I knew how to suck the ambrosia of my resurrection from your lips ". It was a fantasy dream, possessing all the properties of reality without belonging to it. She slipped out of sight, she was no longer there. Did she only exist? _ > The months passed, little by little the past memories lost their colors and liveliness. The early childhood spent near the river with his cousins, the smell of wheat in the wind in early spring, the mellow texture of his granny's pastries, the old houses of white stones, the beech wood shining in the last light of the the day that filled the houses. Life at home was simpler, he had known the people forever. A small horizon but reassuring. The closeness with each other was so much of a window on his own soul, his friends were part of him. In the city at the edge of the plain, there were many faces, almost infinite. Each week saw opportunities to meet new faces, new openings on what the Universe meant to be. But these faces were only ephemeral sketches that vanished with the night, all were just passages, waiting for their elevation to other heights of the city probably opening a fair vision of what they were. _ >It was an evening like the first: he returned by a crossroads which he particularly liked, made of corridors and small stairs. This escapade lengthened his daily return but anesthetized for the day to come. For some time, in these urban incongruities, he found the sense of poetry, an organic element that evoked in him his childhood, his village, his life before. It was at the end of a particularly steep staircase that he strode along with enthusiasm - so much so that he reached the last steps breathless and without much awareness of what his surroundings presented - that he found it. She was there, behind the wall that supported the arch at the end of the ascent: leaning back against the wall, in a white dress and a little gray belt, she caught the impressions of the place and awaited a divine inspiration. He noticed her with surprise, mixed with a strange feeling: to see her was like getting in touch with a part of him that had disappeared for a long time but still present, she gave meaning to everything around her and to what was then. Seeing her, he came out of his sleep or his days embalmed him. He became aware of his mortality and vitality. It was good. ---- "Jerusalem artichoke!" "What is Jerusalem artichoke?" "We do not say "What" we say How, take your pen and note"This sweetie looked at me from her  intellectual Parisian bobbin all clichéd era. Any beautiful plant that it maybe I usually go out claws when I say nonsense absurdities like in the middle of beautiful buffet with top-select publishers and writers in sight, of which I do not know what sneaky genius (or blessed!) M had invited. "You're really not up to date, are you? Had been her first words, wrapped in a malicious and suave smile, with a hard and hidden tenderness, leaving me seated and unhinged. She was not at all that, she quickly showed me the strings of the middle, took me by the hand and guided me in the meander of its disembodied social dynamics. I let myself be dragged along in her trail, like the albatross hypnotized by the bitter chasms of a disoriented Mediterranean ship. She sucked me from her being to a greatness in me still hidden.


Samedi Écriture - Je ne le savais pas mais cette rencontre allait changer ma vie  Non, tu peux répondre tout le week end !

Saturday Writing - I did not know this but this encounter was going to change my life No, you can answer all week end!


Samedi Écriture - Je ne le savais pas mais cette rencontre allait changer ma vie  Question qui je suppose à la récurrence du levé du soleil : on peut répondre à ce post que le samedi ? Merci !

Saturday Writing - I didn't know it but this meeting would change my life. A question that I suppose is reccurent at the sunrise : can we answer this post only on saturdays? Thanks!


Samedi Écriture - Je ne le savais pas mais cette rencontre allait changer ma vie  Super !

Saturday Scripture - I did not know it but this meeting was going to change my life Super!


Samedi Écriture - Par un étrange concours de circonstance, un animal est nommé PDG de l'entreprise dans laquelle vous travaillez. Il vous convoque pour un entretien.  Haha merci ramène lui un paquet de croquettes histoire d'être sûr au cas où mdr

Saturday Writing - Through a strangely appropriate competition, an animal is named CEO of your company. It summons you for an interview. Haha, thanks. Bring it a pack of kibbles to be sure just in case lol.


Samedi Écriture - Par un étrange concours de circonstance, un animal est nommé PDG de l'entreprise dans laquelle vous travaillez. Il vous convoque pour un entretien.  Je n’en croyais pas mes yeux et pourtant il était là devant moi. Tigris le chat de l’ancien directeur se tenait à l’autre bout de la table en bois lustré qui faisait office de bureau. Assis comme un humain sur le massif siège en cuir du directeur, les pattes avant poser sur le bureau il me dévisageait. C’était un gros chat, enfin j’en avais déjà vu des plus gros mais eux étais incapable de tenir droit sur une chaise! Ses poils court étaient principalement gris mais avec quelque touche de blanc au niveau de son ventre et du bas de sa mâchoire.   Il lui manquait des poils au niveau de ces tempes comme s'il souffrait d’un début de calvitie mais c’était surement dû à la nombreuse fois où il se frottait la tête avec ses pattes.   Ces yeux jaunes ne me quittaient pas. Guettant les moindres de mes expressions, tandis que son nez rose bougeait frénétiquement comme s'il était à la recherche d’une quelconque odeur sur moi. Une bouteille de scotch trônait sur la table à sa gauche et un peu de son contenu avait été verser avec un glaçon dans une petite gamelle en verre devant lui.   Il vit mes yeux dérivés sur la bouteille et me dit d’une voix étrangement fine comme s'il avait du mal à parler.  Vous voulez un verre ?   Choqué je dévisageais le chat, on m’avait prévenu, mais enfin comment un animal peut parler. C’est inconcevable.  Puis il reprit.   Vous compter me dévisager longtemps ou vous préférer vous prendre un verre sur le meuble derrière vous ?  Euh... Oui… Oui excuse-moi Tigris c’est juste que te voir parler après toutes ces années passer à te voir somnoler sur les bureaux de l’open-space c’est plutôt perturbant.   C’est Chat Volié ou directeur pour vous Monsieur Mechesala. J’ai hérité du nom de mon ancien “maître“ comme vous aimez vous appeler en même temps que cette compagnie.    Eu... Oui... Chat... Volié... excusez-moi, et oui je veux bien un verre de scotch.  Je crois qu’il m’en faudrait plus d’un pour digérer sa.  Bien prenez-vous un verre et servez-vous, j’ai encore du mal à servir quoi que ce sois avec cette bouteille humaine.   Oui bien sur.   Je pris un verre sur le buffet et me rassis devant lui avant de saisir bouteille et je me servis un grand verre de ce liquide cuivré.  Tigris repris.   Bien servez-moi aussi puis nous pourra enfin parler de ce qui vous amène ici aujourd’hui.    J’acquiesçais et lui versa du scotch dans sa gamelle transparente. Le chat renifla légèrement le contenu avant de prendre quelque lapé de la boisson alcoolisée, puis il me dévisagea à nouveau.   Monsieur Martin. Si je vous ai fait venir c’est pour vous parler de votre avenir au sein de FELIX Croquette & Co.   Mon poste de community manager me convient très bien monsi…. Chat !  Oui il va de sois que vous êtes plus que capable à ce poste je vous ai maintes fois observer travailler lorsque vous me grattiez le dos sur vos genoux.  Penser qu’il profitait de nos câlins pour surveillé tout l’open-space me donna un frisson dans le dos.   Mais je pense que je peux trouver un autre poste beaucoup plus valorisant. Que diriez-vous de devenir mon nouvel assistant de direction ?  Vraiment ! Euh... Oui bien sur sa me ferait plaisir Chat Volié mais pourquoi moi ?   Simplement car c’est vous qui faites les meilleurs caresse de tout l’open-space. D’ailleurs je compte sur vous pour un petit massage dès que j’aurais fini les quatre autres entretiens que j’ai ce matin.   Un peut perturber par sa réponse je lui répondis.  D’accord... Oui... Ducoup je commence quand à ce poste .   Tout de suite ! La DRH vous fera signer votre nouveau contrat tout à l’heure et vous récupérerez le bureau de monsieur Chupika dès que je l’aurais viré. Je le vois juste après vous.  Bien Directeur.  Votre première tache sera de voir avec l’équipe graphique et de communication pour le nouveau nom de cette boîte. Un changement de direction comme le nôtre nécessite un nouveau nom pour cette entreprise et j’en ai un bon. À partir de maintenant ce sera TIGRIS Croquette & Co.  Vous voulez qu’on utilise votre prénom .   Oui. Et je veux aussi refaire passer la recherche dans de nouvelle variété de croquette au premier plan de notre entreprise, et bien sûr chaque nouvelle variété devra passer par moi pour être validé.  D'accord.. Chat Directeur.   Vous pouvez y aller Monsieur Mechesala je ne vous retiens pas plus vous avez du travail faite entré le suivant en partant.   Sur ces mots je me levais tandis qu’il reprenait à nouveau quelque lampé de scotch. À peine la porte passée je vis Chupika qui attendait devant la porte.   Tu peux y aller c’est ton tour.  C’est comment ?   tu veux dire parler à un chat qui est devenu ton directeur alors qu’il y a moins d’une semaine tu lui grattais les oreilles ? Très très perturbant.   Il acquiésat puis passa la porte à son tour.    Durant le mois qui suivit aux infos l’ont parler de plus en plus de chats qui prenait le contrôle de grosse entreprise. Ils étaient en train de prendre le contrôle du monde comme si un plan qu’ils avaient préparé depuis longtemps devenait enfin réalité.

Saturday Writing - By a strange coincidence, an animal is named CEO of the company in which you work. He calls you in for an interview. I did not believe my eyes and yet he was there in front of me. Tigris the former director's cat stood at the other end of the glossy wooden table that served as an office table. Sitting like a human on the director's massive leather seat, the front legs resting on the desk it stared at me. It was a big cat, I had already seen larger ones but they were unable to stand on a chair! His short hairs were mainly gray, but with some white touch up to his belly and the bottom of his jaw. There weren't enough hair at his temples as if he suffered from balding but it was probably due to rubbing his head with his paws several times. Those yellow eyes did not stop looking at me. Watching for the least of my expressions, while his pink nose moved frantically as if he were looking for some smell on me. A bottle of Scotch stood on the table to his left and a little of its contents had been poured with an ice cube in a small glass bowl in front of him. He saw my eyes drift on the bottle and said in a strangely fine voice as if he had trouble speaking. You want a drink? Shocked I stared at the cat, I was told, but really how an animal can talk. It is inconceivable. Then he went on. Do you expect to stare at me for a long time or would you rather have a drink from the furniture behind you? Um... yes… Yes excuse me Tigris it's just that seeing you talking after all these years... coming and seeing you dozing on the open space office table is rather disturbing. It's Volié Cat or director for you Mr. Mechesala. I inherited the name of my former "master" as you like to call you at the same time as this company. Um... Yes... Cat... Volié... excuse me, and yes I want a glass of Scotch. I think it would take more than one to digest it. Well do you have a drink and serve yourself, I still have trouble serving anything with this human bottle. Yes of course. I had a drink on the buffet and sat down before him before grabbing a bottle and I poured myself a big glass of this copper color liquid. Tigris resumed. Well serve me too and then we can finally talk about what brings you here today. I nodded and poured some scotch into her clear bowl. The cat sniffed the contents slightly before taking some of the alcoholic drink, then stared at me again. Mr. Martin. I brought you here to talk about your future at FELIX Croquette & Co. My position of community manager fits me very well. Cat! Yes it is going to be that you are more than capable for this position I pointed you many times when you scratched my back on your lap. Thinking he was taking advantage of our cuddles to monitor the entire open-space gave me a thrill in the back. But I think I can find another, much more rewarding post. How about becoming my new executive assistant? Really! Uh ... Yes of course it would please me Volié Cat but why me? Simply because you are the best stroker out of all the open space. Besides, I'm counting on you for a little massage as soon as I finish the four other interviews I have today morning. One can be upset by his answer I replied. Ok... Yes... So when do I start this post? Right away! HRD will have you sign your new contract just now and you will get Mr. Chupika's office as soon as I fire him. I see it right after you. Well Director. Your first task will be to see with the graphic and communication team for the new name of this office. A change of direction like ours requires a new name for this company and I have a good one. From now on it will be TIGRIS Croquette & Co. You want us to use your name. Yes. And I also want to redo research into a new variety of croquette at the forefront of our business, and of course every new variety will have to go through me to be validated. Okay... Cat Director. You can go there Mr. Mechesala. I do not hold you back from your work anymore. Tell the next one to come when you leave. Upon these words I got up while he again took some scotch tape. As soon passing by the door, I saw Chupika waiting outside the door. You can go there, it's your turn. How is it ? Do you mean talking to a cat who became your director when in less than a week ago you scratched your ears? Very very disturbing. He agreed then go by the door in his turn. During the next month, there were more news on more and more cats taking control of big business. They were taking control of the world as if a plan they had been preparing for a long time was finally becoming a reality.\\n\\n\\n


Saturday Writing - By a strange string of circumstances, an animal is named CEO of the company for which you work. He calls you for an interview. I don't believe my eyes and yet he is before me. Tigris the cat of the late director stayed at the other end of the shined wood table which served as a desk. Sitting like a human on the director's massive leather seat, his front paws on the desk, he eye balled me. It was a fat cat, well I had seen fatter ones, but they would never be able to stay in one chair. His short fur were mostly grey but with a touch of white on his belly and under his chin. He lacked fur on his temples as if he was beginning to bald but surely it was due to the numerous times when he scratched his head with his feet. These yellow eyes never left me. Watching the small details of my expression, while his pink nose wiggled wildly as if he were searching whatever smell on me. A bottle of scotch presided ln the table to his leftand a bit of its contents had been poured with an ice cube in a little glass dish bowl in front of him. He saw my eyes glance at the bottle and told me in a strangely fine (as if he had problems speaking) voice. Do you want a glass? Shocked I stared at the cat. They had warned but how could an animal speak? It is inconceivable . Then he spoke again. You count on watching me for a long time or would you prefer to have a glass from the chest behind you. Uhhh... Yes... Yes excuse me Tigris, it is just that to see you speak after all these years passing and seeing you sleeping on the desks of the common area is quite unsettling. It is Cat Volié or director for you, Mr. Mechesala. I inherited the name of my late "master" as you liked to call in him in those times of the company. Uh... Yes... Cat... Volié... excuse me, and yes I would like a glass of scotch. I believe I'll need one to manage this. Good, take a glass and serve yourself, I have enough trouble serving without it being a human's bottle. Yes of course.  I took a glass from the sideboard and served myself a big glass of the copper colored liquid. Tigris started again.  Good, give me one as well, then we will be finally able to speak of why I brought you here today. I assented and poured him some scotch in his transparent saucer. The cat sniffed lightly the contents before lapping a bit of the alcoholic beverage, then he watched me once more. Mr. Martin. If I asked you here, it is for you to speak about your future in the heart of FELIX Croqueete & Co.  I like my job as Community Manager very much, sir.... Cat! Yes, it goes without saying that you are more than capable at this job. I have observed you many times working as you petted my back while I was on your knee. To think that he used our caresses to observe the work in the common area gave me a shiver up my spine. But I think I can find another job much better suited to you. What would you say about becoming my new assistant? Really! Uh... Yes, of course that would make me very happy Cat Volié but why me? Simply because it was you petted in the nicest way in the common area. Also, I count on you for a little message as soon as I have finished the other 4 interviews that I have this morning. A bit unsettled by what he said, I responded. Okay... Yes... So when do I start this job. Right away! HR will have you sign the contract very soon and you will take the office of Mr. Chupika once I have fired him. I'll see him jsut after you. Good Director. Your first task will be to see the graphics team and communications for the new name of this business. A change of direction as ours obligates a new name for this company and I have a good one. From now on it will be TIGRIS Croquette & Co. You want to use your first name? Yes. And I want also to redo the research into new cat food as our number one effort of our company. and of course each new variety should be passed by me to be validated. Okay... Cat Director. You can go Mr. Machesala I wil not keep you any longer. You have a lot of work to do. Tell the next to come in as you leave. At these words I stood up as he lapped up a bit more of scotch. Barely had I passed the door, when I saw CHupika who waited in front of the door. You can go in. It's your turn. How is it? You mean talking with a cat who has become your director even though a week ago you scratched his ears? Very very unsettling. He nodded and then passed the door in his turn. During the month which followed, the news spoke more and more of cats taking control of giant companies. They were taking control of the world as if a plan which that had been preparing for a very long time was becoming finally a reality.


Writing Saturday – By a strange coincidence, an animal is named CEO of the company in which you work. He summons you for an interview. I didn’t believe my eyes and yet he was there in front of me. Tigris, the cat of the former director sat at the other end of the glossy wooden table that served as an office. Sat like a human on the director’s massive leather seat, front legs resting on the desk, he stared at me. He was a big cat, I had seen bigger ones before but they had been unable to sit straight on a chair! His short hairs were mainly grey, but with a few touches of white at the level of his belly and the bottom of his jaw. He lacked hair at the level of his temples, as if he suffered from early male-pattern baldness, though it was probably due to the many times he rubbed his head with his paws. Those yellow eyes did not leave me. Watching my subtlest expressions while his pink nose moved frantically, as if he was looking for some sort of smell on me. A bottle of scotch stood on the table at his left, and some of its content had been poured with an ice cube into a small glass bowl in front of him. He saw my eyes move towards the bottle and spoke to me in a strangely high-pitched voice, as if he was having trouble speaking. Would you like a glass? Shocked, I stared at the cat. I had been warned, but seriously, how can an animal talk? It’s inconceivable. Then he went on. Are you planning to stare at me much longer, or would you rather take a glass from the furniture behind you? Uh… yes… Yes, sorry Tigris, it’s just that seeing you speak after all these years of having seen you dozing in the open space office is rather disturbing. It’s Chat Voilé, or Director, to you Mr. Mechesala. I inherited the name of my former “master” as you like to call yourself, along with this company. Uh…Yes…Chat…Voilé…I’m sorry and yes, I would like a glass of scotch. I think I might need more than one to digest this. Alright, take a glass and serve yourself. I still have some difficulties serving with this human bottle. Yes of course. I took a glass on the buffet and sat back in front of him before taking a bottle, and served myself a large glass of this copper liquid. Tigris began once more. Good. Serve me one too and we will finally be able to talk about what brings you here today. I agreed and poured him a glass of scotch in his transparent bowl. The cat lightly sniffed the contents before taking some of the alcoholic drink, then stared at me once more. Mr. Martin. If I made you come here today it’s in order to talk about your future here at FELIX Croquette & Co. My post as community manager suits me very well Mr… Chat! Yes, of course, you are more than able to fulfil your duties, I’ve seen you work many times when you scratched my back on your knees. Thinking that he had been taking advantage of our cuddles to monitor the entire open space made me shudder. But I think that I can find another, much more rewarding post. What would you say to becoming my new executive assistant? Really! Uh… Yes, of course it would please me Mr. Chat Voilé, but why me? Simply because it is you who gives the best cuddles in the entire open space. In fact, I am counting on you for a little massage as soon as I finish the four other interviews I have this morning. A bit upset by his answer I replied. Ok… Yes… So, when would I be starting in this new position? Right now! The HR Director will make you sign your new contract immediately and you will get Mr. Chupika’s office as soon as I’ll have fired him. I’m seeing him right after you. Alright Director. Your first task will be to see with the graphics and communication team for the new name of this company. A change of direction like ours requires a new name for this company, and I have a good one. From now on it will be TIGRIS Croquette & Co. You want us to use your first name. Yes. And I also want to conduct some more research into this new variety of croquettes at the forefront of our business. And of course, every new variety will have to go through me to be validated. Alright. Director Cat. You can go, Mr. Mechesala, I won’t keep you anymore, you have some work to do, get the next person in here as you leave. With these words, I got up to leave as he once again took a few laps of scotch. As soon as I went through the door I saw Chupika who was waiting in front of it. You can go now, it’s your turn. How is it? You mean, speaking to a cat who has become your director, when less than 1 week ago you were scratching his ears? Very, very disturbing. He nodded then went through the door in his turn. During the following month, there was more news of more and more cats taking control of big businesses. They were taking over the world, as if a plan that they had been preparing for a long time was finally becoming reality.


Writing Saturday - By a strange combination of circumstances, an animal is appointed as CEO of the company that you work for. He's attending you for an interview. I couldn't trust what I was seeing and yet he was here in front of me. Tigris the cat of the former director was standing at the other side of the wooden polished table who served as desk. Sitting like a human on the director's massive leather seat, the front paws on the desk, he was staring at me. It was a big cat, but I've already seen bigger cats but they would have been unable to sit on a chair! Its short hair were mainly grey but with some white touches on his belly and on the lower jaw. Some hair was missing at the level of its temple like he was suffering of a beginning baldness but it was certainly because of the numerous times he scratched his head with its paws. Its yellow eyes were not leaving me. Watching out for the littlest of my expressions, whereas its pink nose was moving frenetically like he was searching an odor on me. A scotch bottle was throning on the table at his left and a bit of it was poured in a little glass bowl with an ice cube in front of him. He saw my eyes drift on the bottle and told me with a strangely thin voice like he had difficulties to speak. Do you want a glass? Shocked I was staring at the cat, we prevented me, but how an animal can speak. It's inconceivable. Then he continued. Will you continue to stare at me for a long time or do you prefer to have a drink on the piece of furniture behind you? Eh... Yes... Yes excuse-me Tigris it's just that seeing you talking after all these years seeing you drowsing on the open-space desks it's rather disturbing. It's Chat Volié or director for you Mister Mechesala. I inherited of the name of my former "master" like you like to call yourselves at the same time of this company. Eh... Yes... Chat... Volié... excuse-me, and yes I would like a glass of scotch. I think I need more than one to realize. So take a glass and serve yourself. I still have difficulties to serve with those human bottles. Yes for sure. I took a glass on the sideboard, and sat again in front of him before taking the bottle and served myself a huge glass of this coppered liquid. Tigris carried on. So please serve me too and then we will finally talk about what brings you here today. I agreed and poured some scotch in his transparent bowl. The cat sniffed the content before taking some lapes of the alcoholized drink, and them he stared at me for a long time. Mister Martin. If I asked you to come, is to talk about your future in the company "FELIX dry food & Co." My job of Community Manager suits me very well miste... Chat! Yes of course you are really able to assume this job I watched you several times working when you were scratching my back on you knees. To think that he took advantage of our hugs to keep an eye on all the open-space gives me chills. But I think I can find another job way more developing. What would you say about becoming my new direction assistant? Really! Eh... Yes of course it would make me happy, but why me, Chat Volié? Simply because you make the best strokes in all the open-space. Moreover I rely on you to give me a little massage as soon as I end the four other interviews that I have this morning. A bit disturbed by his answer I answered to him. OK... Yes... So when do I start the job? Now! The HR manager will make you sign your new contract in a few minutes and you will get the desk of mister Chupika as soon as I will fire him. I see him after you. Ok director. Your first task will be to see with the graphic and communication team for the new name of this company. A direction change like our need a new name for this company and I have a good. From now, this company will be TIGRIS Dry Food & Co. Do you want to use your name? Yes. And I also want to pass the researching of new varieties of dry food at the foreground of this company, and for sure every new variety will pass by me to be validated. OK... Cat Director. You can leave mister Mechesala I don't hold you more you have some work, make enter the next when leaving. On these words I stood up while he was taking another scotch lapes. Only just the door crossed I saw Chupika waiting in front of the door. You can enter it's your turn. How it is? You mean talking to a cat who became your director whereas less that one week ago you were scratching his ears? very very disturbing. He agreed and crossed the door. During the month that followed at news we talked about more and more cats taking control of the huge companies. They were taking control of the world like a plan they prepared a long time ago became finally real.


Writing Saturday - By a strange concourse of circumstance, an animal has been appointed as the CEO of the company where you work. He summons you for an interview. I couldn't believe my eyes, but there he was before me. Tigris, the cat of the former manage, was sitting at the other end of the polished wood table serving as a desk. Sitting like person on the massive manage's seat, with his front paws on the desk, he looked me over. It was a large cat. Well, I'd seen bigger ones but they weren't able to sit up in a chair. His short hair was mostly grey, but with a touch of white on the belly and on the bottom jaw. He was missing some hair on his temples, as if he was starting to go bald, but it was surely because of how often he rubbed his head with his paws. He yellow eyes followed me. Examining my slightest expressions, while his pink nose moved frenetically as if he was looking for the slightly odor on you. A bottle of scotch was set on the table to his left , and bit of its contents had been poured with an ice cube into a small glass bowl in front of him. He saw my eyes drift over to the bottle and told me with a strangely thin voice, as if he had trouble talking, "Do you want a glass?" Shocked, I looked the cat over. They'd warned me, but how could a animal talk? It was inconceivable. The, he resumed, “Do you plan on looking me over for long, or do you prefer to take a glass from the cabinet behind you?” “Um, yes. Excuse me, Tigris, it’s just that seeing your talk after all these years watching you doze on the open-space desks is just disturbing.” “That’s ‘Chat Volié’ or ‘manager’ to you, Mr. Mechesala. I inherited the name of my former ‘master,’ since you like calling yourself at the same time as this company.” “Um, yes, Chat… Volier. Excuse me, and yes, I’ll have a glass of scotch. I think I’ll need to get through this.” “Take a glass and serve yourself. I still have a hard time serving anything with this human bottle.” “Yes, of course.” I took a glass from the cabinet and sat down in front of him, then took the bottle and served myself a large glass of the copper-colored liquid. Tigris resumes. “Serve me some as well, then we can finally talk about what brought you here today.” I consented and poured him some scotch into his clear bowl. The cat lightly sniffed the contents before lapping up a bit of the alcohol, then he stared at me again. “Mr. Martin. I brought you here today to talk to you about your future at Felix Kibble & Co.” “My job as community manager suits me very well, Mr. … Cat!” “Yes, it’s clear that you’re more than able to do this job. I’ve observed you countless times when you pet my back on your lap.” Just to think that he was using our petting sessions to monitor the entire open-space gave me the chills. “But I think I can find another, much for suitable job. What would you say about becoming my new manager’s assistant?” “Really! Um… Yes, of course, I’d be pleased, Chat Volié, but why me?” “Simply because you’re the one who pets the best in the entire office. Also, I’m counting on you to give me a little massage as soon as I’ve finished the other four interviews this morning.” Slightly disturbed by his answer, I replied, “Okay, yes… so when do I start this job?” “Right now! HR will have you sign your new contract later, and you’ll be taking over Mr. Chupika’s desk as soon as I fire him. I’m seeing him right after you.” “Yes, manager.” “Your first task will be to see with the graphic and communication team for the new name of this company. A change in management like this requires a new name for this company, and I have a good one. From now on, it will be Tigris Kibble & Co.” “You want us to use your name?” “Yes. And I also want to start up new research in the new variety of top-quality kibble at our company, and of course, every new variety must go through me to be validated. “Ok, Manager Cat.” “You may go, Mr. Mechesala. I won’t keep you from your work. Have the next person come in when you leave.” With these words, I got up while he took the bottle of scotch again. Barely through the door, I saw Chupika waiting before the door. “It’s your turn.” “What’s it like?” “You mean talking to a cat who is nowyour manager, while only a week ago you were scratching his ears? Very, very disturbing.” He nodded, then went through the door himself. During the month that followed, the news spoke about more and more cats who were taking over big companies. They were taking control of the world as if a plan they’d been preparing for a long time was finally coming true.