Sweat oozed from a cross held high in hand E-Book

Miguel S. Ruiz

• Herausgeber: Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Französisch

Seitenzahl: 59

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

Miguel 'Sÿd' Ruiz is the (french) author of many books - humorous (the series of "Aphorismes, paradoxes et autres...", "500 celebrities who look alike", "Les fins mots de la fin", "Apprenez l'anglais entre faux-amis"), photographs ("Le Père-Lachaise, un cimetière bien vivant", "Paysages/Visages/Voyages: un tour du monde en 100 photos") ou autres ("Dictionnaire de le Guerre civile espagnole et de ses prémices", "Mon Paris insolite", "Dictionnaire des rues de Paris", "Dark Syd of the Floyd : les deux vies de Roger K. Barrett"). "Sweat oozed from a cross held high in hand" is his first english novel - uh, who says the last ?

Leseprobe

Another leaking and escaping (*) novel

(*) or ‘escapista’, it’s up to you.

To everyone in particular –and no one in general.

My attention was fixed on the more or less partial sentences which, in complete solitude, at the approach of sleep (*), become perceptible to the mind - without any possibility to discover in them a prior determination. These sentences, remarkably colorful and with a perfectly correct syntax (**), appeared to me as first class poetic elements.

(André Breton, « Les Pas Perdus »)

I don’t know what I want but I know how to get it.

(John Lydon/Rotten)

(*) For the author, upon awakening.

(**) If not, blame the translator…

CONTENTS

Chap. 1 : Biting irony on a bench of bright fishes

Intermezzo 1

Chap. 2 : The beauty of soups will last if any toad teems with binary elements

Intermezzo 2

Chap. 3 : You have to stretch the cursed bow, face down on a moral window

Intermezzo 3

Chap. 4 : Waiting for the sun at the gates of a dusty dusk (in Grantchester meadows)

Intermezzo 4

Chap. 5 : Since it rains dwarfs on Ramatuelle I wake up in dreams (6060842)

Intermezzo 5

Chap. 6 : Coughing up clouds under a pergola in flames can make laugh violet

Intermezzo 6

Chap. 7 : Young old men and old children swallowing rainy resentment (Detergents of soul)

Intermezzo 7

Chap. 8 : Wherever it is, fear of mosquitoes excludes the equidistance of marble rivers

Intermezzo 8

Chap. 9 : The subtle rotting movements and pretty whispers . from tomorrow’s snows

Intermezzo 9

Chap. 10 : The depressed shaman and his stubborn rake

Intermezzo 10

Chap. 11 : Soldiers, the piper and a pot of sorrows at potron-minet (Had this dream stopped ?)

Intermezzo 11

Epilogue (Retrospectively thinking…)

Chapter I

Biting irony on a bench of of bright fishes

The blissful Trissotins from Penthièvre St., gloomy accountants

hampered by gonorrhea, turn out to be the culprits of their

dismissals – yes, yes… So : implicit consent of two mute nostrils

(and their agony) or pink Gestapo clouds ? Be that as it may, we

were dealing with a concrete mirage. Let me explain to you : Muriel

and her moujik, in their own frozen furnace, bet everything on the

bride’s petticoats brought to heel… Astride the world, their irony

risked filtering boulevards – not to mention the beautiful

grenadine ! Prostrate on a candle, the psychiatrist and his friends

waved two teapots and 5 wagons in an equivocal manner.

What for ? Because the orthodoxy of void struggles to replace the

knife of giraffes... And the tenderness of wild boars. Is it clear ?!?

Ayellowish trout taking the chill on her knees wondered how

long she could still hold out before her illness knocked her down.

Kind Jean Nohain – carved out of a toothpick – brought him thirty

remedies with a concrete base of lava and immodesty. She

swallowed them with a good heart, but she took it badly : it was

Karl Marx's Duck Soup. "Pretty little purple lizard but

unremarkable, can you show me the way to the desert ?" we heard

then, in the distance… Well, can you imagine that I have since

enjoyed the sight of steering wheels and padded skai, those

that the latter offered me, naked. And my reaction-response was

without appeal : “You will recognize me from now on by my

haughty look, son of the razor !“

Quite often Marion Cotillard, with a knife-like face, runs First of

the Mohicans through a karcher. For personal convenience of

course, but no doubt also for a more specific purpose. Sigismond

Freud, in order to shut up Emily Jung’s people, had gotten

into the habit of pulling a very juicy red bear out of his hat. Must

say that around Jeffrey Lee Pierce, he had always advocated playing

Catenaccio. From then on, realizing that he had exhausted all his

package, the teenager we are talking about began to regret having

bought a breviary on Amazon (it was that of a priest defrocked in

absentia). But here we are, in the end we won't care a bit : when we

are intimate, twenty thousand leagues under the 4 mothers, &

the giants’ Index will finally launch the fishing net – for wanting

more ! And eighteen giraffes completely gone – for instance those

of Jacques Mesrine – will then necessarily go to join the idiot of the

sticky village, on Olympus (NB: this applies both to the very village

and to the aforementioned idiot ). Stanley Kubrick and Germain

Nouveau will then lay their hands on a boulevardier virus, pressed

as they will be by fairly commercial things – admittedly friendly but

covered in blood. And Miou-Miou (on the crenellated ramparts of

Warsaw) will shadow a bird of misfortune rolled in flour.

Conclusion : she is very lucky to live in the Marais (Pontins) !

Yes monarchs appearing out of nowhere, I did murder the rotten

monkey. And all that to switch to Video Gag, compose a ritornello

and accuse some rambunctious Inuit of… disinformation. Henri (&

Olivier) Poupon, they squeaked and complained, as usual, of not

getting anywhere... "Poor idiots, get your classic sapajous and you'll

get your baccalaureate average !" (That's it, well said). Meanwhile,

the madness of Black Sea mutineer – aided by the butcher of

Albacete – was still well and truly visible under the thimbles.

Consequence : the corridors of my soul will bring nothing to

oysters’ happiness. And since trouvères of CAC 40 taste the analog

circuits of an unmerciful destiny, I will drink all the prosthesis’ fog

elevated to the rank of historical monument. Then we must of

course expect Maud Molyneux to react quickly and – without any

pretention – that she will start comparing Gilles Deleuze to a

bisexual Go(u)dot. The poor gourd and Marc Machin will then try

to comb the Yves St-Laurent river... So all we have to do is scream :

"No, no, please, here it comes again !!!“

Hyperactive Oswaldo and Roberto Piazza treat Woody

Woodpecker and Honest Ron Wood like dogs. That of the

Baskervilles is content to bottle the wanton Harley Davidsons of the

County. Here were men (Oswaldo especially) who had only been

serious once in their life, and who now, at ease in their karma,

seemed delighted to climb the steps leading to Skylessness.

Artemis, feeling the chocolate melt then, gripped tightly to a silly

mushroom, soft from knee and ugly as a louse. Does their sad fate

still make you envious, eh Liberace and Walter Gropius ? It's up to

you, but the fact remains that a country priest who

also threw his meatus into nettles, everyone – including me – left in

a mad rage. Especially since we had noticed something about Saint

Christopher – the singer & journalist D. Bevilacqua, ex-Barber of

Seville... Intoxicated by rum, he had seized a windsurf board ironed

upside down – which happened to be that of his best

friend's distressed wife ! To top it all off, Michelangelo had started

climbing an apple – in the arms of this very cherry from

banky Groupe-à-Mama (Béa Tékielski).