Ivan de Monbrison

We walk upside down I have never seen your face detached from your body detached from itself this
piece of face which is nothing this piece which is a mask which is a death mask I have never seen
death here is the mask detached from the face placed on the table it is flat like a sheet of paper on
which you have written words that I cannot read I no longer know how to read I have lost all the
intellectual faculties of my brain I’ve lost the ability to think I’ve lost my ability to be I’ve lost my
ability to speak your face put flat like a sheet of paper like a sheet of paper flat on the table is
watching me watching me sleeping watching me dying there is nothing but torn pieces of paper torn
pieces of paper pieces of paper that were on the table have now fallen to the floor and remain on the
floor like fragments of myself dust ash death destroyed tell me I don’t know I was built by night I was
built by day I didn’t no more fear tomorrow death here is the pane placed on the window the pane
the pane does not let pass anything else than the thought the thought was transformed into light the
thought is an electric wave the light is an electric wave the thought does not exist it is a lapse of time
between two neurons it is only a moment it is less than a moment there is no name there is no
moment there are only these particles of light which float in the air and which I do not see and which
carry along each of my thought you drew your face with chalk on a black wall in a black street with
chalk on a black wall in a black street you drew a face and it wasn’t the one you thought it was
another face it was another being that has disappeared that was swallowed up in the earth that was
the flesh but the flesh is unbearable we can’t stand the flesh you can’t can’t stand the meat you can’t
stand the flesh of the other one you can only stand the particles of light the particles of thought the
paper itself is too real the paper itself is too real it bears the stigmata it bears the signs the signs on
the paper mean nothing they are drawings no they no longer carry meaning they no longer carry
meaning are no more vehicles of thinking here we must commit the initial crime the initial crime will
detach us from society the initial crime will make us criminals the criminal is the one who broke the
social bond he is the one who broke the pact the pact is based on vacuity the pact was created to
enslave men to make them unequal to each other the social pact being in fact a hierarchical impact
between you between me between the neighbor who is going down at this very moment the
staircase who runs down towards his own death which is not going to stop on the ground floor but
which is going to go as far down as the cellar which is going to open the wooden door of the cellar
which is going to lie down on the floor of the cellar and let itself be buried in the earth the cellar
what is below the building is a catacomb this is the graveyard this is where we will dwell as bones as
dust as atoms as nothing not even as nothing you suffered so much you knew you were went beyond
the age limit of suffering you have entered another country you turn around and behind you the
door has already been closed the door has slammed it has slammed in the desert in the desert not a
desert of sand but a desert of men like a cemetery when the door of the vault slammed and behind
the living remained locked up but not the dead the dead them are free they are nothing but dust the
living are prisoners of their flesh and you you have abandoned the flesh as you gave up the meat
there’s only shit left only your shit left you cover your face with shit because your shit is you you’re
nothing but shit you’ve never been anything but shit except photons except light particles except
particles of thoughts except the particles of dreams except your delirium except your atrocious
delirium which is eating you inside which eats you up at night which eats you up in your dreams
which is eating your thoughts which eats you up at night which eats you in your dreams which is
eating your thoughts like an animal an animal not real but an animal that came out through the
hidden door behind the hidden door behind the wall of the hidden courtyard there is a man who was
walled up alive who was murdered and who no longer knows who he is and yet he is still alive he’s
not dead he can’t die we can’t die even crucified on a cross we can’t redeem ourselves either but if
we could redeem ourselves of something it would be to redeem ourselves from things that are only
the breaking of a social pact made with a God who does not exist and if the Jews live only in Judea
they have never left Judea and the Christians are morons and the others do not know who they are
and this is wandering on a loop we keep going in circles inside the humans dance a frenzied saraband
always dancing in circles we are dancing among the rapes we are dancing among the genocides we
are dancing among the massacres we are dancing under the bombs we are dancing as we’ve been
turned into machines here is this farce this masquerade will only last for a time that isvthe time of a
thought this thought this artificial language created by the brain this ridiculous soliloquy that begins
at birth and ends up at death will finally finally end and we will finally be free in the end.

Ivan de Monbrison is a schizoid writer and visual artist from France. Born in 1969, he has published some poems in the past, he’s mostly an autodidact. His latest book, Brambles, can be pre-ordered at Broken Sleep books.