27 May 2009
Donc
La troupe des Zèbres Glacés vous propose Donc, une pièce de Jean-Yves Picq, mise en scène par Anne Bressanges. 9 juin à 19 heures & 10 juin à 16 heures, auditorium de l'Alliance Française de Delhi. PAF libre.20 May 2009
Comme le fantôme d'un jazzman dans la station Mir en déroute
Ce court roman de Maurice G. Dantec sorti en janvier se dévore en quelques heures, comme un roman de gare dont il présente tous les attributs. Court, enlevé, intrigue simple, écrit en langage parlé. Une de ces bonnes vieilles histoires à la Bonny & Clyde. La cavale d'un couple enchaînant les hold-up, Du néo-Fleuve Noir. Mais c'est du Dantec.
Le couple est atteint d'un neuro virus créant des états de conscience modifiés, hallucinatoires, donnant des pouvoirs typiquement manga. Le tout dans un univers situé juste après demain dans lequel toutes les dérives sécuritaires embryonnaires ont pris pleinement corps. Un futur au réalisme déprimant, un monde que l'on expérimente déjà. Fichage des individus, France fasciste (pour votre confort et votre sécurité). Toute pensée sortant du cadre bien délimité déterminé par l'État étant désormais considérée comme du terrorisme.
Tout pense à croire que l'on retrouve le Dantec du 20ème siècle, le Dantec pré-baptême, pré-TdO. Pas du tout. Ce couple se retrouve connecté par le biais du neuro virus à la station Mir en déroute qui comme le titre l'indique est habitée par un fantôme. Le Dantec post-Villa Vortex refait surface à chaque crise du neuro virus. On retrouve le méta-Dantec, le Dantec du préfixe méta. Mais sans indigestion, savamment dosé, lisible comme dans un roman de gare.
Ce roman est le Dantec qu'on attendait entre tous, la fusion de ses différentes explorations, un récit savamment mené par un auteur atteignant la maturité. J'ai aimé ce livre de bout en bout, je me le suis distillé pour ne pas le terminer trop vite. C'est un peu le livre que je rêve d'écrire, sauf que je ne suis pas Dantec. C'est aussi le livre qui sera l'inspiration, je l'ai bien compris, de mon prochain roman: l'épisode 4 de ce qui fut As Soon As. Je suis en train de réécrire ce que j'ai déjà écrit car tout est devenu subitement obsolète.
Merci Dantec.
12 May 2009
Delhi ki barish
Quand il pleut à Delhi, ce n'est pas à moitié. Le dernier orage aura coûté la vie à une centaine d'arbres vénérables dans Central Delhi et causé des embouteillages monstres.
La route refaite il y a moins d'un an ne possède aucun système d'écoulement des eaux
Un éléphant à la volée
Heureusement, les voitures indiennes sont adaptées à toutes les situations
Nizamuddin retrouve ses couleurs07 May 2009
Today I die
Le jeu vidéo, c'est pas que GTA, heureusement. Voici un petit jeu qui est aussi et surtout une œuvre d'art. Esthétique 8 bits mais pas retrogaming, poésie pixellisée, expérience unique, le dernier jeu de Daniel Benmergui est à essayer absolument.
03 May 2009
As Soon As - Épisode 4 - Trailer
A soft wind caressing the sidewalk. Close-up on a boot crushing the sparking butt of a cigarette. A pale emotionless red eyed face in the dark. She smells the breeze, eyes closed, hand opened to receive subtle information carried in the air and invisible to most humans. The red eyes are now glowing like laser beams. Her eyes open, they're deep, full of life, mixture of joy and determination. She's reminding a predator on the hunt, as silent as a feline, all the cells of her being focused on her prey. A sliver flickering of light is suddenly blurring the pale emotionless face. She jumps.
People in the street, Lolita’s with lollipops, fashionable late teenagers with open shirts and just a little too much muscles, businessmen with specks and suitcases, respectable ladies over perfumed with luxury, an old man with a pet studying the content of a lingerie shop, boys with the latest toy, little girls full of colorful make-up. They didn't see anything, just barely felt some wind.
Hitting a wall with her feet, she launches herself across the street, flipping on herself in a sudden slow motion shot reminding some sci-fi movies - Stretched body on blurred background, tight military pants, sleeveless top, tattooed arm, a sun stone around her neck - she's grabbing a rod purposely put there for her stunt, flipping around it and using it to launch herself in the air again.
Too close from her, a man in white with an old fashion gangster's hat starts running. He's damned fast. No gun but a simple knife in his right hand. A red lighting is thrown from his eyes, hitting the wall where she just was. Burning a hole, melting stone. The crowd around them seems motionless, they are not in the same space-time continuum.
The typical backstreet, full of darkness and shit. There's a bike, curved lines, latest technology. In one jump she's on it. Her curves are perfectly matching the bike making them looking like one. The albino is showing is ass. The engine starts.
Like in an old duel scene, they're starring at each other then both close their eyes. One second or one minute, time has stopped leaving only some nice cameras movements emphasizing the moment to the extreme. The bike starts full speed, leaving behind a trail of smoke elegantly caught in the late afternoon’s scattered sunrays.
The bike looks like it’s dancing through the middle of the red laser beams, avoiding every one of them. It seems that the albino is deliberately trying to avoid her, waiting for the last moment to strike. Now she's close, almost on him. He's jumping adopting a fighting pose. Contact.
She's hitting him on the solar plexus, simultaneously the blade is caressing the golden skin. The albino's face becomes hideous under the pain. She's biting her lips. Time is accelerating, he's hitting the ground violently, the knife is leaving his hand. The bike bend on the side, Jezz is giving a violent acceleration. Dodging the cars in the most aesthetic possible way, she disappears far away.
People in the street, Lolita’s with lollipops, fashionable late teenagers with open shirts and just a little too much muscles, businessmen with specks and suitcases, respectable ladies over perfumed with luxury, an old man with a pet studying the content of a lingerie shop, boys with the latest toy, little girls full of colorful make-up. They didn't see anything, just barely felt some wind.
Hitting a wall with her feet, she launches herself across the street, flipping on herself in a sudden slow motion shot reminding some sci-fi movies - Stretched body on blurred background, tight military pants, sleeveless top, tattooed arm, a sun stone around her neck - she's grabbing a rod purposely put there for her stunt, flipping around it and using it to launch herself in the air again.
Too close from her, a man in white with an old fashion gangster's hat starts running. He's damned fast. No gun but a simple knife in his right hand. A red lighting is thrown from his eyes, hitting the wall where she just was. Burning a hole, melting stone. The crowd around them seems motionless, they are not in the same space-time continuum.
The typical backstreet, full of darkness and shit. There's a bike, curved lines, latest technology. In one jump she's on it. Her curves are perfectly matching the bike making them looking like one. The albino is showing is ass. The engine starts.
Like in an old duel scene, they're starring at each other then both close their eyes. One second or one minute, time has stopped leaving only some nice cameras movements emphasizing the moment to the extreme. The bike starts full speed, leaving behind a trail of smoke elegantly caught in the late afternoon’s scattered sunrays.
The bike looks like it’s dancing through the middle of the red laser beams, avoiding every one of them. It seems that the albino is deliberately trying to avoid her, waiting for the last moment to strike. Now she's close, almost on him. He's jumping adopting a fighting pose. Contact.
She's hitting him on the solar plexus, simultaneously the blade is caressing the golden skin. The albino's face becomes hideous under the pain. She's biting her lips. Time is accelerating, he's hitting the ground violently, the knife is leaving his hand. The bike bend on the side, Jezz is giving a violent acceleration. Dodging the cars in the most aesthetic possible way, she disappears far away.
02 May 2009
Un peu de politique
L'Inde est une démocratie, faudrait pas l'oublier. En ce moment, c'est les élections, pour une fois tout le monde à le même droit, celui de voter, qu'il soit dalit, muslim, sardar ou star de B'wood.
Pour voter, il faut avant tout être majeur
La famille Bachchan en plein consensus, Govinda n'en pense pas moinsPetite explication quand même, en Inde, la preuve que l'on a voté est une marque à l'encre sur le doigt.
Extraits du Times of India, 2 mai 2009
Extraits du Times of India, 2 mai 2009