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cento40battute · 7 years

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La Prairie festeggia i primi trent’anni di Skin Caviar

Era il 1931 quando il Dottore Paul Niehans elaborò, presso la Clinique La Prairie, un trattamento cellulare rivoluzionario in grado di donare l’eterna giovinezza. La Prairie, divenuto brand leader nel luxury skincare nel 1978, oggi continua a ispirarsi alla sua storia clinica, iniziata oltre ottant’anni fa sul lago di Ginevra, per creare cosmetici rivoluzionari ed efficaci, ma anche lussuosi ed eleganti. Per fare ciò, La Prairie inserisce la sua Switzerness in ogni prodotto: purezza, precisione, innovazione e artigianalità, uniti a una sana dose d’arte, fanno da padrone in ogni prodotto firmato dal brand.

La Prairie in partnership con artisti contemporanei per interpretare Il mondo del caviale

Una delle linee iconiche di La Prairie è sicuramente Skin Caviar. Questa collezione di prodotti simboli di audacia sfrutta l’effetto lifting e rassodante dei puri estratti di caviale per sostenere i contorni del viso, restituendo armonia alla pelle. Skin Caviar quest’anno festeggia il suo trentesimo anniversario: per festeggiarlo La Prairie ha deciso di rafforzare il suo legame con l’arte partecipando a un’esibizione artistica in movimento dedicata al caviale. Un selezionato gruppo di artisti contemporanei si sposterà da Parigi a New York, da Hong Kong a Shanghai per interpretare il mistero, la potenza e la bellezza del caviale attraverso cinque opere d’arte innovative.

L’affinità tra queste creazioni artistiche e lo skincare firmato La Prairie ci viene spiegata dal Chief Marketing Offier di La Prairie Group, Greg Prodomides: “Utilizzando il prezioso caviale nelle sue formulazioni, La Prairie continua a rompere gli schemi dello skincare di lusso, esattamente come questi artisti di talento vanno oltre i limiti dell’immaginazione. E come le loro opere iniziano con una visione audace, così avviene per ogni creazione di La Prairie”.

Due delle cinque installazioni sono state create da Paul Coudamy, l’artista in grado di trasformare la poesia in oggetti e spazi. Coudamy ha creato per La Prairie innanzitutto Living Cells, una struttura di acciaio laccato e magneti geometrici, costruita seguendo una rigorosa formula matematica, su cui si muovono continuamente i marmi brillanti magnetizzati, simbolo del caviale, creando forme sempre nuove e uniche. La vitalità e i volumi di Living Cells sono ispirati a Skin Caviar Absolute Filler che, come vedremo a breve, lavora proprio con il concetto di volume: per questo l’opera è stata esposta in anteprima nella Lounge La Prairie ad Art Basel di Basilea, la più importante fiera d’arte contemporanea del mondo.

Accanto a Living Cells si colloca Solid Frequencies, una struttura in vetro, metallo e resina dotato di sensori elettronici e di un sistema sono all’avanguardia: avvicinando la mano al tubo pieno di piccoli marmi, rappresentanti ancora una volta il caviale, questi fluttuano e si muovono generando forme e cascate. La terza installazione è opera di Bonjour Interactive Lab, uno studio che trasforma l’arte in un’esperienza interattiva. È proprio questa l’idea alla base di Moving Pixel, un lavoro digitale che interpreta l’effetto lifting di La Prairie Skin Caviar Liquid Lift attraverso sagome formate da piccole perle dorate di caviale. Cinq Fruits espone invece un’opera più tradizionale fatta di fotografie, uno dei campi artistici preferiti dallo studio: si chiama proprio Photographic Exhibition, e celebra l’eterna ricerca di La Prairie di una bellezza senza tempo attraverso l’estetica scientifica di Skin Caviar Luxe Cream e Luxe Cream Sheer. Infine, l’artista e ingegnere Tremenss interpreta il caviale attraverso un’installazione audiovisiva: in una stanza nera, un potente laser taglia lo spazio, mentre quattro video proiettano immagini astratte in evoluzione che interagiscono con il laser e i suoni audio spaziali fanno immergere lo spettatore in un’esperienza unica. Questa installazione vuole celebrare il processo di distillazione del vapore in grado di catturare l’acqua di caviale, utilizzata per la prima volta nella Skin Caviar Essence-in-Lotion di La Prairie.

Due novità per celebrare il compleanno di Skin Caviar: l’Absolute Filler e le nuove tonalità di Foundation Concealer

Skin Caviar Absolute Filler: il segreto è nel volume

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CREDIT PHILIPPE LACOMBE

Se Skin Caviar Absolute Filler di La Prairie è riuscito a essere fonte di ispirazione per l’opera di Paul Coudamy ci sarà un perché. E ve lo spieghiamo subito: così come il volume nell’arte è essenziale per ottenere un’armonia estetica, allo stesso modo il volume della pelle dona un aspetto giovanile ed armonioso ai contorni del viso.

Skin Caviar Absolute Filler è stato creato proprio per preservare questi volumi: compattezza, tono, definizione sono la nuova chiave della giovinezza

L’effetto lifting di Skin Caviar Absolute Filler è dovuto all’uso degli Estratti di Caviale nella loro forma più pura. Ottenuti attraverso un nuovo processo tecnologico in grado di prelevare i nutrienti più efficaci di questo ingrediente, il Caviar Absolue contiene quindi il meglio del caviale, l’olio e le proteine, che insieme nutrono e idratano la pelle e stimolano la produzione del collagene. Accanto al caviale troviamo Alghe Brune ed Estratto di Radice di Peonia, che ammorbidiscono la pelle e la rendono più elastica; la Matrice Guida dei Tessuti, brevetto La Prairie, che rafforza la matrice extra-cellulare; e l’Esclusivo Complesso Cellulare di La Prairie, formulato quarant’anni fa e mantenuto segreto sin da allora, che dona energia e vita alle cellule. Questa formula lussuosa è in grado di ripristinare su viso, collo e décolleté l’armonia di una pelle dall’aspetto giovane. La texture di Skin Caviar Absolute Filler è voluttuosa e a rapido assorbimento, ed è contenuta in un innovativo dispenser arrotondato con specchietto incorporato.

Skin Caviar Concealer Foundation SPF15: tre prodotti in uno

Accanto a Skin Caviar Absolute Filler, troviamo un’altra novità firmata La Prairie: sono le nuove tonalità di Skin Caviar Concealer Foundation SPF15, l’alleato prezioso per un make-up moderno e perfetto. Skin Caviar Concealer Foundation SPF15 è un vero e proprio prodotto 3 in 1: è un fondotinta lussuoso che funge da trattamento e al cui interno si cela un correttore professionale. Applicandolo la pelle apparirà perfetta e naturale, ma verrà anche idratata, elasticizzata, rassodata.

Il fondotinta contenuto nel flacone blu e argento di La Prairie va applicato con la punta delle dita, picchiettando e sfumando il colore. All’interno del tappo troverete invece il correttore, da applicare dopo il fondotinta con le dita o con il pennello abbinato nelle zone specifiche da coprire, come le occhiaie, le macchie pigmentarie o le piccole imperfezioni. Le tonalità disponibili sono otto, quattro in più di prima: Peche è la più tenue, adatta alle carnagioni chiare; poi ci sono i medi Pure Ivory, Satin Nude, Golden Beige, Honey Beige e Almond Beige; infine, per le pelli scure ci sono Sunset Beige e Mocha. Trovate la tonalità più adatta a voi e create la vostra base per il make-up con Skin Caviar Concealer Foundation SPF15: la vostra pelle apparirà levigata, uniforme, naturale, in una parola perfetta.

Oltre a perfezionare la pelle esteticamente, Skin Caviar Concealer Foundation SPF15 lavora anche a lungo termine: i suoi ingredienti chiave infatti rassodano, idratano, proteggono la pelle. In questa formulazione firmata La Prairie, troviamo innanzitutto gli Estratti di Caviale che, ricchi di aminoacidi, vitamine e minerali, donano rassodamento, protezione, nutrimento ed energia alla pelle. Per la prima volta, l’Estratto di Caviale viene accostato al Palmitoyl Esapeptide-14, che stimola i peptidi e favorisce la riduzione di linee sottili e rughe. Gli Estratti di Malto, Arnica e Liquirizia aiutano a proteggere il collagene garantendo compattezza, hanno un effetto anti-irritante e inibiscono l’eccessiva produzione di melanina, che genera le macchie di iperpigmentazione, mentre la Vitamina E dona la sua nota protezione antiossidante. Infine, nella formula di Skin Caviar Concealer Foundation SPF15 è contenuto il Complesso Cellulare Esclusivo La Prairie.

Federica Miri

www.laprairiegroup.ch www.laprairie.com www.facebook.com/LaPrairie #theartofcaviar #skincaviar

La Prairie festeggia i primi trent’anni di Skin Caviar Era il 1931 quando il Dottore Paul Niehans…

#Absolute Filler #Art Basel #Bonjour Interactive Lab #Concealer Foundation #La Prairie #Paul Coudamy #Skin Caviar #Svizzera #Tremenss

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lebookblog · 6 years

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Congratulations to BONJOUR LAB, the winner of the NON-TRADITIONAL EXPERIENTIAL category for the Creative Awards at CONNECTIONS BERLIN 2018. For the launch of their new sneakers line called DEERUPT , adidas has organized a series of creative events in Paris, London, Manchester and Amsterdam. We have presented a custom-made interactive experience for those shows, to mark the entrance of the invite only guests on the GRID, main pattern of the sneaker. Once the user places himself on the zone, he is then becoming the model of a 3D body scan that will, in real-time, reinterpret his body as a grid to create his personal DEERUPT avatar. At the end of the shoot, user gets an instant view of his video, projected on the screens in front of him: welcome to the Deerupt society. He also receives an email that contains digital versions of his experience such as the video of his shoot, a profile picture taken out of it and a packshot of pictures (cover, banner,...) so that he can share his experience on social medias. View the full video here http://connectionsbylebook.com/berlin2018/nominee/adidas

#CONNECTIONSBERLIN #BONJOURLAB #LEBOOKCONNECT #CONNECTIONS #BERLIN #GERMANY #CREATIVE #COMMUNITY #CREATIVEAWARDS #WINNER #LEBOOK #2018 #NONTRADITIONAL #EXPERIENTIAL

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youngtravelerchaos · 4 years

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vampbait-a · 7 years

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|| Cemetery Roses

|| co-written with @cynaram

Previous: [1] [2]

It hurt to open his eyes. It hurt to move. It hurt, somehow, to think. Ah, yes. This was the result of eight uninterrupted days of work. Cabal got out of bed piece by piece, staggered to his housecoat, and went to apply water, razor, and tea to his unpleasant body. After that, he would see what his library could yield on the subject of llamiae.

There was little to find, except a book of blood magic some five hundred years old. Steeped in scandal, a vampire prince's torrid affair with an infernal succubus: their progeny a living mixture of the two. Feared by peasants for their cunning and ferocity, llamiae were sought by necromancers and sorcerers - often to seek the condition for themselves. These tales did not end well.

There were no accounts from the last century, many occult historians questioning if the succubine vampires existed at all.

The subspecies was the offspring of a succubine and a vampire; it was no wonder Laurelai hadn't much sense. He shut the book with a disdainful snap. So, llamiae had been enslaved by necromancers to exploit their natural talents. He wondered if Laurelai was familiar with this history, and if so, whether she might fear him luring her into a similar arrangement.

He dressed. When went to pick up the matchbox, his hand hesitated over it before he dropped it in his pocket.

In the cellar, he rapped on the lid of Horst's coffin. “She will be here soon. Get up so we can talk before you start fixing your hair.”

Horst opened the lid, yawning as he rose - as though his heels were on a hinge. Dressed in pajamas, he stepped down.

"I'm up, and I never need to fix my hair that much." He stood at his dresser, selecting his ensemble. Horst glanced at his brother in the mirror, arching a brow.

"What did you want to talk about? Putting down newspaper for your new pet-project?"

“I wouldn’t have invited her into the house if I didn’t think she could control herself. Control herself more generally, I mean, I’ve no reason to….” Why did this always happen when he spoke with Horst?

“I met Mlle. Laurelai last week, when she drank one of my contacts.” Cabal briefly outlined their interactions, skipping the more embarrassing confusions and the kiss. “She fears guns. She avoids the touch of silver. She fled daylight. Just pick something Horst, it is a waistcoat, not a blood oath. You can take it off later.”

He collected himself. “On the other hand, she is fast. And acrobatic, which suggests strength. Her skin is cold.”

The opening and closing of drawers became steadily louder with each point Johannes ticked off, until Horst was bristling with tension.

"There's no need to convince me to stay, if that's what you're attempting." He dressed as he spoke, choosing hues of baby-pink and lavender beneath a suit of navy blue. "I knew she was dangerous the moment I laid eyes on her- I'm not trying to be rude, but Johannes, her teeth! If she's drinking your contacts, why continue talking with her? She's obviously unbalanced." he gestured with one finger at his temple in a circular motion.

“I am aware this is risky. But I needed that gas, and the lab results have been so exciting, Horst. Once I have rested, tomorrow, or perhaps tonight, I will test the next steps of…. But yes.” He stored away the spark that had briefly lit his eyes, wherever he kept it. “I continue talking with her because that was her price - we will spend some time together and play games. It is not so much to ask. I can be back in the lab by midnight.”

"Her price? For what? This gas?" Horst was no more assured of Laurelai's sanity, and he turned to face Johannes as he pinned his cravat.

“Yes. She may be mad. I agree there is something odd about her. But Horst, she has occult powers. She can see ghosts. Llamiae were enslaved for that talent by necromancers, once. Perhaps she could….” Cabal’s eyes went distant. “If she can walk through my wards, what else might she be able to do? What if she might be hired?”

Seeing that faraway look on his brother's face, Horst began to form a new suspicion. He didn't like it.

"These other necromancers you keep mentioning. How did it turn out for them and the llamas?" He asked pointedly. "Hire her? With what, checkers and the occasional nibble?"

Downstairs, there was a rapping at the door, and the mail-slot flipped open, bright lavender eyes peering in. "Bonjour! I have arrived!"

Voices echoed in the little house. “I keep telling you, the word is llamia….” “…that foppish garment…” They went suddenly quiet at her announcement, and Cabal stepped lightly down the stairs.

He slowed to see the eyes peeking through the mail slot. “You will step back, Mademoiselle, so I may open the door.” He disengaged the locks, bars, and latches. “Good evening. Come in.” He raised a finger. “I would take it as a courtesy if you did not attempt to harm my brother.” He looked at the floor above and raised his voice. “Whatever the provocation.”

Laurelai did as asked, stepping back as the door was opened. Although dressed in the same clothes as the night before, she appeared dustier- having slept in the local cemetery.

He continued. “Be careful what you touch. There is silver around the house and many dangerous things. Remain on the ground floor unless you are explicitly invited. Do not ‘solve’ any of my other wards. I am Johannes Cabal. Come into the parlour.”

"Johannes Cabal?" She smiled at him. "You are lucky to have two names. I just use one, but sometimes I say 'Wingates' to blend in. Not often."

Cabal had three names, but mentioning it would only provoke another question. She looked surprised by Cabal's requirements and tilted her head curiously. "Are you very used to others trying to kill you? I will not attempt to harm anyone, cheré, but I will defend myself if he grabs me again."

Cautiously, Laurelai peered into the hallway but did not at first enter. She had never been in a private residence before, and the temptation to explore was overwhelming. Finally, she stepped inside, squinting slightly at the profusion of light as she looked around in simple wonder.

“Yes, I am very used to murder attempts. Horst thought you were attacking me last night. And even then he did not try to kill you outright.” Cabal frowned. Not that he thought about it, it wouldn’t do to have Horst coddling attempted killers.

"Why? Do they not like you?" Laurelai couldn't imagine why a man like Cabal would be disliked, and she seemed puzzled as she followed him into the parlor. Bare feet left dusty tracks on polished wood floors and carpet alike as Laurelai walked directly over to the singing box upon the mantle, completely ignoring the chessboard.

"What is this?" she asked, visibly resisting an urge to pick up the box and shake it. It ceased its humming and fell unusually silent. Laurelai's attention was short-lived, and there were many things in the room she thought interesting.

Half a second later, she was peering at the shelves of books and running her fingers over the spines.

"...you have a very nice house!"

It was disquieting to have a stranger in the house. He had sufficient reasons for inviting her in, but actually seeing it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. The way she kept touching things didn’t help.

She didn’t seem to require answers to her string of questions (a string that he could dimly begin to see stretching out, endless, into the past and future), so he asked one of his own. “Do you read?”

"Non," Laurelai had a book in her hands, and looked down at the colorful illustrations that accompanied each encyclopedic entry. Some of the words she could recognize, but they were small and unhelpful as a whole.

"I would like to learn, but I do not know how to start." she sat down on the floor cross-legged, looking at prints of ancient hieroglyphs.

Behind Cabal, Horst appeared in a small current of cool air. He was smiling politely until he saw the grave dirt and bits of flower petals and leaves all over the floor.

"I see she brought the garden with her." Horst did not seem amused by the trail left behind by Laurelai's bare feet, and he went to fetch the broom to sweep up the worst of her mess. "I think I see why you like her. She's like one of your zombies."

“Horst, you are aware Mlle. Laurelai can hear you?” Cabal rebuked his brother with stunning hypocrisy.

Laurelai was frowning intently up at Horst, the book forgotten.

Horst looked over at her, immediately realizing his mistake. "Sorry, Miss. Hello, Miss." he said, though the sight of her covered in so much dirt was hardly gratifying. He continued sweeping up, and then retreated to the kitchen.

“You would not find that script so helpful,” Cabal said to the llamia. “But it would be easy to find a teacher for the Roman script, so you could read French and German and English. Shall we start the game?” Cabal gestured her to an overstuffed chair by the board; he almost quailed when he saw the dirt she had left on the bare floor, but he refused to acknowledge it. That would be admitting Horst had a point.

"Game?" Laurelai set the book aside and stood, looking at the chessboard. She had never seen one before, and moved to sit in Cabal's armchair- crouching atop the cushion.

"Oh, for pity's sake!" Horst bit his tongue at the sight of Laurelai on the furniture when he returned and looked at his brother in obvious pain over the upholstery.

"What?" Laurelai looked confused, immediately climbing down with a cornered expression.

Evidently there would be no game until the two blood-drinkers settled the crucial issue of dusty upholstery to their satisfaction. “Horst is piqued at the dirt you’ve brought into the house. He is critical of messes he didn’t make. I beg you will not concern yourself.”

Laurelai's eyes flicked from Cabal's to those of Horst, and then down at herself. She frowned, seeming to consider, and then hooked her fingers behind her back and addressed Horst politely:

"I beg your pardon, but I slept in the cemetery. I do not have other clothing." she told Horst humbly but unapologetically.

"Does this dirt bother you?" she asked Cabal, seeming far more concerned about his feelings than those of the vampire.

“Not today. Does it bother you? If you wished to…” Cabal tried to remember the polite phrase, “…refresh yourself? There are facilities upstairs,” he said doubtfully. He shot a glance at Horst, hoping for rescue from this unorthodox turn of the conversation.

Horst simply smiled encouragingly.

Laurelai had never thought about her appearance before, though now that she did it probably explained a few things. Namely the reactions people had towards her. She frowned thoughtfully.

"How about I let the two of you get cozy over your little game, and I'll have a look in the storage room. Maybe ...maybe I can find you something new to wear- bring out those eyes of yours-" Horst decided charm was a better tack and smiled at Laurelai. "And after the game you can have a good scrub."

Laurelai looked at the brothers and offered an awkward smile.

"...would this be a good thing?" she asked Cabal, tempted but hesitant. "Humans do this?"

Cabal felt a small righting of the cosmos as Horst tried to charm their guest.

“Humans do this,” he agreed gravely. “Whether you also do it is up to you. It might be useful, and it would save some sweeping. Now. Have you played before?” He nodded at the board. Excellent. They would play, and then Horst would assist Mlle. Laurelai, and he could go back to work on the new process.

That seemed to settle things. Laurelai smiled more easily and nodded at Horst. "Oui."

That more than satisfied Horst. He clapped his brother on the back and left them to their game to seek out the items he needed.

Laurelai relaxed once he was gone, and seated herself at the chessboard. She liked the knights, and held one in her palm; the ivory matching her skin.

"I have not. Is it difficult?"

“The game is not difficult. Besting your opponent may be.” Cabal briefly outlined the game: its object and the movement of the pieces. “It is conventional for an experienced player to ‘spot’ a beginner a piece at the beginning of the game, to even the competition. I could play without my queen?”

"No handicaps. I learn quickly." Laurelai purred as she replaced the knight, her smile slightly devious.

Perched comfortably on the floor with the board at eye-level, she moved a pawn. Every detail was absorbed by clever eyes; each breath Cabal took measured and calculated as part of the game. Her memory keen, each mistake a clue to winning.

She growled as he claimed her bishop.

His eyes narrowed. In his preoccupation with the game, he had almost forgotten who he was playing. She was competitive and a fast learner. He approved. He baited a trap, waited to see if she would take it.

Laurelai was also inexperienced, and she seized upon the move with a triumphant laugh- until she lost another piece.

She nearly stood up- hands outspread as if she might rend the board to shreds with glasslike claws.

She had lost.

Instead, Laurelai laughed and clapped her hands.

"I adore this game, Monsieur Cabal! May we play again?"

Cabal could admire someone who was gracious in defeat, particularly if he was the winning party and ‘graciousness’ extended to not clawing out his eyes. He checked the clock. “One more. And then I shall return to work.” This had almost been pleasant. “Beware anything that seems too easy a gain, Mademoiselle.”

"Oui! But of course!" Laurelai laughed, delightful as she began to reset the chessboard.

She counted each piece with a glasslike nail, emitting a happy purr and fluttering dark lashes at Cabal.

"You are very clever. I like the challenge." she spoke earnestly, allowing him the opening move. "Stupid people annoy me, and I tend to drink them before the conversation gives me a headache. Does that ever happen to you?"

“You live an enviable life, Mademoiselle. Not everyone can indulge whims that freely. Let us play.” He turned his eyes to the board, away from her sudden onslaught of purring and eyelash-batting. With any luck, she would be as patient with her second loss as her first.

"You do not indulge yourself? How sad that is." Laurelai was sincere in this, unable to imagine the drudgery of a life without fun. She addressed the game, avoiding pitfalls and cleverly claiming a rook.

"Food, fun, companionship, sex- these are great joys." she watched him. "What is the point of living if not for this?"

“You are a hedonist. I do not envy a life spent pursuing empty pleasures.” Cabal felt obscurely irritated and attributed it to the lost rook. He advanced a pawn. “I prefer to work.”

"There is nothing wrong with fun." Laurelai shrugged, feeling very little need to argue. She turned her attention to the game, unburdened by his opinion.

Laurelai castled her king, recalling the move from earlier observation.

"What do you do?” She asked. “I watched you, but I could not figure it out."

“When did you watch me?” Cabal was immediately distracted from the game.

"Last night." she met his gaze. "I did not want to interrupt, it seemed rude."

“Ah. On the roof.” He relaxed. “I am a scientist. That is my laboratory. I research and experiment.”

"I thought you were a necromancer?" Laurelai was aware of the distinction in language, and the change in title confused her. Or was he lying?

"Look at what I found!" Horst interrupted, sweeping into the room with an aged gown of pale green silk. Accustomed to far more contemporary ladies, he smiled widely as he knelt to present his find to Laurelai.

Laurelai looked at it briefly, uninterested.

"I cannot climb in that."

Horst looked crestfallen. "Climb?"

"Oui."

“Mademoiselle Laurelai enjoys climbing. She is very skilled.” Cabal kept his face carefully neutral. He didn’t enjoy hearing the word ‘necromancer’ fall casually from acquaintances’ lips, not even from people as unconventional as Laurelai. However she had learned it. Had he hinted? Or had her spirits told her?

He couldn’t decide whether Horst’s entrance was a rescue or an irritation. Cabal was a scientist. He wanted to defend himself, his profession, though he doubted Laurelai cared what he called himself. She didn’t seem to find the idea offensive.

Cabal moved a bishop; this would take them into the endgame, and then Horst could happily spend the rest of the night trying to coax Laurelai into being his fashion plate.

Laurelai was uninterested in Horst or his gown, her favor clearly upon the younger Cabal and their game. She smiled at the compliment, ignoring the loss of her knight. She was more interested in the trap he was carefully setting.

"What were you doing last night? With the smoke in the glass tube?" Laurelai asked Cabal.

"But..." Horst looked pained, and he stood up again. "It's cleaner than what you have on, and you'll need something to wear after you bathe."

She had quick eyes, and she watched Cabal more than the pieces. That did not make him uncomfortable. She was watching him for weaknesses, and she would find none.

Her queen caught his eye. Why had she not moved it up to threaten his? Then he saw it and almost smiled. She had a trap, too! Not a subtle one, but neat and without unnecessary complication. Better and better. He would need to plan around that.

He pulled his attention back to the conversation. “The glass…? Oh. I was using the gas I acquired from you last week. That smoke was from the canister. It has a chemical effect I have been trying to produce for some time.”

Unused to being ignored, Horst stared at Johannes and Laurelai with a frown. At least no one was fighting, he decided, and Laurelai seemed nice even if she was odd.

Horst sighed and sat down to read, the spurned gown beside him.

"I was wondering why you wanted it. That effect is curious to me. Why do you need iridescent smoke?" She had become distracted by the conversation and by his interest in his own work.

He moved his knight to threaten her bishop. He was tempted to derail the question by reeling off enough technical detail to choke a peer-reviewed journal. If his so-called peers weren’t megalomaniac degenerates who were incapable of forming a review panel. Moved by an obscure impulse, he told the truth.

“I work in the field of necromancy, but I am a scientist.” He gave her a challenging look. “That gas, used in small quantities, may solve a biochemical issue I have been struggling with for years.”

Laurelai was immune to challenging looks, and Cabal's half-glare prompted a small smile. She claimed the bishop, and rolled the ebony piece between her fingertips.

"I think I understand. I hope this gas has helped?"

Horst had stopped reading, and was watching curiously; his brother was making friends! Begrudgingly, he had started to like Laurelai.

“It has. You will find that is checkmate, Mademoiselle.” Cabal stood. “I must return to my lab.”

Laurelai blinked and looked at the board. He had won. Again.

She growled under her breath and stood, mentally shaking off her defeat as she faced Cabal.

Horst stood as well, unsure what the growling meant.

"I want to play again." Laurelai said.

"Oh, but you'll let your bath get cold!" Horst interrupted, wrapping an ill-advised arm around her shoulders.

Laurelai immediately bared her fangs and slipped from Horst's friendly hug.

"Ne me touche pas!." she warned.

Horst did not speak French and looked at his brother.

“Mlle. Laurelai does not wish you to touch her. I can repeat that in German if the phrase isn’t familiar in English.” He nodded a good-evening at Laurelai. “I will be working, but perhaps you can persuade Horst into a game,” he said, blithely throwing his brother to the wolves. “Let us speak again before you leave.”

He had an idea maturing in his brain, and he wanted to give it further consideration before proposing it to Laurelai.

"Oh! No touching!" Horst held his hands up, hoping to placate the wild woman and avoid any confusion. He gestured to the stairs. "I'd be happy to play, but wouldn't it be nice to get cleaned up? I have a lovely rose scented shampoo…."

"Roses?" Laurelai perked up with the word, her desire for another game forgotten. She nodded absently at Cabal, looking now at Horst.

"Uh, yes?" Horst wasn't sure what he had said to earn such intense attention, and he gestured for Laurelai to follow him to the second floor. "You can bathe, and I'll see what I can do about cleaning your clothing." as well as everything else you touched, Horst smiled. "In the meantime, a dress would look pretty on you."

"Why does being pretty matter?" Laurelai's endless questions about everything continued as Horst closed them in the bathroom- the sound of running water soon following.

Cabal’s steps quickened on the stairs as he thought about the crucial point he had reached in this series of experiments. Through the bathroom door he could hear the sounds of running water, Laurelai’s questions, and Horst’s bemused replies. But she could be reasoned with. She seemed glad to have been helpful in the matter of the gas; he must consider it.

It took longer than might be expected for Horst to coax Laurelai into the bathtub- in part due to the amount of time he spent dumbstruck by her figure and lack of shame. There was minimal shrieking, and what sounds could be heard through the floor did not sound angry.

At least until Laurelai kicked Horst out of the bathroom.

He appeared in the attic doorway with a slip of aged paper in one hand.

"Do you have a minute to chat while she's busy? I think I've found something." Horst said.

Cabal put down the valve he had been inspecting. “You are going through her pockets, now? How underhanded. What did you find?”

"Only to be polite. I was going to wash her clothes. I think it's an article?" Horst had his shirt sleeves cuffed to the elbow, his waistcoat damp. He crossed the room and handed the paper to Johannes.

"That's her in the picture, isn't it? I can't read French very well, but it's a theater show, isn't it?"

The ‘article’ was actually a testimonial- some ten years old. Laurelai was clearly pictured in a dramatic pose: reclining with a human skull and other occult objects.

Medium! Dance of the Dead! the playbill proclaimed, going on in frivolous script of the occult powers of the scantily clad woman: one Mlle. Laurelai Wingates.

“Of sorts.” Cabal held the paper delicately. The scrap told him little; she had performed upon the stage, once. After she was turned? Before? Had she had true talents before the change, or was this a strange coincidence?

“I may ask her about it.” He gave Horst a brief, uncomfortable look. “Are you bored, Horst? Mlle. Laurelai - Mlle. Wingates, it seems - is not our charge.”

"No, but aren't you curious? I mean, she isn't like me at all! She's warm and breathing, and her heart is beating- not as much as yours, mind you, but she's not dead." Horst was perplexed as much as he was excited; if such a creature existed, could there be hope in his own condition?

"If she was made to be like she is, that means that it is a virus, like you hypothesized?"

Something downstairs broke: the sound of Laurelai cursing in the tiled bathroom following.

“She is alive?” Cabal didn’t hear Horst’s evasion. He had not suspected Laurelai was alive, if the story of the dual vampire and succubine heritage of the condition was true.

The train of thought was cut off by the sound of a porcelain soap dish meeting the floor and shattering into a thousand splinters. Cabal winced. “Go. Weren’t you supposed to be keeping her out of trouble? I will…” he would have to leave his workbench without completing the test. “I will follow you in a moment. See if there’s something of mother’s she’ll wear. Something less formal.”

With a nod, Horst vanished. Cabal didn’t procrastinate; he put his materials away, descended the stairs, and awaited Laurelai in the parlor with the paper on the hearthside table.

The next twenty minutes were not as simple as Horst would have liked; nor was helping Laurelai to wash and brush her hair pleasant. A misunderstanding cost Horst his waistcoat when her nails were employed defensively against the brush.

Once the worst of her grooming was out of the way, Horst left Laurelai to dress and walked downstairs to the parlor. He wished he could have a brandy.

"Do not underestimate her. She’s feisty.” Horst commented, looking pained as he took off his ruined waistcoat.

A moment later, Laurelai followed. She was much less wild looking now that she was clean and groomed, her dark curls drawn up in a pale pink ribbon. Although still barefoot, she looked like she did in the picture. "I do not think I can climb in this."

Cabal was amused. “But you would attract less attention in public, if you wished it.” She looked more human, less a creature of blood and bracken.

It was not a comfortable change to witness. His fear of her had lessened as his curiosity grew, but this was the problem: Cabal could understand, even relate to a creature who saw the world in terms of predator and prey. A person with a past, a pink dress, and a matching hair ribbon was a stranger, subtler creature.

He did not think this through. He only knew he was uncomfortable. Best to get it over with. He gestured at the paper. “It was not my intention to pry. You will rightly think this is none of my affair. I do not approve of a frivolous interest in the private lives of others; be assured, I have my reasons.” He was talking too much. “But I wish to know; were you a medium before your conversion into a llamia?”

Laurelai looked down at her dress. It felt wrong, loose around her hips, leaving her feeling underdressed. She glanced at Horst, who smiled back. She tugged at her skirt, disliking the feeling of the air moving around bare legs.

Then Cabal spoke, and her eyes fixed upon the paper in his hand. Violet hues narrowed, and Laurelai said nothing as she walked forward to reclaim her possession.

"<I do not know.>" she switched to French, untrusting of Horst. "<I do not know how I came to be as I am. Why is he staring at me?>"

<“You look different from before. Additionally,”> Cabal sighed, <“he stares at women sometimes. You may wish to swat him gently with something.”>

"<I did. He is persistent.>" Laurelai sighed and tucked the aging paper into the bosom of her dress, resolving to ignore her admirer.

He switched back to English. “You do not know how you were changed? You have no memory of a human life? How far back do your memories go?”

Cabal's question drew her attention, and she counted on her fingertips as she thought. Finally, she gave a date some five years prior.

"<I dug my way out of the refuse, a shallow grave, Monsieur. I had that in my pocket, and a small book I cannot read.>" she tilted her head slightly, her eyes softening. "<Why? Do you know me?>"

A small line appeared between Cabal’s brows. “No, Mademoiselle,” he said gently. “I do not know you. I would have told you before now. And yet. You could learn more of your past if you wished. It seems you were a public figure of sorts.” He cancelled his next thought. It would be the work of an hour in a newspaper archive to…. No. He had no time. A book?

"Oh." The glimmer of hope that had previously filled Laurelai's lavender hues at the thought of being recognized vanished. Her shoulders dropped, and she moved to sit in the overstuffed chair.

“Well. Perhaps you had a native gift that was made stronger by your conversion. Your follower Frank; is he here now?” He regretted it almost as soon as he’d said it. A demonstration of her powers would be educational, but he had a growing desire to bring the evening to an end. His strength was not back yet, and he had spent the best hours of the night. He should go to bed and start fresh at dawn.

"Frank? Non, he could not come past the gate." Laurelai sighed and picked up the white queen from the chessboard. "There is only le blonde belle, here. Who is she?"

Cabal’s mind stopped. He strove not to understand something he had understood immediately. If there was one ghost here, if there was one spirit from all those whose bodies had passed under this roof, if she was a woman, and blonde, if she was beautiful, then….

He revolted against the idea. She slept. He knew she was dead, but it was only for now. At the very lease, she wasn’t hanging about the parlour. This was an innocent confusion. This was a lucky guess. This was manipulation, though how or why he could not imagine. He didn’t dare look at Horst. “I have no idea who you mean. Describe her.”

"You don't know her? She follows you." Laurelai looked surprised, though she was used to skepticism. Standing, she seemed to take measure of someone who was not standing beside Cabal.

"She is perhaps a little taller than me. Pretty, and young. Blue eyes, and there is a sadness there. She is blonde, and her hair is like mine." Laurelai meant curly, and gestured to indicate that fact.

"Who is she?"

Horst had stopped reading, looking stricken by the conversation.

“I know any number of blonde women. Perhaps it is Miss Barrow.” Cabal’s smile was ghastly. “I have not heard she died, but following me about would be a fit hell for her shade. You have told me nothing. Mediums deceive with generalities. Hair and eye color, both common. Vague sentimentality.” The words flicked out like a knife. He glanced, unwilling, at the empty place Laurelai had watched. “If you cannot give me better proof, I must disbelieve you.” He must, or what would he be forced to feel now?

It occurred to him that Horst and Laurelai must be able hear his heart. He wished it would stop.

Laurelai floundered, at a loss. She had expected to be believed - had he not been understanding so far? "...I.."

"Maybe we shouldn't?" Horst offered, on the literal edge of his seat. He had a bad feeling - like watching a train wreck in slow motion.

"She is wearing a white sun-dress, with yellow flowers on it," Laurelai was more earnest now, and tried harder to focus upon the woman she perceived. "Her ears are pierced with pearls, but one of her shoes are missing… She is speaking…" Laurelai raised a hand to her temple, concentration etched in ivory. "She says..."

Horst was right: they shouldn’t. Cabal should never have invited Laurelai in, never should have allowed this intimacy, but now that it was happening, now that the still frame of this moment bound them in place and inexorably flicked to the next, there was no stopping it.

Cabal was standing opposite Laurelai, eyes full of hate or of pain in extremity. Without realizing it, he had one hand half-extended towards her: to stifle the flow of words, to touch her, who knew. He was no longer entirely here.

Pearls. Pearls were for tears, she’d laughed, and he’d been embarrassed; he hadn’t known they were a bad-luck gift. But pearls were almost as common as blue eyes.

It was the bare foot. The single bare foot he had forgotten until now, with the green blot of river-mud staining her instep. The smell of the river water was strong in his nose, rising up from her as it dried in the sun.

Horst looked on in confusion and dawning horror, but he didn't know how to stop the tempest he saw building in his younger brother. "Miss Laurelai? I think that's enough, you can stop now."

"She says--" Laurelai repeated, and then an odd posture overtook her figure. She went stiff and limp all at once, her head tipping back as if she were nothing more than a puppet. Her expression became blank- eyes unfocused as a voice that was not her own issued past borrowed lips:

"My mother wears pearls, and besides, aren't you supposed to be saving money? You're so sweet to me, Johannes, but I won't have you standing in the bread line just to buy me pretty things..."

It was Berenice’s accent, her cadence. He had never forgotten her voice, but even a good memory is not perfect. It was like the shock of cold, pure water, hearing it. He could not see her, but it was true, some part of her was there in the room with him. It was more than he could bear, and yet the words came on, assembling into sentences, into a half-remembered conversation that issued from the llamia’s blood-red lips.

”Nein, halt, stop, you will stop….” Laurelai did not hear, or at least the voice kept coming. It was inexorable. It hurt him. He had no words, wanted to shout to drown it out. He lurched towards Laurelai, put his hand over her mouth. Tighter. Tighter.

Laurelai's head tipped back under the force of Cabal's hands on her face and neck- his grip on her enough to bruise a mortal woman. The voice was silenced, lavender eyes blinking in sudden awareness as the connection was broken.

"Johannes!" Whereas Horst was at first frozen in horror at what he had seen and heard, his brother's sudden outburst prompted action. He didn't know what Johannes meant to do, and fear lurched cold in his slow-beating heart.

"Let go! She doesn't know!" Horst pulled Johannes back.

Laurelai fell to the floor as Horst pushed between them- her mind reeling, weak from the force that had overtaken her. What had happened? She looked up at the brothers in fear and confusion, her head pounding.

Johannes fell to his hands and knees when Horst released him. It was silent in the parlor, except for his heavy breathing. His hands made fists on the carpet.

“Go. Now. This instant, or I will not be responsible for what I do. Go. How dare you. How dare you.” It didn’t matter that he asked her, taunted her to do it. He was a pit of rage and pain and guilt. Every wound had been reopened. Now she saw him in the aftermath, and that was unforgivable as well. He dashed the tears from his eyes. “Now.”

Laurelai looked at Cabal in hurt and confusion - unaware of what had occurred during her trance. He was angry at her, the rage seeming to seep from every pore.

She scrambled back, tried to get up and tripped on her skirt, falling again.

"I am sorry!" She managed, fearful of the brothers as she made it to her feet- nearly tripping again. The paper clipping fell from her dress, ignored where it fell. Pitiful, she ran.

Horst didn't know what to say, his own expression fraught. "Johannes, I don't think she meant to-"

He was interrupted by the sound of the door slamming open, and the cries of startled pixies as Laurelai fled the house.

#cynaram #|| Drabble #|| save tag #|| Laurelai #|| Cemetery Roses

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reseau-actu · 6 years

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Une étude évoquait un « gonflement » artificiel du volume d’échanges relatifs à l’affaire sur Twitter, poussant des politiques à agiter le spectre de l’influence russe. Une hypothèse à relativiser.

Ce fut un petit événement dans l’événement, et une bouffée d’oxygène bienvenue pour les partisans d’Emmanuel Macron, secoués par une rude fin de mois de juillet rythmée par l’affaire Benalla : cette dernière aurait vu son audience « gonflée », sur les réseaux sociaux et particulièrement Twitter, par des comptes émanant d’une « sphère russophile ».

L’information, reprise par de nombreux médias, émane d’une étude — partielle, dans un premier temps — d’EU Disinfo Lab, une ONG belge fondée par trois spécialistes des questions de réputation, Nicolas Vanderbiest, Alexandre Alaphilippe et Gary Machado.

Elle a été prise très au sérieux par plusieurs responsables de la majorité, à l’instar de Benjamin Griveaux, porte-parole du gouvernement, qui souhaite que « toute la transparence soit faite » sur ces messages. Le groupe Agir (centre-droit) a demandé que la commission d’enquête consacrée à l’affaire Benalla au Sénat se saisisse de « la manipulation attribuée aux comptes russophiles sur Twitter pour déstabiliser l’exécutif français ».

Derrière ces déclarations, un soupçon devenu récurrent depuis la victoire de Donald Trump, celui d’une influence poutinienne sur les réseaux sociaux français visant à déstabiliser le pays. Mais peut-on réellement parler d’un « gonflage » artificiel de l’affaire, et plus encore d’une « sphère russophile » qui aurait œuvré pour cela ?

L’étude définitive de l’ONG, publiée mercredi 8 août, se montre en réalité bien plus prudente que les reprises qui en ont été faites dans la presse. Et en se penchant sur les cas de comptes identifiés comme douteux, on relativise plus encore l’existence de ces fameux comptes automatiques.

2 600 comptes auraient produit 1,8 million de ces messages

Que montre l’étude ? Qu’une minorité de comptes Twitter a été très active sur l’affaire Benalla, générant une audience très forte autour de cette polémique. L’ONG a compté 4 millions de tweets s’y rapportant au cours des onze derniers jours, et explique que 2 600 comptes auraient produit 1,8 million de ces messages à eux seuls. D’où une proportion, schématisée, de 1 % des utilisateurs à l’origine de 47 % de l’ensemble des messages.

Ce ratio est-il exceptionnel ? Oui, estime EU Disinfo Lab. Difficile d’être catégorique cependant, faute de point de référence clair sur d’autres affaires politiques. Une loi générale des réseaux sociaux postule de manière empirique que 20 % des utilisateurs produit 80 % du contenu. On est ici dans cet ordre de grandeur, qui correspond à des usages très différents de Twitter. Tout utilisateur un peu régulier du réseau social aura remarqué que les personnes qui y militent pour une formation politique tendent à être plus impliquées et plus actives — spécialement en plein mois de juillet quand une partie de la France est en vacances.

Rien donc de particulièrement étonnant à ce que, comme le note l’étude, des comptes pro-Mélenchon ou pro-Rassemblement national aient été immédiatement très mobilisés : opposés à la majorité d’Emmanuel Macron, ils ont été prolixes pour relayer, commenter et amplifier les révélations successives de cette affaire politique et régalienne, donc au cœur de leurs préoccupations.

LE BENALLISME EST UNE MANIÈRE DE GOUVERNER#Benalla représente la forme la plus aboutie du macronisme. Gérer l’opposition par la violence, vivre au-dessus des lois, se croire intouchable. Retrouvez mon discours sur la position de vote de la @FranceInsoumise #MotionDeCensure pic.twitter.com/b6cwU9hUY2

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Informations sur les Publicités Twitter et confidentialité

EU Disinfo Lab note également que les partisans d’Emmanuel Macron ont, eux aussi, été nombreux à s’exprimer sur l’affaire Benalla, ajoutant donc au volume global des messages. L’ONG a en outre postulé, surtout dans un premier temps, que parmi les comptes les plus actifs se trouvent un certain nombre de profils gérés de façon automatique et qui feraient ainsi artificiellement gonfler les sujets de leur choix.

Robots ou militants se relayant frénétiquement

Un point méthodologique est ici à préciser : dans ce comptage, il n’est fait aucune distinction entre un tweet « nouveau », qu’une personne rédige, et un « retweet », qui consiste à partager un tweet déjà émis par un autre auprès de ses abonnés. Or, les communautés de militants politiques sont souvent très actives pour retweeter.

Peut-on imaginer que ces retweets aient été en partie le fait de comptes automatisés, appelés « bots » (diminutif de robots) dans le jargon du réseau ? C’est cette partie de l’analyse qui a le plus retenu l’attention. Elle reste pourtant à démontrer en grande part. En prenant les comptes les plus actifs cités par l’étude, on peut de fait se demander s’ils sont tenus par des humains : ils ont une activité frénétique, notamment de retweets.

Ainsi, un compte militant pour La France insoumise (LFI), et centrant son activité sur les retweets, a mentionné 653 fois le nom d’Alexandre Benalla dans ses messages ou relais de messages, en l’espace d’une semaine à peine. Mais ce compte, dont l’activité frénétique peut faire penser à celle d’un robot, semble bien tenu par un humain, une humaine en l’occurrence : contactée, l’auteure explique consacrer beaucoup de temps à son activité sur Twitter, et notamment à relayer des informations issues d’autres comptes.

Une vérification plus poussée de son activité et de ses échanges tend à confirmer qu’il s’agit bien d’une personne réelle et non d’un robot ou d’un espion russe. On obtiendra la même réponse en se penchant sur plusieurs possesseurs de compte, souvent « fiers », d’ailleurs, du rythme de leurs retweets, là encore, en général plusieurs centaines par jour.

Des comptes très militants chez les « hyperactifs »

Nous avons regardé un peu plus en détail les 120 comptes cités comme les plus actifs selon l’étude. On y note une très forte domination de l’extrême droite et des comptes militants issus de la droite Les Républicains (LR). Mais la plupart de ceux-ci n’ont pas franchement l’air de robots, même si tous font montre d’une activité impressionnante, souvent ancienne d’ailleurs, sur le réseau.

On repère en réalité dans ces 120 comptes plusieurs « familles » militantes issues de divers combats politique (la sphère « Manif pour tous », les ex-soutiens de François Fillon, la « Team Michu », nom d’une série de comptes affiliés à la droite républicaine et active sous François Hollande, par exemple), toutes rompues à l’activisme numérique. La France insoumise y est peu présente, moins d’une dizaine de comptes parmi ces 120 hyperactifs semblent y militer. EU Disinfo Lab estime cependant que dans le corpus total, les militants LFI ont été très actifs.

"Bonjour. On vient faire une perquisition chez vous" "Ah. Désolé. J'ai pas les clés" "Ah. Bon. Tant pis. On repassera" (Perquisition chez #Benalla dans la République irréprochable de Macron). Je crois que le mieux c'est qu'on en rigole...

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Informations sur les Publicités Twitter et confidentialité

En vérifiant ces 120 « hyperactifs », on note qu’un grand nombre de ces profils ont des interactions personnalisées avec d’autres utilisateurs, répondent, questionnent… bref, manifestent une activité « humaine » qui rend difficile de croire qu’il s’agit là de profils entièrement informatisés. Si quelques comptes louches ou « hybrides » (tenus par des humains, mais avec des fonctions automatisées de retweet par exemple) sont pointés du doigt par EU DesinfoLab, ils représentent une faible minorité.

Nous avons cherché, par des moyens informatiques, à trouver des « canevas » commun : heures de publication, liens entre les divers comptes, etc. Rien ne nous a semblé pouvoir prouver une « collusion » entre les comptes, qui certes produisent frénétiquement des tweets, mais se suivent essentiellement entre eux et par affinités politiques. Même si on a pu voir des comptes militants de droite reprendre des tweets de militants LFI autour de l’affaire, ou l’inverse, cela restait l’exception plutôt qu’une règle.

EU Disinfo Lab pointe un réseau de comptes affiliés à La Manif pour tous, dont un compte en particulier, HdeBonneVolonté, existant depuis les débats de 2013. De fait, on le retrouve parmi les plus suivis de notre échantillon de 120 « hyperactifs ». Mais quel poids a-t-il pu jouer à lui seul ? Une autre étude, menée par Damien Liccia, analyste d’opinion, spécialisé donc lui aussi dans ces mesures, mais avec une autre méthodologie (excluant les retweets), parvient à une conclusion similaire : pour lui, si des comptes ont pu bénéficier d’une forme d’aide ou d’automatisation, ils n’étaient pas au centre de l’influence et n’ont pas joué de rôle particulier pour amplifier la polémique.

Que signifie, ici, le terme « russophiles » ?

L’autre point qui a beaucoup retenu l’attention est celui des fameux comptes « russophiles ». Quelques politiques ont voulu, dans cette affaire, mettre en avant une influence étrangère. En réalité, « l’écosystème russophile » dont parle EU Disinfo Lab n’a rien à voir avec le spectre des hackers russes, souvent agité ces derniers mois. L’ONG, qui consacre une longue partie de son étude à justifier ce point mal compris, définit cet écosystème comme un ensemble de comptes ayant par exemple tweeté sur des rumeurs ou des scandales comme les « macronleaks » ces documents piratés aux responsables de la campagne d’Emmanuel Macron, et apparus à la veille du premier tour sur Internet), ou partageant fréquemment des liens issus de sites francophones russes comme Russia Today ou Sputnik.

#AffaireDEtat #BenallaMacron Ne sachant plus quoi faire pour aider le petit soldat de l'oligarchie #Macron , les reseaux de #barbouzes néolibéraux jouent leur dernière carte : #Benalla c'est la faute aux russophiles de tweeter ! https://www.les-crises.fr/russeurope-en-exil-laffaire-benalla-cest-la-faute-aux-russes-ou-la-derniere-excuses-des-dominants-par-jacques-sapir/ …

[RussEurope-en-Exil] L’affaire Benalla, « c’est la faute aux russes » ou la dernière excuses des...

Depuis quelques jours, une rumeur circule, complaisamment relayée par certains organes de presse : l’affaire « Benalla » aurait été gonflée[1] par des compte twitter qualifiés de « russophil…

Voir les autres Tweets de France Insoumise Rennes φ

Informations sur les Publicités Twitter et confidentialité

Mais, là encore, il y a un monde entre partager des documents qu’on imagine nocifs pour Emmanuel Macron lorsqu’on s’oppose à lui ; apprécier Russia Today par opposition aux médias français qu’on ne porte pas dans son cœur ; voire admirer Vladimir Poutine et sa « fermeté » ; et travailler pour la Russie. Il est assez fréquent à l’extrême droite de préférer Russia Today au Monde ou à Libération, et de se montrer élogieux envers Vladimir Poutine. Cela ne signifie pas pour autant qu’on œuvre activement pour une puissance étrangère.

Les deux études d’EU Disinfo Lab et de Damien Liccia concluent finalement dans le même sens : sans infirmer catégoriquement la présence de « bots », ceux-ci n’auront de toute façon joué qu’un rôle mineur dans cette polémique.

De fait, s’il est celui des journalistes, des communicants ou des politiques, Twitter n’est pas, contrairement à Facebook, un réseau de masse. S’il peut être efficace d’y utiliser des méthodes artificielles pour faire exister médiatiquement un sujet dont on craint qu’il ne le soit pas, il est moins aisé de comprendrel’intérêt de tenter d’y « gonfler » une affaire qui fait déjà l’ouverture des journaux télévisés et les couvertures des quotidiens et revues périodiques, comme ce fut le cas de l’affaire Benalla.

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