Sous influence, texte, musique et pochette de disque Samia Farah
Lilia hassaine et le crew de voleurs..
Quand tu chanteras ,écriras,produiras..et feras de la peinture de la sculpture et des films comme moi
La je pourrais t 'estimer mais pour l 'instant petite crasseuse au cul qui sent la merde ,tu fais la pickpocket!! il ya 20 ans c'était mon travail ,toi au même âge tu n'as trouvé que le pickpocket pour essayer de te faire connaitre.comme une clocharde ,tu fais en plus mes poubelles..
..cache toi derrière les connards qui essaient de te fabriquer..sale merde lâche .Petite femme de ménage des blancos racistes et racialistes médiocres ,qui veulent te faire croire que tu es au dessus de moi par ce que tu suces de la bite de riches alors que moi j' ai travaillé dur ,sans flancher,hein tapin?
Tu sais rien foutre a part part voler le travail d' une autre et te vendre comme une tapin de saloon .
T'es qu un étron Volant! ,petite raclure de bidet .
Voici Le texte dont tu as volé la trame et édulcoré les passages pompés ... la trame d' un roman que tu n'as pas écrit seule!! Puis comme cela ne suffisait pas vous avez pioché en mode clochard dans tous mes travaux ..espèce de pute a chiens!!
tu es l'algérienne serpillère ... prostituée des blancos
...Tu es la honte . Une plagiaire sans personnalité
C'est un texte riche et imaginatif ! La densité des idées et l'univers futuriste requièrent une traduction précise pour conserver l'atmosphère.
Voici la traduction complète de votre nouvelle en anglais :
A MON SEUL DESIR.
SHORT STORY, text by SAMIA FARAH, 2020 Paris
LIBERTY AND DANGER, OR CONTROL AND SECURITY?
Detective Faridah Debeauvoir was already on the scene, and the old-timer Eddie Gramsci, butt dangling from his lips, arrived nonchalantly with his characteristic scruffy air. His long, black hair reached his waist. A miracle! He was sober that day.
“Hey Debauve? I see you’re here too.”
"Oh, for f***'s sake," he said, walking on tiptoes, "what the hell is this mess??"
The two detectives, who didn't seem to appreciate each other, were at the home of Artus Stern, a trafficker of everything and anything, known mainly for his anything.
His body had melted; he had certainly ingested a poison without even knowing it. Chinese and Thai restaurants were specialists in particle cuisine, inoculating violent poisons. In exchange, they were allowed to cook at home without the hygienist militia intervening to ruin their lives.
Stern's guts, his intestines, lay exposed. A worm as large as a snake had doubled in size in a short span of time. It coiled around his neck in slow motion, then exited through his left eye.
Faridah Debauvoir applied some Tiger Balm under her nose and continued the search. She sprayed the snake with a sedative spray that instantly put it to sleep. She locked it in a glass box, awaiting its transfer to the anti-gang unit.
The apartment had one floor, a double bed that hadn't yet been inserted into ceiling mode; boxes containing trinkets that Stern was hoarding lay on the Japanese-made floor, a relic of the 2030s.
Faridah Debeauvoir was the solid type: tall, taciturn, and you really shouldn't mess with her.
She lived in Asia 3, which encompassed the most livable and still "natural" part of the blue planet... They were mostly Buddhists and intended to remain so. That's why people had survived all the cataclysms or wars, but even more so, abstract collectivism had saved many people, including the few Muslims who didn't want to settle in 'Islam Paradise', which was further south, much further south, in the former Arabian Peninsula.
Elsewhere was the US ZONE. The country had become the place for felons, thieves, and Trans-Formed individuals. The dismembered by multiple cosmetic surgeries, with electronic (or mammalian) prostheses added, which had failed. Beings as eccentric as they were far-fetched, who were automatically confined there. Reported beings-objects, dumped in the scrap heap: in short, an open-air prison.
It was even rumored that entire neighborhoods were infested with humans dislocated in all sorts of ways, like "Dog Street," a neighborhood where men had undergone grafts of muzzles and dog tails and walked on all fours. They had had their forearms' bones extended; some because they wanted to, others because they had lost at games of chance. Unpaid debts often made them lifelong guinea pigs.
There was also "Poison Ivy District," where some young people, during the 3000s, had mated with plants, believing they were saving the planet. They all settled in the city called "Detroit" in the 2000s, but which changed its name because of the endless protuberances that kept growing from their deformed bodies.
Prostitution was in full swing in "Bangkey Area," also called "Little Gisha." Women and some men had vaginas grafted onto their foreheads, either glittery or flesh-colored. The third eye was located there. Genitals were also placed on the stomach, connected to the intestines. The operation was dangerous but offered the one possessing the bodily extension an indisputable pleasure.
Transgender people had become the representatives of the US ZONE. Men who wished to become women or felt they were women were legion, and this had been the case since the dawn of time. Women who became men were equally numerous in the US ZONE.
Their desire to change sex, to "transition" as they called it, often posed problems. They managed the transitions very poorly, mainly at the mental level. They often regretted the substitute identity... Moreover, those who truly controlled the US ZONE administratively speaking were mostly psychiatrists, psychologists, and a few sociologists, who never stayed long in the US ZONE. Some sociologists paid astronomical sums to move to Asia 3; it was almost impossible to obtain the "non-flexible identities" passes to live or settle there, even for a short retreat.
The US ZONE had television channels wilder than the next, and the participants were just as crazy. The country managed to meet its needs thanks to these deviants.
They were almost all tattooed or altered by the madness of wanting to be unique, yet, looking closely, they all looked alike. The US ZONE was an obscure mix of enormous means. Its television channels raked in all sorts of currencies, mainly thanks to virtual supermarkets via giant 'propelling' screens. One could shop there with the very real illusion of doing groceries.
People wondered how these bloody "freaks" managed to survive. Consumption was rampant via TVs and other satellite platforms; every neighborhood reeked of misery on every level. Pornographic images interspersed all the commercials.
-"Ah ah yes, yes, again!!" -"Will you have some Pinaut tea? The tea brand that makes you healthy and beautiful?? Nothing better to start the day!" -"Ahahahaha, from behind, yes, yes!"
Asia 3, Islam Paradise, Masked Europe, Urise, contributed through compulsory taxes to supply "Freak Land," as they called it, with food or currency.
Eddie Gramsci was intrigued by words written in blood on the floor just behind Stern's exploded skull... "A mon seul désir" [To my sole desire]...
“Debauv?! Come look,” he said.
Detective Faridah Debauvoir came down the steps, crouched beside him, and also noticed these strange words.
She glanced at Gramsci, who raised his arms and eyes to the sky as a sign of inquiry.
Gramsci and Debauvoir were "non-flexible identities." He was of Navajo/Dineh origin, and she, Berber from Siwa. Unmixed ethnic groups were only assigned to certain types of rather well-paid jobs, but they also had duties. They were considered base humans and had to remain so. Detective Faridah Debauvoir was a resident of Asia 3, a continent that had opted for freedom of movement, beliefs, and ideas. Gramsci, however, lived in Urise, a continent that opted for control, for more security. When you saw them, they suggested quite the opposite. She was rigorous, and he was the laissez-faire type...
Non-flexible identities could go almost anywhere but had a greater chance than others of being kidnapped to be dismembered (especially for their organs) or used as slaves. They realized too late that base humans were becoming extinct. Hidden Europe had been invaded by Africa, which had sunk under the waters in 3000, triggering an uncontrollable population movement.
Europeans had practically disappeared from Europe. Not all: some had migrated elsewhere, many to Islam Paradise following massive conversions that occurred mainly for political reasons. Some base elements migrated to Asia 3, others to Urise.
Stern's apartment was dark and cold. Abstract paintings in perpetual motion sketched arabesques, which annoyed Gramsci; it made him dizzy.
"What brings you here?" Debauvoir asked him.
"We're looking for a stolen painting. I've been sent by the Urise-MALL CENTER," Eddie said.
"Like this one?" Debeauvoir asked him. She indicated the moving painting with her head.
"Nah," Eddie replied, "Not this soulless crap, a painting dating from the last century, a static one by Romanoff Andre. He supposedly painted with egg yolk, a method recovered from the Renaissance; he also created his own colors and powders... an old stolen piece."
Some paintings were sold in the Urise-MALL supermarkets; art no longer had any exclusive place; the object itself had become a decorative item. An abstract sculpture could be sold next to cutlets or arrabiata pasta; it no longer bothered anyone.
"And you?" he said.
"Trafficking in so-called 'root and sacred' art objects. Our friend Stern seems to have been double-crossed." "Objects bearing the likeness of Buddha have left Asia 3, which is punishable by law... capital punishment," she said with a smile. "King Rama 18 personally asked Asia 3 Atlantic to find the missing objects... I can tell you that King Rama has given Ozon and the Asia Atlantic team all the means we desire."
Captain OZON was a base European, handsome as a God. He excited men as well as women, and the deviants of the US ZONE couldn't get enough of him whenever he appeared on screens. The channels of the transformed 'queers' played him on loop.
"A mon seul désir!!?? What does that mean??" Faridah Debeauvoir wondered.
She was going home, but first, she went to drop off the snake, which in the meantime had transformed into a boa constrictor.
She asked her doppelganger, a robot that resembled her feature for feature, for the meaning of this expression. Her doppelganger, a robot with a human appearance who served as her factotum, answered very quickly about what it was. This robot went by the name of Anna Magnani.
"'A mon seul désir' is a series of mystical embroideries from the 15th century. Historians have always advanced the idea that there were only six tapestries, but seven is likely the real number... they clung to the idea that the first five had to do with the five senses and the sixth is 'a mon seul désir,' but six was not an esoteric number in the Middle Ages. It seems that one tapestry is missing. The magnificent embroideries, alas, no longer exist, but there are replicas, photos, and copies found in the US ZONE.
We presume there are seven. It is a number that corresponds more to esoteric logic, 'A mon seul désir,' that of the Lady and the Unicorn."
"Seven can be a lucky number in monotheistic religions; symbolically it corresponds to the spirit, the desire for knowledge, solitude too, and perhaps renunciation. The number 7 also marks the truth-seeker with its imprint, the one who wants to know, to understand. Some say it possesses a fine mind and relates ultimately to wisdom and intuition," she said, smiling broadly.
Therefore, 'A mon seul désir' cannot be the last of six tapestries, or if it is, there is another one missing before it.
"And what does 6 correspond to then?" retorted Faridah Debeauvoir.
"Six," said Anna Magnani, "is matter or its end. Money, power, decline. It takes the 7 for the 6 to take on its full meaning."
"And 'A mon seul désir'??"
Anna Magnani couldn't answer this question... She smiled. That's what all robots do when they glitch.
She was devoid of desire; robotic machines, even high-tech ones, were not equipped with it. They imitated these moments of intimacy thanks to algorithms inspired by the acquired and innate characteristics of the original entity. But it stopped there.
Anna Magnani had scored a point. Faridah De Beauvoir looked at the tapestries, enlarging the details of the embroideries... 20th-century writers only referred to six tapestries, although the writer who discovered them, Georges Sand, said she found one tapestry on the floor serving as a rug, so it was damaged.
As for desire, Debeauvoir didn't quite know how to explain it to Anna. Physiology studies the role, functioning, and mechanical and biochemical organization of living organisms and their components (organs, tissues, cells). Something she did not and certainly never would possess. Desire is an irrational, obsessive wish for the possession of something. When scientists tried to transmit the sense of desire to robots, however docile, they turned them into psychopaths.
Faridah wrote a report and sent it to Eddie and Ozon. Her hologram recited the document to them... Indeed, no one really read anymore. It was considered archaic.
The killer seemed to want to play with the two detectives, feeding their investigation with riddles. Faridah Debauvoir suspected that Stern's killer was playing with artistic and religious codes, and that Stern was worth nothing in the crime chessboard. The message was elsewhere.
But let's get back to the matter at hand. Art was not Debeauvoir's cup of tea. Artists? Even less so. Since the 3000s, lawyers and big investors had ensured that art became a hobby; everyone called themselves an artist. Only old relics and other antiquities had gained in value. Since Africa no longer existed, African masks, beadwork, and wood were sold at exorbitant prices.
Investors had ensured that the public, via corrupt governments, invested in meaningless conceptual work. Almost all works had ended up in the garbage in 2050. The conceptual movement was ridiculed; the artists who had exhibited during those years—motorcycle helmets on tables, vacuum cleaners...—all ended up in the trash bin of art and history. The rich and very rich investors, meanwhile, continued to secretly buy old pieces. Nobody wanted conceptual art in their homes.
Art no longer existed; bodies had become canvases, especially in the US ZONE... Their performances were bought for events; their presence was a draw. Their tattoos, glitter extensions, or dinosaur bones or gorilla arms embedded in their flesh made them living art objects. They sold high-priced photos of themselves, but the real artists nevertheless remained their lawyers, who hunted down replicas and other imitations; private militias conducted "art" hunts... their great sleights of hand. Om.
To be continued......
