The Factory - [MAP] foundation

A member is one of the members' plenary assembly [MAP].
Each of them becomes one vote for all of the Structural questions concerning [MAP].
Each of them becomes the right to be informed.
Each of them becomes the right to be opposed.
Each of them becomes the right to be represented.
Each of them becomes the right.

To read.
His rights.

Everybody becomes the same right.

To read.
His rights.

<= STOP =>

Ghost In The Phone — Episode One

A Beautiful Opening Day

Day ON.

His first emotion as he opened his eyes was that the current day was the most beautiful one of his entire life. Yesterday was a draft. As a code, he sang for himself a kind of Josephine Baker’s J’ai deux amours, and he opened the day as he opened a door, widely ready to live something new with a very inspiring and a very hopeful smile. C’qui m’ensorcelle, c’est Paris, c'est Paris tout entier. Thirty seconds after he got up he was already reading his program on his phone. Colors were telling him what kinds of deadlines were coming. Spearmint for his working task. Orange for his assistant work. Purple for his friends. Red for his own project. Grey for his own deadlines. He needed first assimilating his four mugs of coffee. The Coffee-machine’s self operating program was set up at 6:00 am for a long day, and at 7:00 am for normal days. Today was a normal day. Five minutes before the time, he was here, in waiting, waiting for the program to begin. It was time to look at all of the papers and books, left in front of the Coffee-machine just to be read during these five minutes. They could be news from friends, news from the World, exercises of memorization. Sometimes just the memories of reviving facts, events, yesterdays. Boys. Friends. He needed to remember his past life to ensure himself that he could bear his coming life, and needed to drink quietly a just-a-little-bit-moistened first mug of coffee. Quietly, just after having been a little bit moistened. So, he was waiting for the program to begin. The radio was broadcasting his first morning scandals. Today, the favorite player of a favorite football team was found dead, and nobody was able to tell what happened during the day before, on The Twenty-second of January, 2014. It could just be a suicide, but it wasn't really understanding. He looked at his colored daily program on his phone, and he knew now if he would have or not the teleorganic time to give to his headache a chance to disappear. Yes. One pill. No. Two pills.

Episode Two

@rycholiver.org — copyright 2014

@rycholiver.org is a free web publishing program whose goals are to spread the to-day French literature in English and in French.

His first FlyIng series has been created on a very beautiful date : The Twenty-second of January, 2014.

The series is directed by OLIVER @rycholiver.org.

The Factory - ideas

We are just selling Acts of Intelligence.

Orders for Creations.

All of them are just considering our needs.

1. Time for practicing.

2. Time for writing.

1. 2. 3. Time for sharing.

Hélène Bessette

I'm not coming for seeing.

What everybody is coming to see.

From lakes of tears I didn't have seen anything in the first evening.

I'm not coming for spending the riviera yachting and cordiera long holidays.

I will not pitch my tent in the hauteur. From the faraway glaciers I will not see anything.

If it's raining. While a train is speeding.

In the shadow.

At the edge of lakes of tears. In the evening

when I arrived.

From the arrival time.

From my rain color eyes.

I see the World through his fog.

The big tourism with bad flash light.

It bad light the way.

In a singular lighting.

I am sad.

That's why.

Because perhaps it isn't raining. I'm fabulating. Dull mood.

Sulky glows.

The slow train with faded colors.

The insipid lights of unknown stations.

Why am I here?

I couldn't tell it.

If I will. It will be useless.

Could you understand it?

You will not believe me. Even if I would tell it.

Therefore I don't tell.

The Factory

The Factory is perfect.

His structure has never been destabilized.

One rule : Equality.

You will enter in the Factory through the same way as everybody else: searching, because searching is the only way of Equality.

Second rule : no unvoted profits.

Third rule : no advertisement.

The Factory is a perfect democracy.

His structure has never been destabilized.

One rule : Equality.

<= STOP =>

Claro

C'était une amitié facile, aux traits parfois tirés, certes, à la démarche un peu bancale, comme si aller de pair n'allait pas toujours de soi, y tendait seulement, à force d'ajustements, et jamais ils ne se touchaient, jamais ils ne déduisaient d'un contact autre chose que la valeur retenue du hasard, mais le plaisir qu'ils prenaient et reprenaient à se parler, à laisser leurs voix faire ce que leurs corps s'abstenaient d'essayer, ce plaisir était aussi réel que la brûlure du café sur le bout de la langue ou l'anse de la tasse que leur index explorait, rêveusement.

Danielle Collobert

Ta violence contre moi encore une fois. Tu viens me prendre, toi devant, mon bras passé sur ton épaule, tu tires des deux mains, je sens la force au poignet, je me dégage de la glu — ton dos tout courbé presque plié en deux. Je voudrais t'aider, me faire léger, ouvrir les ailes, mais pas de décision, je n'ose pas, je retiens de toutes mes forces mon rythme, tu ne pourras rien contre ça, même agile et fort. Maintenant la force qui te reste ne vient que des bras, ton pas commence à suivre le mien, à s'habituer — tu vas être pris. Je voudrais te crier de partir, de me laisser là, te prévenir de ton épuisement, t'éviter le piège, mais je ne le désire pas vraiment, je me réjouis là de ta défaite, je veux saisir le beau moment de ta chute. Elle vient, je sens, tu plies déjà un peu plus — les veines de ton cou sont gonflées par l'effort, je les vois dessiner les deux courbes jusqu'à l'oreille. Autour de mon poignet ta force se dilue — tu ne me tires plus vers l'avant, tu serres seulement, tu t'accroches même. Mon visage dans ton cou, au creux de l'épaule, j'entends se ralentir ton souffle, très profond, très bas, tu penches vers la rue — la tête s'approche du sol peu à peu — tu vas basculer sur l'angle du trottoir, tu vas rouler sur le bord de la rue. L'eau sale qui descend se brise sur ton corps en petits éclats. Un morceau de papier blanc et une peau d'orange s'arrêtent dans tes cheveux. Je me penche au-dessus de toi. Je fais des signes. J'appelle.

Danielle Collobert

Le monde crie, ce monde-ci, le monde maintenant, au-delà des murs des chambres chaudes, au-delà de nous liés. A travers les voix revient le grondement plus fort, plus puissant pour nous envahir. Appeler ta force pour supporter, te sortir de la douceur, t'apporter la dureté cruelle latente autour de nous. Qui se suicide. Qui se sépare. Toi et moi arrachés. Capitule, vivante encore. Je suis entre le tremblement désespéré et l'apaisement qui plane, éloigné, silencieux. Entraîné de l'un à l'autre par la peur.

Recorded mistakes

A newsletter which was supposed to announce a 4:55 pm broadcasted recording has been sent at only 7:28 pm to our mailing list. That is two thousands and thirteen minutes late if just the beginning of the radio timetable is considered.

- No advertisement for our CD released since September 2013.
- No advertisement for our next concert (scheduled in Paris on November 30th, 2013).
- No link to our reservations@our_domain.net address which is the only way to book for all the concerts that the ensemble entirely produces.
- No link to buy our last CD, and all of our products on the WEB.

- No link to subscribe to our newsletter via an @our_domain.net address.

- No links to our soundcloud and facebook accounts.