#suint

[comfortabletextiles]

Day 1 was yesterday

And day 2 is today, I'll keep it outside now, it just gets a warmer that way.

Today is day two and there is already happeningrke then day 1 were j kept it in the flat

Smell is also already worse than day 2 of flat fermentation

[thecozycuttlefish]

I've been intimidated by wool scouring, so to get over my fear, I tried four different ways at once!

[lightsandfire]

27 & 28 -11-2023, part three:

I took about 400 grams of the fleece to do a test spin with, I took this from either the neck or the butt area (no idea which side haha).

I filled a large bucket/tub thing with cold water (25 liters?) and soaked the fleece overnight. I put the bucket in the shed to protect it from snow and animals, but also to protect my house from the smell.

Fleece has a lot of dirt, lanolin and suint in it. Suint is dried sweat from the sheep. It is soluble in cold water and acts as a natural soap (it contains potassium salts and soapy organic acids). When soaking the fleece in cold water over night, it dissolves and acts as a cleansing agent, removing dirt and some of the lanolin. This method does not work for very dirty or greasy fleeces, then it might be better to scour with soap. If you want to dye the fiber, you will also want to remove more (if not all) the lanolin. I will check if this soak was enough for my preferences after the wool dries. Otherwise, I will scour it with dishwashing soap. (Waltin, 2019 & McCune, 2022)

In the summer, I would like to experiment with fermenting a piece of fleece. This method also uses the suint to clean the fleece, only you let it ferment for a week or longer. (This smells a lot though, so I'll have to convince my parents hah)

After the fleece soaked overnight, I rinsed it twice with cold water (letting it soak +-10 minutes each time) and squeezed as much of the water out as possible. Then I spread it out on a drying rack. It is currently drying, I expect it to take 2-3 days to dry fully. This should be in time for me to card it in the weekend.

While it looks cleaner than the unwashed fleece, it is not as clean as the scoured wool (which I forgot to take better pictures of...). While spinning I will decide which way I find nicer, in the grease or not. I will then wash/scour the rest of the fleece accordingly.

This wool I want to use for some test spins and swatches, to find out the following:

Combine with alpaca or not

2 or 3 ply (If 2 ply, 100% wool or 50/50 wool/alpaca; if 3 ply, chain ply or 3 wool or with 2 wool 1 alpaca)

Spinning thickness (needle 10, thick but drapey fabirc)

Possibly only adding alpaca in the cuffs and neck? (to lessen the itchiness)

Thanks for following along!

(Part one) (Previous part) (Part four)

(Waltin, J. (2019, June 15). Washing fleece. Josefin Waltin Spinner. Retrieved November 28, 2023, from https://waltin.se/josefinwaltinspinner/washing-fleece/)

(McCune, K. (2022, July 10). How Do You Wash Wool In A Suint Bath? Woolmaven.com. Retrieved November 28, 2023, from https://woolmaven.com/673/how-do-you-wash-wool-in-a-suint-bath/)

[frogeyedape]

The bath itself:

The fleece just taken out, pre-rinse (locks have been thoroughly picked prior to bath):

Raw locks next to freshly bathed/picked locks:

Picked locks next to washed picked locks:

Rinsed & dried next to just taken from bath (note the lingering vm):

Aaand picked locks, washed/rinsed/picked, next to raw locks:

This is 1 week-ish in suint bath + 1 rinse in water, no non-suint soap or detergent involved! I am greatly impressed, even if the pictures don't show the dirt & grease as well as I'd like. I've been doing a mesh bag worth a week, or thereabouts, currently have 3.5 full bags of clean dry locks and a LOT more raw left XD

Bonus: the rinse water:

[alheureoublanchitlacampagne]

ton essence suinte de tes vers. tu itères

tes mots psalmiques comme tu ahanes.

tu épanches tes sens comme ta peau

quémande un effleurement. et j'étends

mon âme nue dans tes césures, cédant

à ta croyance

dure comme fer

de défaire

le spectre entier de mon tourment

d'une seule inflexion

de ton désir.

[brokenjere]

bad in the bones (c.f) (part 8)

a/n: hey guys! hope you enjoy this next part! I wanna let everyone know that I really only planned this series to be around 10 chapters, so I can’t say how many more parts are left but with that being said, I have some other things up my sleeve to keep everyone busy until season two comes out 🫣🫣🫣 lmk if you wanna be added to the tag list!

A lot of dads showed up - John, the man who had been like a father to me for most of my life up until last year when his marriage to Laurel ended more cordigally than I would have anticipated. Laurel still invited him up for the Fourth despite the fact his new girlfriend was on his arm and she couldn’t have been much older than me. She smiles and pretends it’s not crushing her soul, but I think maybe it was. At least just a little bit. 

Adam showed up, too. After Susannah told everyone he wasn’t coming, Conrad seemed to be in high spirits. He was still canoolding with Nicole in the pool and helped me, Belly, and Jeremiah make pomegranate margaritas in their dad’s special blender but his smile was brighter than I had seen it all morning. When he still thought his dad wasn’t coming. Adam still strolled in, though like everyone was happy to see him. Jeremiah was the only one who smiled. 

The only dad that didn’t show up was mine. Not that he was invited but I couldn’t help but think about where he was. Where my mom was. Who she was spending the holiday with. I doubt she had a homemade cake and margaritas and there probably weren’t red, white, and blue decorations surrounding her. There might be a pool. Maybe she was laying out by it and being served by someone in a fancy hotel that her new boyfriend was paying for. I didn’t really know. That’s where she was last year, anyway. 

I liked her being gone, then. All my friends and I got too drunk in the backyard because there were no adults to stop us. Josh waded in the pool near the edge where I sat. His hands gripped my calves and he kissed my thighs and he mumbled how much he loved me in between kisses. Everyone was envious of us. It was obvious in the way they watched us. Josh never cared much for PDA except when he was drinking. 

Last year, after spending so much time in the pool that he became a prune, he leaned over my tanning body and dripped water all over me while kissing my cheeks. He begged me to go upstairs with him and after telling him no too many times, he lifted me up bridal style and carried me up to my room while piles of water marked our path. 

This year, I’m alone with a bottle of vodka resting on my stomach. I balance the neck between my two fingers and it rises and falls with my breathing. Everyone is down at the beach with the pitcher of the pomegranate margaritas that we made. Belly begged me to come, holding my hands in hers as she pleaded with me. I told her I wasn’t feeling well and she hesitated, but left me anyway. 

The sun is shining through the window and I’m trying to keep my eyes closed to drown out the brightness but a shadow looms over my eyes. I opened one eye and suint at the figure hanging over me. It’s Conrad. “There you are,” he says with a laugh. His hair flops over his eyes and he’s smiling so wide I think he might swallow me whole. “I’ve been looking for you. Belly is getting totally wasted, you should see her.” I don’t laugh but I manage to muster a smile. “What’s wrong?” He asks me, his smile fading. I don’t want it to fade, I want it there plsatered between his cheeks forever. 

“Nothing.” He shakes his head as if he doesn’t believe me and grabs the bottle from me. He takes a sip and jumps over the couch. I move my legs so he doesn’t land on them and he pulls them back into his lap. “What are you doing up here?” 

“It was all getting too much. Everyone is out of hand,” he tells me. He watches the alcohol swirl around in the glass bottle and he’s not looking at me but his thumb is rubbing my calf as it pushes into his thigh and then he asks me if I’m watching the fireworks tonight. “Jeremiah got some good ones to impress Dad, but I don’t even know if he’s staying.” Their dad coming was a shock to everyone, I think. Susannah told everyone this morning he wasn’t going to come but he showed up later with a six-pack of beer and Conrad’s mood visibly shifted. I didn’t ask, though. 

“Why do you say that?” I ask carefully. His breath is shaky and my question wavers on thin ice. He sighs and squeezes my ankle. 

“He and my mom got into it earlier. I don’t think he really had to work, I think Mom didn’t want him here,” he tells me. I tap my foot on the bottle in his hands and he looks at me. His eyes make my heart break. “I didn’t really want him here, either.” 

“What about Jeremiah?” 

“He was ecstatic. Bought a whole show of fireworks.” I smile at the thought but Conrad doesn’t. “So, are you coming?” 

“I don’t think so.” He nods and taps his fingers on my legs. “Unless you want me to?” 

“There’s a moon eclipse tonight,” he says. 

“It’s called a syzygy,” I say. “When the moon, sun, and Earth align. It comes from the Greek word syzgia which means ‘yoked together’.” He smiles at me and I can feel my cheeks heat up. “I was in science club for a while,” I admit. Conrad laughs. A real laugh with his head thrown back and his face turning red and it’s contagious. 

“Yoked together, huh?” He asks and I nod. “Well, yn, do you want to go see the sun, moon, and Earth be yoked together with me later?” 

“What about Nicole?” I hate myself for asking but I have to know so I ask anyway. 

“She doesn’t mean anything to me but I can’t wait around for you forever.” He looks at me and I know he doesn’t want to not wait for me. We look at each other and I know I should say something and tell him he doesn’t have to wait for me because I’m right here but there’s too much at stake and instead of saying what I want to say, I reach for the bottle of vodka and drink it until it’s gone and the room erupts in noise. Susannah calls for cake and Belly is at her heels like a toddler feening for sugar. “We should go out there,” he mumbles, lifting my legs off his lap and standing up. My legs slam down on the couch and I feel horrible. 

I have no choice but to follow him for cake except there won’t be any cake because as I step out onto the patio, Belly skips down the stairs and trips over her own feet and knocks into Susannah and the cake goes everywhere. 

Everyone rushes to Susannah's side but I’m glued in place. Mr. Fisher grabs at his wife and she pushes him off - “don’t touch me,” she yells. Everyone draws back. I can see Conrad’s shoulder tense in front of me. “I’m fine, I’m fine.” She stands up, smooths down her dress, and walks passed everyone and into the house ignoring Belly’s slew of apologies. 

“So I guess no cake,” Conrad mumbles. I think I’m the only one who heard him. John brings Belly inside. She’s stumbling over her feet and slurring her words and John mouths I’m sorry to me. 

I don’t think Belly has ever gotten drunk before. In fact, she was always the one tellng everyone to slow down. She’d answer her phone on the first ring everytime I called and walked wherever I was. It wasn’t that big of a town and I never went very far, but one time she even had to take a bus to the party I was at. She waited for me and walked me home and made sure I didn’t stumble into the street. She provided water and Advil adn stayed with me when my mom wasn’t home. Belly was always stable. Sure. Secure. The sun that broke through my dark clouds.

It’s no surprise to me that no one is mad at her for ruining the cake. Even Susannah, who now has to buy a new cake stand, smiled and said everything was okay. No one could be mad at her even when she was a drunken mess. 

She’s in her bed, a half-eaten piece of pizza on her end table and she’s fast asleep. I almost want to wake her up. Tell her that everything is okay because Susannah said so and I know she would believe me. I want to tell her that she doesn’t have to change who she is because her friends at the country club want her to. She is not fasinators and white gloves and too much blush on her cheeks. She is not a drunken mess with sand in her shoes. She is more than that. 

There’s a soft knock on the door and I turn to see Conrad leaning against the door jam. He’s watching her, too. He doesn’t look at me until I speak. “Wanna go see the eclipse?” He smiles and holds out his hand for me and I take it. I check behind me one more time to make sure she’s asleep before disappearing down the hall with Conrad. Guilt rushing up my throat and I swallow it down. 

He takes me back to the pier as the sun goes down. We pass the big white boat and instead of taking me sailing, he takes me to Shark Bait. “You’re gonna take this thing out?” I ask, eyeing the ores  suspiciously. Conrad laughs and he helps me aboard. There’s already blankets in the boat and he opens one up to wrap it around my body. His hands linger on my arms and I swallow the guilt again. 

“You’re gonna help me row, okay?” 

“You don’t always have to teach me something, you know,” I whisper to him. I liked when he taught me stuff, though. I like when he’s passionate and excited and I like when he smiles with his eyes like he’s doing right now. 

“To impress a girl that already knows everything, I think I do.”

“You’d be surprised at how little I really know.” Conrad licks his lips and his eyes soften and instead of kissing him like I want to do, I pull away and grab at an ore. “So, how do we do this?” He clears his throat and talks me through the steps and we row the boat out as far as he lets me. I think I could have kept going forever until we hit another piece of land where no one knows us and no one is in love with him and I can kiss him if I want to. 

It starts to get really dark, especially out in the water where there are no lights besides the pier a million miles away. Conrad points to the stars and asks me what the constellations are and I tell him and then he gawks at me as if he’s never been more amazed in his life. He tells me, “I never know what’s going to come out of your mouth.” 

And I want to say, “I love you.” But I don’t. I don’t say it and I don’t know if I love him but right now, in the dark, when I can’t really see his face clearly and his arm feels more real next to mine than it has ever felt before, I might. 

We sit on the floor of the boat and lean back against the seat. Conrad’s hand finds my leg and he rests it on my thigh. His fingers rub against my skin. It’s sweet and respectful and I don’t make him stop because right now it’s just me, him, and the planets being yoked together. I turn my head to say something and Conrad turns his at the same time and the only reason I know he’s so close to me is because I can feel his breath on my lips. The tip of his nose is touching mine and when I can’t see him, it’s easier to press my lips to his and not feel guilty. 

His hand finds my face in the dark and he cups my cheek. I lose myself in him. His lips, his scent, the way his hair brushes against my forehead when he presses his body closer to mine. This kiss is different. I’m not kissing him because I want to forget. I’m not kissing him because he’s here and convenient. I’m kissing him because I want to and the way that I’m feeling inside needs a way to escape and the only way they can be let out is this. 

I find myself on top of him. My hands are in his hair. His hands are on my waist. He pulls away briefly and between his heavy breath he says, “are you sure?” I’m not sure what he means by that, at least not right away. I wouldn’t be doing this if I wasn’t sure but I put myself in his shoes for a moment and maybe he doesn’t know that. I nod. “I don’t want you to be sure now and then regret it in the morning.” 

“I don’t regret anything,” I say. “I don’t regret anything when it’s with you.” I mean it. I try to force him to believe me so I kiss him again and he leans into me and I know he does. 

“Then what’s been the issue?” He whispers. His thumb rubs against my cheek and I lean my face into him. “You know I can’t get you out of my mind.” 

“Belly,” I tell him. “She loves you and she’s my best friend.” He stiffens and maybe now he gets it. Why I said I can’t be with him. My heart races and I have to tell myself he’s not going to get up. He’s not going to leave. He’s not going to make me feel like I made a mistake. I repeat these three things in my head until he eventually speaks. 

“That’s why you asked me that the first night on the beach? About her?” I nod my head and he kisses my forehead and I like us like this. “Okay,” he says. I don’t know what he means by that but I don’t care because he kisses me again and I kiss him back and he roll around on the bottom of the boat and we’re wrapped up in the blanket and each other. He strokes my head and tells me stories until I fall asleep on his chest. I don’t wake up until the sun does. 

We row back to the pier and we don’t talk about last night. Not really, anyway. He smirks when he looks at me and keeps eye contact for too long but I don’t blame him because if I could, I’d capture the way he looks right now and keep it in my back pocket forever. “Are you ready to go home?” He’s leaning against the passenger side door of the car with a hesitant smile on his face.

“No, but yes.” He pushes himself off the car and kisses me. He lingers on my lips like he doesn’t want the moment to end and then he opens my door for me and drives us home. He holds my hand the whole way until we pull into the driveway. Seeing the house puts a pit in my stomach and he asks me if he can kiss me one more time before we go back to the real world and with the entire family still asleep. I say yes. 

The house feels heavier now that my head is so full of secrets and I knock on Belly’s door instinctively. She opens the door with a smile on her face. It looks misplaced because she’s not supposed to be happy, she’s supposed to be hungover, and seeing her happier than I feel inside makes me feel jealous and that makes me feel selfish. “What’s wrong?” She asks. The expression on my face was probably clear: guilt and fear, but not regret. Never regret.  I start to cry. I feel the tears drip down my cheeks and I try to wipe them away but Belly grabs my wrists and pulls me inside the room before I can and I sob. I collapse into her arms and I cry all over her pajama shirt and she doesn’t say anything. I can barely hear myself speaking but I know what I’m saying. Everything is wrong. Everything is wrong. Everything is wrong.

taglist: @marajillana@liltimmyst@angelayse @nani-2305 @drikawinchester @28cnn @nyenye @isthlsfate @spacefruitsblog @laceandsuch @peotego @hallecarey1

[grub-s]

gifted a romney fleece, suint bath cleanse time

[quemajoiedemeure]

Avec un ami on a regardé Nowhere de Gregg Araki je sais pas pourquoi j'en avais jamais entendu parler mais c'est clairement mon nouveau film préféré, des ados riches queers et dépressifs de Los Angeles dans les années 90 qui prennent des drogues se baisent entre eux vont à des soirées où rien n'a de sens et où toute leur existence suinte la vacuité et le désespoir et où tout baigne dans une esthétique parfaite, bret ellis vibes du début à la fin wow

[ferrasufe]

C'est un plancher qui grince

C'est un tuyau qui suinte

C'est une porte entrouverte

Un grain dans un engrenage

Une goutte sur ce qui doit rester sec

Un rayon dans les abîmes obscures

Empêche les rouages de tourner

Nuit au fonctionnement adéquat

Éclaire ce qu'il faut toujours cacher.

[rabbitcruiser]

Monument Valley, AZ (No. 20)

Tourism is important to the Navajo Nation. The Navajo Nation has four Tribal Parks, which bring tourists and revenue to the Tribe.

An important small business group on the Navajo Nation is handmade arts and crafts industry. A survey conducted by the Arizona Hospitality Research & Resource Center reported that the Navajo nation made $20,428,039 from the art and crafts trade in 2011.

Since the introduction of sheep into the New World, Navajos have traditionally made use of either the vertical loom or the back strap loom (belt loom) to weave yarns. The early weaving practice was such that unprocessed wool was chiefly used to make blankets and which still retained its lanolin and suint (sweat), and which could repel water, on the one hand, but which left an unpleasant odor to the finished woolen product, on the other. Today, modern techniques have replaced the old, and wool is preprocessed and treated with an alkali substance. By 1900, the weaving of traditional Navajo blankets had been replaced by rug-making.

Source: Wikipedia

[comfortabletextiles]

Day 15

Washed a sample again, and spun a 4 ply crepe yarn

After a bit of research I learned that a bit of greasiness is normal, and I had a bit of greasiness, so time to wash, and start the second batch with tabwater

[perduedansmatete]

en fait je me déteste de penser comme ça mais je suis arrivée au stade où j'en ai marre de voir les gens super heureux ou bien s'amuser et faire des trucs cools car je suis dans un état constant de fatigue de perdition de colère et d'envie de clamser en ce moment des fois les gens me racontent des trucs et juste ça m'énerve car je suis soulée de tout et que je veux qu'on me laisse tranquille et pas qu'on me déballe son fun devant ma gueule de déterrée je crois que ça se voit que je suinte l'ennui et le désespoir arrêtez de m'embêter quoi mdr et là toute ma rancœur est dirigée à tort vers lui parce que ça me soule qu'on galère à faire des trucs cools soit à cause de moi soit à cause du contexte qui est NUL et qui restreint le fun

[alioversus]

CollAGE D(ouble)

CollAGE D | Lotophagus Records | 2024

1. Le moteur tourne encore, mais le véhicule est à l’arrêt. À l’extérieur, des promesses bucoliques, de la nature radieuse : entourées de béton. Petits oiseaux qui chantent dans le parc… Ils ne se doutent pas. Et pourtant… Même une journée aussi ensoleillée, aussi tranquillement nonchalante, peut être le cadre rêvé d’un drame. Ça arrive tout le temps. Untel apprend la mort d’un ami proche, tel autre qu’il est atteint du cancer, telle autre que son mari la trompe, tel autre qu’il va nécessairement lui arriver quelque chose de pas très sympathique, puisque des gros bras l’ont kidnappé. Ce con essaie de taper dans la porte du coffre, ou de soulever la plage arrière. Je serre le volant, machinalement. De toute façon, il y a trop de bruit dehors pour qu’on puisse l’entendre. J’ai tout de même envie d’engueuler Maurice, de lui dire : putain, tu l’as mal ligoté ou quoi ? J’ai envie de l’appeler Momo. Je sais qu’il déteste ça. Il est sur les nerfs, lui aussi. Il me devance. Pourquoi t’es passé par là ? me dit-il. Tu savais pas que c’était jour de marché ? Le feu passe au vert, j’embraye. On sort de la ville. Un peu plus loin, on est encore arrêtés par un passage à niveau. Long train de marchandise, puis la campagne. 

2. On est arrivés à l’entrepôt. Gégé remplit les bassines pendant que le con attend encore dans la bagnole, encagoulé. La Perceuse étale ses outils de travail. Il en a bien cinquante, parfaitement alignés sur la table dépliante. Il est parfois difficile de deviner l’usage de certains, qu’est-ce que c’est censé pincer, qu’est-ce que c’est censé couper, où est-ce que c’est censé s’introduire… Maurice attend que les instructions arrivent sur le téléphone jetable. Parfois j’ai l’impression qu’il joue à un jeu vidéo ; ce genre de modèle tout en plastique bipe pour un rien. Gégé et La Perceuse comparent leurs attirails. Ils se charrient entre potes, comme deux catcheurs avant un combat, à qui prétend mieux faire, entre la méthode dite technologique et la méthode dite artisanale. Gégé dit qu’avec lui, c’est du propre. La Perceuse lui rétorque qu’il a encore ramené une vieille batterie qui suinte, qu'il ferait mieux de la fermer, alors qu’avec lui, au moins, tout est sous contrôle, qu’il sait doser…  L’ambiance est plutôt bon enfant. Sur la banquette arrière, je crois que l’otage récite des psaumes ou je ne sais quoi. Va ! Si ça peut l’aider à garder son calme…  Ça sera toujours supplications et pleurniche, quand on le lui fera couler, son sang-froid. Alors, Maurice, ça vient ? Je me garde bien de dire que je ne serais pas contre un contrordre. Ça y est, ça sonne. Oui, dit Maurice. Oui. Non. D’accord. Je regarde comment réagit l’otage. Il se tait, il écoute… Maurice raccroche. Alors, Maurice, on fait quoi ? 

3. Ça allait commencer quand ils m’ont envoyé chercher le toubib à cause de Big R. Je ne l’aime pas, Big R. Il est aussi con que son pseudo. Et il se fout toujours dans la merde. Apparemment, cette fois-ci, il se serait pris une balle… Mais pas mécontent de ne pas pouvoir assister au travail à cause de ça. Je ne suis que le chauffeur, moi, dans cette histoire… Je suis la route champêtre avec la fenêtre ouverte, en écoutant un CD pour me détendre : du jazz un peu trop free pour quand il y a Maurice à côté de moi. Putain, mais il ne font plus pousser que du maïs par ici ? Et du colza. Je débouche sur une parcelle de forêt. Je longe la rivière. Des nuées de moineaux à la sortie. J’arrive enfin dans le hameau. Le vieux m’attend déjà avec sa mallette, derrière le portail. C’est un médecin à la retraite. Cela se voit. Ça démarche est tout aussi disloquée que les couacs de saxo. Il dit qu’il a encore la main. Il n’y a pas non plus avalanche de concurrents… Il dit que c’est les pieds et les genoux qui ont trinqué, que c’est pour ça qu’il ne conduit pas. À peine monté, il me demande de couper le disque, parce que ça l'agace. Le toubib, lui non plus, je ne l’aime pas. 

4. Big R était planqué chez Annette. Elle aurait bien pu aller chercher le toubib elle-même. Ça aurait dû me mettre la puce à l’oreille… Maintenant, la nuit est en train de tomber. Je dois être mort depuis deux heures ou trois. Je ne sais même pas vraiment pourquoi. Je sens que je fais corps avec la terre, avec l’humus, avec les racines, avec les insectes… Je sens que je suis en train de nourrir la forêt. Moi, le chauffeur, me voilà complètement étranger au son des rares voitures qui passent. C’était malin de la part de Big R, tout de même, d’utiliser un fusil de chasse. C'est vrai qu'il y a plein de battues dans le secteur, en ce moment…

5. Thierry, tout tremblant, explique encore une fois aux gendarmes. Tout s’embrouille dans sa tête, et il s’inquiète pour ses deux fils, forcément eux aussi traumatisés par leur découverte dominicale… Thierry répète : ils étaient là, en ballade, pour essayer leurs nouveaux VTT. Et paf, c’est le plus petit qui tombe sur le cadavre, au milieu des gazouillis. Le gendarme tape uniquement des index, mais il tape fort et vite, comme une mitraillette. Thierry se demande si Inès va chercher à lui sucrer la garde du week-end. Parfois Thierry a l’impression que le sergent le suspecte… On lui fait signer sa déposition, on lui dit de ne pas partir en vacances. Il sort du bureau. Les enfants l’attendent en compagnie de la seule femme de la brigade. Ils ont l’air déphasé, mais calme. Thierry a la gorge serrée. Il leur avait promis d’aller au restau, ce midi. Puis il réalise qu’ils vont vouloir rentrer chez Maman, de toute façon.

[tournevole]

"Hommes de sale caractère Hommes de mes deux mains Hommes du petit matin La machine tourne aux ordres de Deibler Et rouages après rouages dans le parfum des percolateurs qui suinte des portes des bars et le parfum des croissants chauds. L'homme qui tâte ses chaussettes durcies par la sueur de la veille et qui les remet. Et sa chemise durcie par la sueur de la veille Et qui la remet. Et qui se dit le matin qu'il se débarbouillera le soir Et le soir qu'il se débarbouillera le matin Parce qu'il est trop fatigué... Et celui dont les paupières sont collées au réveil Et celui qui souhaite une fièvre typhoide Pour enfin se reposer dans un beau lit blanc... Et le passager émigrant qui mange des clous Tandis qu'on jette à la mer sous son nez Les appétissants reliefs de la table des premières classes Et celui qui dort dans les gares du métro et que le chef de gare chasse jusqu'à la station suivante... Hommes de sale caractère Hommes de mes deux mains Hommes du petit matin."

Hommes, un poème de Robert Desnos publié dans le recueil Fortunes en 1942.

[les-cris-des-fendues]

#30 Jours pour écrire / Le soleil me fuit

sur Nous,

enfants de ton incendie, coriaces petits êtres de la danse du feu méditerranéenne, chênes kermès, liège, verts, pin parasol, d'Alep, genévriers, oliviers, amandiers, figuiers, cistes, buplèvres ligneux, olivardes, genêts, clématites flammes, fenouils, lavandes, aloès... Ô grand RÂ des garrigues suinte, caresse fuit de partout

et lorsque jus mêlé avec ton fils l'orage et ses semences d'éclairs, tu nous frappes à pleins bouquets, nous sommes dragons, toutes écailles hérissées, toutes épines dehors, jusque dans nos gènes, Nous Phœnix, nous renaissons toujours de nos fagots de cendres...

[grub-s]

getting ready for a stinky fleece weekend: going to dredge up the 3 week suint ferment bath romney and see what we shall see