Mac Highlighter Shell

June 15 July 1 June

on the Foreign ¹

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Since " is not born a woman , what sex to assign these billion human beings who, from Sudan to Greenland, Mongolia to the Amazon to the Andes of Mozambique, India to Patagonia, are not born women, although provided with breasts and a belly ... notched, and can never become the - that dignity involving autonomy, free disposal of his body, access to culture, complete fulfillment of his gifts while the geographical, economic - perennial stubborn - do not allow them, without prejudice to the shackles of morality and the yoke of beliefs?

That those who made their opening words of the creed of the Second Sex notify one that is not woman, almost always, only under the gaze of the man, whether father, brother, teacher, husband, lover, what is not, whether they like it or not, without major consequences.

Therefore, it is that look horrible in nature, otherwise it should change, at least change?

Third and final installment of "Poetics of Women", this book will would contribute.

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* what is not said

Writing for the early chapters of The 'Foreign , I seemed to hear the criticism that many readers will make them - the same formula that such young person I was responsible for putting the text of the net Whispers of Love and embarrassed by her avowed content. And as I objected that there was nothing that she did with her companion, she had this response: "That is, it does not say. "

But if you say it, it is written, and even with a rawness that, since Sade, knows no limits, and what have seen fit to imitate some of our" writers "Never to be outdone when it comes to their our limitations and flaws. It is this rawness of terms, bringing about the distance from us - and qu'invectives carter of fishwife - it removes all power to touch our sensibilities. Proceeding from the vision the more summary, the most brutal, such writings, without fringe where musings, ramblings, fantasies, would find to grow, offended, obnubilent our imagination in the manner of pornographic films. We know that there were still things to reduce the animal's love games and we are living with this as the existence of mercenaries, ruffians and fishwives.

however, attempt to evoke "the pleasures lightly called physical," as Colette, using a refined language, rich in images, with deference and fervor that should inspire us to act where two people try to join dissimilar and destroy, with their differences, intrinsic loneliness, and this, in a burst of life, stunning flavors, this is unforgivable. Furthermore the author published a convenience that can be assimilated to the morose delectation - Eros is not what matters in our lives and those refinements of thought, writing, having anyway more courses - similar evocations are indecent in their power of suggestion. Worse, they may feel guilty for those, those, who call a spade a spade, and make love a simple exercise to perform on the expeditious fashion. (All reservations and reserves, all criticism, the author, in his conceit, is to his credit: what more fitting tribute to the power of literature?)

tolerance, rigor, these pages are signed by a woman, but many readers will see in them an outrageous interference of man in their world and will surely challenge the whole work. "What that he may well find us and how dare he speak to us? Has he not learned from the pages where Proust's fictional ready to Albertine, remarks, feelings, actions, which are striking in their inauthenticity? Spoofing is evident in this company that gives the gloves understanding, devotion, and in fact continues the tradition of dithyrambs who adapted themselves very well to our enslavement. "

And their answer, except to have to go after those who can write, we have not yet said anything of capital we can raise awareness of our eternal" misunderstood. " Unless they are afraid to become legible, finding advantage to remain "mysterious", even to be treated - by a homosexual, it is true! - Of "Sphinx without a riddle."

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François Solesmes The Foreign , Ink Navy, 2010.

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Whispers

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The love

Your hands are for me a great mystery, so to see them give shape to tenderness. (The shape of ferns, the frost the windows.)

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The lover:

me That you be the world of women, my lust for women all converge towards you, and I feel that hunger for your sisters this is just, but also strange, no?

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François Solesmes The Murmurs of love Ink Navy.

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