#rue Gay-Lussac

[vaevictis2]

[toutplacid]

Escalator dans le hall 1 de la gare Montparnasse ; au fond, fresque de Victor Vasarely — gouache format A3, 23 et 24 février 2024.

Ce gouache visible à l’exposition OBSERVATION, du 19 septembre au 16 novembre, chez ACTUALITÉS 15, rue Gay-Lussac 75005 Paris. VERNISSAGE JEUDI PROCHAIN, 19 SEPTEMBRE, À 18 H.

[stlispenard]

@andthe6 continued from wintery prompt

the creak of his floorboards for once brings him reprieve, instead of annoyance. enjolras has been savouring the artificial warmth of his apartment after a night spent at the library, and a morning in the campus’ auditorium. he half-expected company. courfeyrac is a given, on cold days like this. m. enjolras seniour foots the electricity bill, though matthieu doubts he’s aware of it, so the central heating runs, day and night. the tousled, unconscious form of grantaire on his couch gives him pause, however. as does the alarming realization that he can recognize the back of his neck, turned away as he is. he recognizes envy settling in his gut, but attributes it to being so tired himself. what he wishes for himself is sleep, not whatever activities preceded his guests’ slumber.

enjolras’ wish is granted the moment his golden head hits the pillow, rising only due to the incessant buzzing of his phone. messages announcing safety and shared locations stop him from muting it. he gazes through heavy lids out the window, the undeniable fall of snow gives context for the group chat panic of the day. most of the amis are home. marius is at chez fauchelevent, bless him. courf and ferre have found shelter at the cinema (?). one person is not accounted for – technically two considering he himself has yet to respond. enjolras’ heart rate rises as running a marathon, had grantaire ventured out in the cold? the door connecting his bedroom to the living room swings open with a violent thud. the disoriented and slightly accusatory expression of a sleepy abandoned guest pops up from behind the couch. “ oh. ” they stare, as if the other person were insane and enjolras has never felt less comfortable in his own home. “ you’re still here. ”

      tequila might not actually kill you, but it might lead to some questionable decisions that makes you wish that it would. for the most part grantaire can drink exactly the amounts he needs to to get by without severe repercussions. the going to the club and licking salt, lemon and liquor off strangers’ abs is a new one and entirely owed to the ingenious of courfeyrac. dear courfeyrac, who will kiss you just to cheer you up in the spirit of friendship and courfeyrac, who happened to shower in the morning, using enjolras’ body-wash and who probably dried himself using his towels. courfeyrac who— if you squint— has a torso with the same definition and same amount of body fat. he’s a substitute, a fix, a hit, but he is never quite right. he’s always assumed that he is aware of it, too, and that he, when he initiates, feels a similar loneliness. sex is their shared solution. 

      grantaire, for the most part, has enough self-respect to keep clear of combeferre and enjolras’ place and besides rue gay-lussac is almost always closer (which means distance can’t be the excuse). he doesn’t remember agreeing to going to theirs, or if he had even tried to protest it. absurdly— considering the nature of his mind—  he doesn’t really remember thinking much at all. he remembers being with courfeyrac in a bathroom stall one moment and on the couch the next. enjolras’ couch. 

      when he wakes up it is because his mouth is agonizingly dry. the absence of courfeyrac is not surprising. the boy always has some place he needs to be whereas grantaire has nothing. he prefers the days where he is unconscious for most of it and he isn’t surprised that courfeyrac knows as much. so, grantaire considers it concern rather than neglect. the only thing he is slightly bitter about is the fact that he has to get up and get himself some water and that it will inevitably delay him going back to sleep.

      it would be lying saying that he is just about to leap off the sofa when he hears a door open behind him. grantaire is still very much on his back contemplating whether or not he’d die from dehydration if he just stayed still for another couple of hours. the fact that he isn’t alone startles him enough to make him sit up (he supposes he should be grateful for the push) and the fact that it is enjolras, of all people, makes his stomach churn. there’s a very real possibility that he will be sick all over their fancy furniture. 

      he fixates on a tiny loose string by the collar of enjolras’ t-shirt instead of his eyes. grantaire doesn’t want to see the frustration he already hears palpably in the tone of his voice. “yeah,” he replies eventually, patting himself on the chest, “still here.” he is still groggy from sleep, his voice is nearly gone and he lacks a clever thing to say. he lets out an audibly grunt when he’s about to get up and he realizes he can’t. he’s naked. sure, he’s got a blanket covering him up, but he’s definitely too naked to move. he feels heat rise in his cheeks and around his ears, he feels humiliated and ashamed. 

      “fuck, man, i didn’t think anybody was home except for courfeyrac. i wouldn’t have…” an awkward, fumbling pause, “i’ll have to find my clothes.. but then i’ll be out of your way, i promise. i promise.”

[eclecticharmonytimemachine]

Bruno Barbey -  Paris. 5e arrondissement. Quartier latin. Rue Gay Lussac. Le matin du 11 mai 1968.

[dailyanarchistposts]

Rue Gay-Lussac

Sunday 12 May

The rue Gay-Lussac still carries the scars of the ‘night of the barricades’. Burnt out cars line the pavement, their carcasses a dirty grey under the missing paint. The cobbles, cleared from the middle of the road, lie in huge mounds on either side. A vague smell of tear gas still lingers in the air.

At the junction with the rue des Ursulines lies a building site, its wire mesh fence breached in several places. From here came material for at least a dozen barricades: planks, wheelbarrows, metal drums, steel girders, cement mixers, blocks of stone. The site also yielded a pneumatic drill. The students couldn’t use it, of course — not until a passing building worker showed them how, perhaps the first worker actively to support the student revolt. Once broken. the road surface provided cobbles, soon put to a variety of uses. All that is already history.

People are walking up and down the street, as if trying to convince themselves that it really happened. They aren’t students. The students themselves know what happened and why it happened. They aren’t local inhabitants either, The local inhabitants saw what happened, the viciousness of the CRS charges, the assaults on the wounded, the attacks on innocent bystanders, the unleashed fury of the state machine against those who had challenged it. The people in the streets are the ordinary people of Paris, people from neighbouring districts, horrified at what they have heard over the radio or read in their papers and who have come for a walk on a fine Sunday morning to see for themselves. They are talking in small clusters with the inhabitants of the rue Gay-Lussac. The Revolution, having for a week held the university and the streets of the Latin Quarter, is beginning to take hold of the minds of men.

On Friday 3 May the CRS had paid their historic visit to the forborne. They had been invited in by Paul Roche, Hector of Paris University. The Rector had almost certainly acted in connivance with Alain Peyrefitte, Minister of Education, if not with the Elysee itself. Many students had been arrested, beaten up, and several were summarily convicted.

The unbelievable — yet thoroughly predictable — ineptitude of this bureaucratic ‘solution’ to the ‘problem’ of student discontent triggered off a chain reaction. It provided the pent-up anger, resentment and frustration of tens of thousands of young people with both a reason for further action and with an attainable objective. The students, evicted from the university, took to the street, demanding the liberation of their comrades, the reopening of their faculties, the withdrawal of the cops.

Layers upon layers of new people were soon drawn into the struggle. The student union (UNEF) and the union representing university teaching staff (SNESUP) called for an unlimited strike. For a week the students held their ground, in ever bigger and more militant street demonstrations. On Tuesday 7 May 50,000 students and teachers marched through the streets behind a single banner: ‘Vive La Commune’, and sang the Internationals at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, at the Arc de Triomphe. On Friday 10 May students and teachers decided to occupy the Latin Quarter en masse. They felt they had more right to be there than the police, for whom barracks were provided elsewhere. The cohesion and sense of purpose of the demonstrators terrified the Establishment. Power couldn’t be allowed to lie with this rabble, who had even had the audacity to erect barricades.

Another inept gesture was needed. Another administrative reflex duly materialised. Fouchet (Minister Of the interior) and Joxe (Deputy Prime Minister) ordered Grimaud (Superintendent of the Paris police) to clear the streets. The order was confirmed in writing, doubtless to be preserved for posterity as an example of what not to do in certain situations. The CRS charged...clearing the rue Gay-Lussac and opening the doors to the second phase of the Revolution.

In the rue Gay-Lussac and in adjoining streets, the battle-scarred wails carry a dual message. They bear testimony to the incredible courage of those who held the area for several hours against a deluge of tear gas, phosphorous grenades and repeated charges of club-swinging CRS. But they also show something of what the defenders were striving for...

Mural propaganda is an integral part of the revolutionary Paris of May 1968. It has become a mass activity, part and parcel of the Revolution’s method of. self-expression. The walls of, the Latin Quarter are the depository of a new rationality, no longer confined to books, but democratically displayed at street level and made available to all. The trivial and the profound, the traditional and the esoteric, rub shoulders in this new fraternity, rapidly breaking down the rigid barriers and compartments in people’s minds. ‘Désobéir d’abord: alors écris sur les murs (Loi du 10 Mai 1968)’ reads an obviously recent inscription, clearly setting the tone. ‘Si tout le people faisait comme nous’ (if everybody acted like us...) wistfully dreams another in joyful anticipation, l think, rather than in any spirit of self-satisfied substitutionary. Most of the slogans are straightforward, correct and fairly orthodox: ‘Libérez nos camarades’ ; ‘Fouchet, Grimaud, démission’; ‘A bàs l’Etat policier’; ‘Grève Générale fundi’; ‘Travailleurs, étudiants, soldaires’; ‘Vive les Conseils Ouvriers’. Other slogans reflect the new concerns: ‘La publicity te manipule’; ‘Examens = hiérarchie’; ‘L’art est mort, ne consommes pas son cadavre’; ‘A bàs la society de consummation” ‘Debout les damnes de Nanterre . The slogan ‘Baisses-toi et broute’(Bend your head and chew the cud) is obviously aimed at those whose minds are still full of traditional preoccupations. ‘Centre Ia fermentation groupusculaire’ moans a large scarlet inscription. This one is really out of touch. For everywhere there is a profusion of pasted up posters and journals; V’oix Ouvrière, Avant-Garde and Revoltes (for the Trotskyisls), Servir Ie Peuple and Humanity Nouvelle (for the devotees of Chairman Mao), Le Libertaire (for the Anarchists), Tribune Socialiste (for the PSU), Even odd copies of l’Humanité are pasted up. It is difficult to read them, so covered are they with critical comments.

On a hoarding, I see a large advertisement for a new brand of cheese; a child biting into an enormous sandwich. ‘C’est bon Ie fromage So-and-so’ runs the patter. Someone has covered the last few words with red paint. The poster reads ‘C’est bon la Revolution’. People pass by, look, and smile.

I talk to my companion, a man of about 45, an ‘old’ revolutionary. We discuss the tremendous possibilities now opening up. He suddenly turns towards me and comes out with a memorable phrase:“To think one had to have kids and wait 20 years to see all this...” We talk to others in the street, to young and old, to the ‘political’ and the ‘unpolitical’, to people at all levels of understanding and commitment. Everyone is prepared to talk — in fact everyone wants to. They all seem remarkably articulate. We find no-one prepared to defend the actions of the administration. The ‘critics’ fall into two main groups’.

The ‘progressive’ university teachers, the Communists, and a number of students see the main root of the student ‘crisis’ in the backwardness of the university in relation to society’s current needs, in the quantitative inadequacy of the tuition provided, in the semi-feudal attitudes of some professors, and in the general insufficiency of job opportunities. They see the University as unadapted to the modern world. The remedy for them is adaptation: a modernising reform which would sweep away the cobwebs, provide more teachers, better lecture theatres, a bigger educational budget, perhaps a more liberal attitude on the campus and, at the end of it all, an assured job.

The rebels (which include some but by no means all of the ‘old’ revolutionaries) see this concern with adapting the university to modern society as something of a diversion. For it is modern society itself which they reject. They consider bourgeois life trivial and mediocre, repressive and repressed. They have no yearning (but only contempt) for the administrative and managerial careers it holds out for them. They are not seeking integration into adult society. On the contrary, they are seeking a chance radically to contest its adulteration. The driving force of their revolt is their own alienation, the meaninglessness of life under modern bureaucratic capitalism. It is certainly not a purely economic deterioration in their standard of living.

It is no accident that the ‘revolution’ started in the Nanterre faculties of Sociology and Psychology. The students saw that the sociology they were being taught was a means of controlling and manipulating society, not a means of understanding it in order to change it. In the process they’ discovered revolutionary sociology. They rejected the niche allocated to them in the great bureaucratic pyramid, that of ‘experts’ in the service of a technocratic Establishment, specialists of the ‘human factor’ in the modern industrial equation. In the process they discovered the importance of the working class. The amazing thing is that, at least among the active layers of the students, these ‘sectarians’ suddenly seem to have become the majority’, surely the best definition of any revolution.

The two types of ‘criticism’ of the modern French educational system do not neutralism one another. On the contrary, each creates its own kind of problems for the University authorities and for the officials at the Ministry of Education. The real point is that one kind of criticism what one might call the quantitative one — could in time be coped with by modern bourgeois society’. The other — the qualitative one — never. This is what gives it its revolutionary potential. The ‘trouble with the University’, for the powers that be, isn’t that money can’t be found for more teachers. It can. The ‘trouble’ is that the University is full of students — and that the heads of the students are full of revolutionary ideas.

Among those we speak to there is a deep awareness that the problem cannot be solved in the Latin Quarter, that isolation of the revolt in a student ‘ghetto’ (even an ‘autonomous’ one) would spell defeat. They realise that the salvation of the movement lies in its extension to other sectors of the population. But here wide differences appear. When some talk of the importance of the working class it is as a substitute for getting on with any kind of struggle themselves, an excuse for denigrating the students’ struggle and ‘adventurist’. Yet it is precisely because of its unparalleled militancy that the students’ action has established that direct Action works, has begun to influence the younger workers and to rattle the established organizations. Other students realise the relationship of these struggles more clearly. We will find them later at Censier (see page 31 ), animating the ‘worker-student’ action committees, But enough, for the time being, about the Latin Quarter. The movement has already spread beyond its narrow confines.

[lucbrou]

Rue Gay-Lussac, Paris.

[spectaculardistractions]

To Marie-Laure and Charles de Noailles Beverly Hills, 7 February 1931 Very dear friends, Firstly, I thank you kindly for the photo you sent of Marie-Laure and little Laure. They both look lovely and I was delighted to see them. I am so very far away that a letter or a memento from friends like you helps to fill some lonely hours with happiness. Thanks to the press cuttings I’ve received from you and Argus, I am up to date with the press campaign and reviews of the film. Your name would have been left completely out of it had it not been for Le Figaro and those spiteful comments in Aux Écoutes in particular. That magazine has taken cowardice to the point of publishing anonymous articles. If I were in Paris, I would track down that vile anonymous myself. That apart, I’ve also received some long and positive reviews. Painlevé sent me one in Dutch and Argus sent others in English, Russian and German. I’ve made an album I’ll show you when I have a chance. I quite agree with you though that for now the film is a lost cause in France. I am sure that the passing of time will correct this. In some of the cuttings (in particular an excessively ignorant article by Charensol, and in Aux Écoutes) I read that Cocteau’s film is also considered dangerous. So it seems that if we want to make films that stay within the boundaries set by the legal system, the censors, tradition and general loathing for poetry, etc., we are limited to Ruttmanesque films or charming American comedies. That is: to abstain from making films altogether. That is what is happening to me here. It is so difficult to explain, but you can’t imagine what it means to make a film over here, especially at Metro-Goldwyn. Even Eisenstein, who didn’t come up with any excessively revolutionary projects, was forced to leave after ten months without producing anything. There is nothing more predictable, outdated, banal and honest than the films made over here. For what it’s worth, they have a level of technical perfection that Europeans attempt to imitate in vain. For my part, I just observe and in no way intervene in production. Which is not to say they are not friendly, because they do pay me and do not expect anything in return. I followed your instructions not to sell the film to anyone else. Where England was concerned it was too late and by the time my telegram arrived, the deal had already been done. The arrangements with Strasbourg, Brussels and Spain though were all cancelled. On my instructions, Vicens went to the laboratory and collected the complete film negative. He wrote to say he had taken it to your home, correctly stored in two large boxes. The copy that was not seized is securely stored and will not be released without your permission. We are now going to demand the other two copies from the police: I hope they will return them. My friends on the rue Gay-Lussac are just waiting for Mauclaire’s cheque before sending you the accounts. I think they wrote to you about this a few weeks ago. As the film was banned though, I imagine there won’t be much money. GM Film have sent invoices I’ve already paid, the receipts for these are in the file you have in Paris. I’ve told them I will bring them over to show them when I get back. As for Tobis, I think he has made a copy of the damaged negative in his laboratory. I am sorry you can’t come to Hollywood. I will see you back in France then, as I don’t plan to stay in America much longer. I would love to tell you about all my adventures and misadventures since our last meeting. Best wishes to Auric if he is still with you. I’m envious. To you and Laure and Nathalie, all my friendship and fond regards, Luis PS I am sending an envelope with the cuttings you asked me to return. Thank you.

Jo Evans & Breixo Viejo, Luis Buñuel: A Life in Letters

[fragmentsdememoire]

"Paris, des étudiants vietnamiens manifestent pour soutenir la République du Viêt-Nam vivant ses derniers moments.

A l’initiative de Trần Văn Bá, président de l’Association Générale des Etudiants Vietnamiens de Paris, “Une journée pour la terre natale” (“Một ngày cho quê hương”), dédiée aux événements historiques qui se déroulent au Viêt-Nam est programmée le 27 avril 1975 alors que le Sud Viêt-Nam s’effondre. Une marche silencieuse est organisée pour célébrer le sacrifice des soldats du Sud morts dans la guerre civile qui oppose le Sud et le Nord Viêt-Nam. La marque du deuil est évoquée par le bandeau blanc porté par les manifestants et les banderoles noires qui indiquent en lettres blanches : “Grande journée de deuil”, “Honneur à nos soldats morts pour la liberté”…

Quelques trois cents étudiants vietnamiens des facultés du Quartier Latin, d’Orsay et de Nanterre convergent vers la Sorbonne. Le défilé  démarre de la Résidence universitaire Lutèce dans le 5e arrondissement, passe rue Gay Lussac (d’où est prise la photo par l’étudiant Trần Đình Thục) pour se rendre place de la Concorde. La marche silencieuse traverse le jardin du Luxembourg, se poursuit rue d’Assas où est localisée l’ambassade de la République du Viêt-Nam puis rejoint le Sénat. A proximité de l’ambassade américaine des slogans sont scandés : “A bas les Américains”, “A bas les communistes vietnamiens” …

Dans le quartier du Sénat, les étudiants vietnamiens manifestent dans une certaine tension craignant d’être pris à partie par les deux jeunesses françaises aux positions radicales opposées et prêtent à en découdre : l’extrême-gauche soutenant la lutte contre la guerre du Viêt-Nam et favorable au Viêt-Công et à Hanoi et l’extrême-droite, anticommuniste, soutenant l’intervention américaine et le régime de Saigon. Les jeunes vietnamiens qui défilent possèdent leur propre vision du conflit loin des extrêmes et des totalitarismes.

Après la chute de Saigon, le cliché de Trần Đình Thục est tombé dans l’oubli. En 2014, soit 39 ans après, l’écrivain Huy Phương publiait aux Etats-Unis un carnet de souvenirs liés au 30 avril 1975 avec en couverture la photo de Thục. De nouveau mise à l’honneur par l’édition de ce livre, Trần Đình Thục décide de l’offrir et de la dédicacer à la communauté vietnamienne exilée de Little Saigon en Californie. Une façon de dire à tous ceux qui souhaitent l’avènement d’un Viêt-Nam libre et démocratique : “Nous sommes toujours là” (Chúng ta vẫn còn đây)."

Article extrait de : https://indomemoires.hypotheses.org/26772

[cheminer-poesie-cressant]

(petite scène de la ville quotidienne, V, l’horloge)

à l'angle de la rue Gay Lussac et du boulevard Saint Germain, le temps s'affole, l'aiguille des minutes de l'horloge publique joue le rôle attribué normalement à celle des secondes, dans l'indifférence générale ; le temps de constater ce dérèglement pendulaire et ce sont déjà quarante minutes de ma soirée qui se sont écoulées

© Pierre Cressant

(vendredi 29 mai 2010)

[lepoingleve]

Claude Dityvon - Rue Gay-Lussac, 11 mai 1968.

[toutplacid]

Arbre taillé et mur en briques rue Anatole-France, le Pré-Saint-Gervais — trois crayons sur papier gris, carnet nº 137, 16 avril 2023.

Ce dessin visible à l’exposition OBSERVATION, du 19 septembre au 16 novembre, chez ACTUALITÉS 15, rue Gay-Lussac 75005 Paris. Vernissage jeudi 19 septembre à 18 h.

[academiachristiana]

🔥 Chers amis ! Academia Christiana a VRAIMENT besoin de vous ! Comme vous pouvez le constater autour de vous : tout s’accélère. Nous vivons les années décisives. Puisque nous avons tous ici beaucoup reçu nous devons beaucoup donner. Notre rôle est de former la nouvelle génération de cadres pour la reconquête. Il faut préparer la jeunesse, lui apporter des cartouches intellectuelles et un mental de fer car les années à venir risquent d’être mouvementées. Ce qu’on attend de vous ? Vous investir personnellement en écrivant, en dessinant, en proposant vos talents, en nous soumettant un projet. Rejoindre des cercles militants locaux (Alvarium, Adelphos, Auctorum, Citadelle, Lyon populaire, Audace, Tenessoun, Yggdrasil ...). Et une action cruciale pour nos projets de développement : faire un petit don MENSUEL à Academia Christiana ! Cela ne prend que 3 minutes, via ce lien et ça nous aide énormément. Si vous êtes 300 à nous donner 10€ par mois ça nous fait 3.000€ par mois pour développer des émissions, lancer des sessions de formation dans l’année , développer une vraie rédaction... et faire gagner VOS idées ! Alors s’il vous plaît, prenez 3 minutes maintenant pour faire un virement mensuel de 10€ à Academia ! 🚨 Faire un don PayPal : https://www.academiachristiana.org/dons 🚨Ou avec notre RIB RIB ACADEMIA CHRISTIANA Titulaire : ACADEMIA CHRISTIANA Domiciliation : SG PARIS GAY LUSSAC (03081) 38 RUE GAY LUSSAC 75005 PARIS Références bancaires : Code Banque : 30003 Code Guichet : 03052 Numéro de compte : 00050542705 Clé RIB : 07 IBAN : FR76 3000 3030 5200 0505 4270 507 BIC - Adresse SWIFT : SOGEFRPP FR7630003030520005054270507 (à Academia Christiana) https://www.instagram.com/p/CH42abfHcXG/?igshid=a4aihpf1zdji

[aiiaiiiyo]

Afternoon on Rue Gay-Lussac, Paris, May 11th, during the May 1968 Events. [960x1432] Check this blog!

[vuesparisiennes]

Librairie du Québec, 30 Rue Gay-Lussac, Paris

[chez-mimich]

LA MIA EPOCA

Quando era un ragazzo non mi giravano molti soldi in tasca e così non sono di quelli che posso dire “Ah che bella l’epoca del vinile”. Io di “vinili” ne avevo davvero pochi. Mi sono rifatto negli anni coi CD prima e ora con I-Tune. L’ultimo arrivo è un “disco” registrato il ventinove gennaio del 1972 e rimasterizzato per nel 2014 e come dice la copertina, “Pitch & Speed Corrected”. Insomma lo hanno reso immateriale e perfetto. Peccato perché il disco un po’ sporco avrebbe restituito meglio i grigiori di quell’inverno parigino quando Lou Reed, John Cale e Nico, sul palco del Bataclan si esibirono in uno dei più stupefacenti concerti della storia della musica. Dalle registrazioni del concerto nacque un bootleg che solo nel 2004 divenne un disco commercializzato. Un capolavoro del rock underground; lo ascolto spesso mentre vado in ufficio, nel buio di queste mattine autunnali. Ascolto con grande gusto “Femme Fatale”, composta da Lewis Allen e Lou Reed, dove John Cale sbaglia l’accordo iniziale e riprende dopo qualche risata sommessa del pubblico e Nico con la sua voce torbida e profonda incomincia a cantare “ Here she comes, you better watch your step/ She's going to break your heart in two, it's true/It's not hard to realize...” e dopo il primo verso un ragazzo del pubblico, nel buio della sala urla in francese qualcosa di incomprensibile. È come se lo vedessi col suo giubbotto di pelle, il suo dolcevita da “Boul Mich”. Il Sessantotto era passato da poco e forse quel ragazzo era stato tra quelli della Rue Gay Lussac... Lo ascolto tutte le mattine prima di andare a scuola. Poi entro, passo il badge, saluto e torno nella nostra epoca. Anzi nella vostra, la mia è rimasta al Bataclan.

[themaninthegreenshirt]

The French are Revolting!

Rue Gay Lussac, Paris, May 1968 by Gilles Caron