how to live from fire to fire - olivier marboeuf

P.87 or we no longer want to get mixed up with all that nowadays with all the problems we’re already dealing with, what with documents, visas, guarantees, they tell themselves that they don’t have the means to add the Arabs’ problems on top of all that, or the Palestinians’ problems either,

P.94 it’s something we’ve known for so long, people who now refuse to work for the Factory the way we refuse to, people who will have recognised a signal in a pile of urned tires, who have felt a sudden pain in their arm, or leg, or stomach, a signal or perhaps the repetition of an even more ancient signal, I don’t know how to do this, we need to recover moments of lost history, brief moments when we were together on the same assembly lines, in the same cafes, the same neighbourhoods before the bourgeoisie cleaned all that up:

P.101 as if the flames that are now threatening the city were things that were fated to happen, the way floodwaters rise up and sweep away cars and trees without anyone understanding why, you’ll say the fires in the neighbourhoods are part of history, that’s all, a terrible part of the natural history of the Empire, you’ll say that the sugar cane cutters used to set fires in the fields, to chase away the snakes, you’ll say that it’s surely because of pests that someone set fire to the fields, because of the thousands of pests prowling arounds the edges of the city, that’s surely the reason and it’s understandable, you can say that it’s not your skin that smells like burned sugar cane, not at all, because your skin doesn’t smell of anything, nothing at all, like all the people from here, your skin smells of absolutely nothing, and that way the idiots won’t know what to say and you’ll be able to turn your back on them and go hide, because behind the fires and behind the smell of burning sugar, without saying anything about it we’ll bold our own sorts of houses and our own sorts of rooms, flower gardens and vegetable patches, libraries and dance galls where we can rest, breathe and have fun, laugh and take shelter from the rain, this, comrade, this is what I want you to understand, here, now, in the worst possible place to talk, here now, in the rain, in the night, just before the fire.”