#Vacherie

[chuckpatch]

Oak Alley, 1986

[vieuxmetiers]

Vacherie Saint-Christophe - Lait chaud matin et soir, Clamard, Hauts-de-Seine.

[postcard-from-the-past]

"La Vacherie" ruins in Troyes, Champagne region of France

French vintage postcard

[dadaisme]

Quand Chirac vient me voir, il monte avec ses idées et il redescend avec les miennes.

[conandaily2022]

Did Vacherie, Louisiana's Nikeal Franklin, Jy'Shaun Jackson shoot 12 people in Baton Rouge?

Both Nikeal Franklin, 19, and Jy’Shaun Jackson, 19, are residents of Vacherie, St. James Parish, Louisiana, United States. Vacherie is around 50 miles away from Baton Rouge, East Baton Rouge Parish, Louisiana.

[iranondeaira]

Les “Je t'adore” et les “Je t'aime” sont superficiels, ils ne valent rien du tout.

Ce qui compte, c'est le temps, c'est les souvenirs. C'est toutes les emmerdes, tous les sourires, toutes les engueulades, tous les rires. Tous les moments à ne rien faire, toutes les soirées, toutes les larmes, toutes les conneries, tous les jeux, toutes les blagues pourries, toutes les vacheries, toutes les réussites, tous les succès, toutes les chutes, tous les échecs, tous les gribouillages, toutes les photos, toutes les musiques, tous les films, tous les mauvais choix, toutes les rencontres, tous les délires, tout le temps perdu et tout le temps gagné, toutes les étreintes, toutes les entraides, tous les moments où l'on s'est perdu, et tous ceux où on s'est retrouvé.

Tout ce bric à brac, c'est ça qui compte.

Garder toutes ces images, toutes ces odeurs, dans une petite boîte à souvenir qui s'appelle la mémoire. Les garder bien précieusement, et tout fermer à clé. Car c'est tout ce qui nous tient debout, pour toujours…

Auteur inconnu…

[papillondusublime]

Comme je descendais des Fleuves impassibles, Je ne me sentis plus guidé par les haleurs : Des Peaux-Rouges criards les avaient pris pour cibles, Les ayant cloués nus aux poteaux de couleurs.

J’étais insoucieux de tous les équipages, Porteur de blés flamands ou de cotons anglais. Quand avec mes haleurs ont fini ces tapages, Les Fleuves m’ont laissé descendre où je voulais.

Dans les clapotements furieux des marées, Moi, l’autre hiver, plus sourd que les cerveaux d’enfants, Je courus ! Et les Péninsules démarrées N’ont pas subi tohu-bohus plus triomphants.

La tempête a béni mes éveils maritimes. Plus léger qu’un bouchon j’ai dansé sur les flots Qu’on appelle rouleurs éternels de victimes, Dix nuits, sans regretter l’oeil niais des falots !

Plus douce qu’aux enfants la chair des pommes sures, L’eau verte pénétra ma coque de sapin Et des taches de vins bleus et des vomissures Me lava, dispersant gouvernail et grappin.

Et dès lors, je me suis baigné dans le Poème De la Mer, infusé d’astres, et lactescent, Dévorant les azurs verts ; où, flottaison blême Et ravie, un noyé pensif parfois descend ;

Où, teignant tout à coup les bleuités, délires Et rhythmes lents sous les rutilements du jour, Plus fortes que l’alcool, plus vastes que nos lyres, Fermentent les rousseurs amères de l’amour !

Je sais les cieux crevant en éclairs, et les trombes Et les ressacs et les courants : je sais le soir, L’Aube exaltée ainsi qu’un peuple de colombes, Et j’ai vu quelquefois ce que l’homme a cru voir !

J’ai vu le soleil bas, taché d’horreurs mystiques, Illuminant de longs figements violets, Pareils à des acteurs de drames très antiques Les flots roulant au loin leurs frissons de volets !

J’ai rêvé la nuit verte aux neiges éblouies, Baisers montant aux yeux des mers avec lenteurs, La circulation des sèves inouïes, Et l’éveil jaune et bleu des phosphores chanteurs !

J’ai suivi, des mois pleins, pareille aux vacheries Hystériques, la houle à l’assaut des récifs, Sans songer que les pieds lumineux des Maries Pussent forcer le mufle aux Océans poussifs !

J’ai heurté, savez-vous, d’incroyables Florides Mêlant aux fleurs des yeux de panthères à peaux D’hommes ! Des arcs-en-ciel tendus comme des brides Sous l’horizon des mers, à de glauques troupeaux !

J’ai vu fermenter les marais énormes, nasses Où pourrit dans les joncs tout un Léviathan ! Des écroulements d’eaux au milieu des bonaces, Et les lointains vers les gouffres cataractant !

Glaciers, soleils d’argent, flots nacreux, cieux de braises ! Échouages hideux au fond des golfes bruns Où les serpents géants dévorés des punaises Choient, des arbres tordus, avec de noirs parfums !

J’aurais voulu montrer aux enfants ces dorades Du flot bleu, ces poissons d’or, ces poissons chantants. – Des écumes de fleurs ont bercé mes dérades Et d’ineffables vents m’ont ailé par instants.

Parfois, martyr lassé des pôles et des zones, La mer dont le sanglot faisait mon roulis doux Montait vers moi ses fleurs d’ombre aux ventouses jaunes Et je restais, ainsi qu’une femme à genoux…

Presque île, ballottant sur mes bords les querelles Et les fientes d’oiseaux clabaudeurs aux yeux blonds. Et je voguais, lorsqu’à travers mes liens frêles Des noyés descendaient dormir, à reculons !

Or moi, bateau perdu sous les cheveux des anses, Jeté par l’ouragan dans l’éther sans oiseau, Moi dont les Monitors et les voiliers des Hanses N’auraient pas repêché la carcasse ivre d’eau ;

Libre, fumant, monté de brumes violettes, Moi qui trouais le ciel rougeoyant comme un mur Qui porte, confiture exquise aux bons poètes, Des lichens de soleil et des morves d’azur ;

Qui courais, taché de lunules électriques, Planche folle, escorté des hippocampes noirs, Quand les juillets faisaient crouler à coups de triques Les cieux ultramarins aux ardents entonnoirs ;

Moi qui tremblais, sentant geindre à cinquante lieues Le rut des Béhémots et les Maelstroms épais, Fileur éternel des immobilités bleues, Je regrette l’Europe aux anciens parapets !

J’ai vu des archipels sidéraux ! et des îles Dont les cieux délirants sont ouverts au vogueur : – Est-ce en ces nuits sans fonds que tu dors et t’exiles, Million d’oiseaux d’or, ô future Vigueur ?

Mais, vrai, j’ai trop pleuré ! Les Aubes sont navrantes. Toute lune est atroce et tout soleil amer : L���âcre amour m’a gonflé de torpeurs enivrantes. Ô que ma quille éclate ! Ô que j’aille à la mer !

Si je désire une eau d’Europe, c’est la flache Noire et froide où vers le crépuscule embaumé Un enfant accroupi plein de tristesse, lâche Un bateau frêle comme un papillon de mai.

Je ne puis plus, baigné de vos langueurs, ô lames, Enlever leur sillage aux porteurs de cotons, Ni traverser l’orgueil des drapeaux et des flammes, Ni nager sous les yeux horribles des pontons.

-Le bateau ivre, Arthur Rimbaud

[raisongardee]

"La machine c’est l’infection même. La défaite suprême ! Quel flanc ! Quel bidon ! La machine la mieux stylée n’a jamais délivré personne. Elle abrutit l’Homme plus cruellement et c’est tout ! J’ai été médecin chez Ford, je sais ce que je raconte. Tous les Fords se ressemblent, soviétiques ou non !... Se reposer sur la machine, c’est seulement une excuse de plus pour continuer les vacheries. C’est éluder la vraie question, la seule, l’intime, la suprême, celle qu’est tout au fond de tout bonhomme, dans sa viande même, dans son cassis et pas ailleurs !... Le véritable inconnu de toutes les sociétés possibles ou impossibles… Personne de ça n’en parle jamais, c’est pas "politique" !... C’est le Tabou colossal !... La question "ultime" défendue ! Pourtant qu’il soit debout, à quatre pattes, couché, à l’envers, l’Homme n’a jamais eu, en l’air et sur terre, qu’un seul tyran : lui-même !..."

Louis-Ferdinand Céline, Mea Culpa, 1936.

[de-gueules-au-lion-d-or]

« Ils achèteront plus tard mes livres, beaucoup plus tard, quand je serai mort, pour étudier ce que furent les premiers séismes de la fin, et la vacherie du tronc des hommes, et les explosions du fond de l’âme… ils savaient pas, ils sauront! »

Louis-Ferdinand Céline

[arsenicetvieillesenseignes]

Dans une ruelle où même les pigeons semblent porter des expressions résignées, se trouvent des boîtes aux lettres qui, si elles pouvaient causer, lâcheraient sans doute de belles vacheries sur la condition postale. Chacune crache le portrait d'une existence aussi vide que le ballon d'un abstème. Il y a là, par exemple, la boîte du numéro 2, aussi déserte que le crâne d'un député en pleine séance. Et puis celle du numéro 3, bâillant aux corneilles, qui n'a pas reçu de billet doux depuis que le gars Graham Bell a joué avec ses fils. Quant à celle du numéro 4, elle affiche un tract électoral, preuve que la démocratie s'exprime plus volontiers sur papier glacé que dans les urnes. Et n'oublions pas la boîte du numéro 5, avec son clapet fermé tel un sarcophage scellé. Sa porte est aussi close que l'esprit d'un académicien à l'écoute des théories d'un punk anarchiste. Mais la palme revient sans conteste à celle du numéro 6, qui dégueule ses pubs comme un bateleur expulse ses boniments. C'est le monde, ça, un fatras de mots jetés sur du papier et pas une paire de mirettes pour se poser dessus.

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[postcard-from-the-past]

La Vacherie ruins in Troyes, Champagne region of France

French vintage postcard

[cljordan-imperium]

Cruz and Thinius manifested in New Orleans, French Quarter. While there were places that those with magical abilities gathered all across the globe, one of the hot spots was NOLA. It was also one of the few places that they could walk around clothed as they normally were accustomed and no one would look askance at them. Next stop would be Edinburgh, but this was also the closest city to Brie’s home base in Vacherie, Louisiana. Even though her soul had been stolen when she was in Vienna, both males had a feeling that it all originated here.

Walking down Royal street, they passed behind the St. Louis Cathedral. They were getting ready to head into the less touristy part of The Quarter. The part where the stars lived, and those who held true power. Most of the mortals around them could not feel the vibration of power emanating from this part of The Quarter like they could. There would be a reckoning, and both males knew that they would be busy for hours, if not days with those who lived here.

Why was this area of the city more concentrated with magic practitioners and beings than the others? The proximity to the great power source of the Mississippi River. Water was always an attractor to those who possessed magic, but the flowing of the mighty river provided even more power. It was a conduit that ran through the length of the United States. There was no greater concentration of that power than in New Orleans. Second was the city of St. Louis, but it was far weaker in comparison. Only on the Canadian side of the Niagra Falls could similar power be found on the North American continent. That would be their next stop.

Black leather boots made soft crunching sounds on the uneven and well-worn pavement as they crossed an unseen barrier. Wards flared all over the Quarter as the pair walked. Cruz stood a solid and intimidating seven feet in height, Thinius was only two inches shorter, but with the difference in heel heights of their boots the males were even. Their strides were long and purposeful, in step and giving off an air of not being two you wanted to fuck with. Even mortals who had no clue who the two were seemed to part and let them through, their subconscious sensing that these were not two that you wanted to get in the way of in the least.

Leviathan’s words still ate at a part of Thinius. Had the Prince been right that he was being replaced after eons of servitude to Abbadon? In all those years, Abbadon had never showed the kind of care and concern that he was for that female back in his bed. Shit, hardly ever in the last few millennia had there just been one female in his bed. Something was changing, and Thinius wasn’t sure of his place in it. He wasn’t ready to turn completely on his boss, but that didn’t mean it was all sitting well.

“Mine sister is his bride and he is the Fifth Horseman.” Cruz’s heavily accented voice was low, meant only for Thinius to hear. Most mortals would have missed it, but he knew the demon had far better hearing than even devices devised by mortal hands.

“What?” Thinius looked over at the Nephilim, wondering how the fuck he heard his thoughts. Even his boss couldn’t do that. What the hell was this male?

“Empath, Horseman of War, and I’m damn old. One dost learn to read those things left unsaid. You hast been thinking on Leviathan’s words.” Cruz stopped now that the street was empty and walked over to lean against the wall of one of the buildings. “There are things he did not tell you. Leviathan holds the deed to Brie’s soul, sold by our mother to save mine own soul. That she should choose Abbadon is an affront for which he has taken great offense. That is why twas him that stole her soul and that we now track since he fled Hell. If Abbadon did not fully trust and hold faith in you, you would not be on this mission. “ His arms crossed over his chest as he looked at the other male, crossing one ankle over the other as he leaned against the building.

Facing the Nephilim, Thinius’s mind was tumbling over everything that he had just said. “He said she’s Death and a Grigori…holy shit!” It all dawned on Thinius now and anger started to swell within him. Now he understood Abbadon’s reaction when he had told him that her soul was missing. “So I bet Leviathan won’t be the last Prince to come and try to turn me…or any of us.” Cruz nodded solemnly.

“Mine own mother desired for me to be the harbinger of mine sister’s death so that Leviathan could own her soul, as did Lucifer. Tis why he is currently attached to the wall in the great hall of the Palace.” Thinius started laughing, causing Cruz’s brow to rise.

“Wait, it was you…no Brie? Damn! Remind me to never fuck with your sister! There isn’t a demon or being in Hell that hasn’t heard about that. They still can’t get Lucifer off of that wall. Maybe we should pay him a visit before we head up to Niagra. It’s still fucking cold up there and the old bastard might be able to give us some intel that would keep us from having to go up there.” He chuckled as she shook his head.

Cruz cracked an amused smirk. “Brie. Pissing off mine sister is far from smart.” He pushed off of the wall and the two males started walking down the street again.

At the next cross street, they turned left towards Rampart. Both were on guard, they could feel the magical wards they were crossing. Still there was a lot of swagger in their strides as the two broad and tall makes walked the street. Backs straight, shoulders back, they looked as serious and lethal as they truly were. Neither could help but think that they had never dreamed in their long lives of fighting alongside a being such as the other. War can create strange bedfellows, and that is exactly what this was. It was WAR. Leviathan had fired a shot at Abbadon and Brie. Neither Thinius, the Horsemen, or the Angels were going to back down.

Finally the number that they were looking for came into view. The men stopped, looked at each other, then turned and in unison hit the door with their feet. The hinges squealed as they broke free from the doorframe and the door fell inward. Cruz took point as they climbed the old and worn staircase. Their shoulders brushed the sides of the narrow stairway, each footfall sounding like it was going to send the stair crashing into the floor below. Still the men didn’t pause. They weren’t hiding their entry, which meant the warlock had time to prepare for them. If he was smart, he would just tell them what they wanted to know.

The ball of energy that hit the wall, barely missing Cruz’s head, as he rounded the top of the staircase told him that this was not going to be easy. Sensing no one but the Warlock ahead, Cruz misted behind him and quickly had the other male in a headlock as Thinius sauntered down the hallway towards them. The warlock was too busy clawing at Cruz’s arm to cast a spell towards Thinius, but his eyes spoke volumes regarding how much he realized he was screwed. Kicking the door closed behind him as he entered the home of the warlock, Thinius cast a ward that would silence any sounds from being heard by the mortals and would block all that transpired from view of anyone outside the windows.

Kneeling down to where the warlock had gone to his knees from lack of Oxygen, Thinius grinned. “Now, now Gerard. You should know better than to try and attack a Horseman. One with a demon in tow? Now, that was the supreme act of idiocy. You see, he and I are on the same team now and my boss…well, he wants to know where yours is. So are you gonna make this shit easy, or do we have to do this the hard way?”

Cruz’s arm lessened it’s hold some to let the warlock draw in breath. “Fuck…you…” the warlock ground out before Thinius raised an eyebrow and looked at Cruz.

“Looks like he’s gonna make us do it the hard way bro.” An evil grin formed on Thinius’s lips before his fist drew back and hit the warlock with enough force in the guy to lacerate his liver and kidney. In a mortal, they would have blead out in minutes, but this would just be exceedingly painful to the warlock. More damage was to come though and it was doubtful whether he would be breathing at the end.

The warlock screamed out, but the wards Thinius had cast held. Cruz yanked the male to his feet and drug him over to a chair. Throwing him into it, both Cruz and Thinius used magic to create bindings to hold him there. “Gerard, this is thine last chance to cooperate. Thine boss has committed a grievous act against mine sister. There is no torture so obscene that I shalt not deign to employ it to find the information that I do seek. I did participate in the Inquisitions, so mine repertoire of torture is quite vast.” A dark and devious glint formed in Cruz’s eye as a smirk formed on his lips.

Thinius tried not to show his shock. How the fuck old was this dude? His language was definitely archaic, but he was beginning to wonder exactly what Abbadon had gotten him into. Most of the Nephilim that he had met were 700-800 years old tops; this one, he was far older. And a Guardian, he had only heard of rumors of the few that had been created. He looked over to the warlock, “Gerard, bro you gotta see you’re gonna loose here. If I don’t kill your ass, this dude here will.” He leaned forward to put his hands on his thighs, back straight as he looked in Gerard’s eyes. “Dude, he’s War. Yeah…I see that dawning in your eyes. He’s that War. And he’s now kinda family to my boss. So, ya might want to play nice.”

Gerard’s eyes alternated between Cruz and Thinius. He certainly liked breathing, and not being in immense pain, but he knew that if Leviathan found out he’d betrayed him that he would suffer exponentially worse for all of eternity. This was not a position that he wanted to be in. What made it worse was that he had no clue what Leviathan had done to piss Abbadon and the Horsemen off, but if they had teamed up and Abbadon was family to War? Shit! This was not a good situation and he was on the wrong side of this.

“Go. To. Hell.” Gerard spit out, his face a mask of defiance. He knew that he was about to experience pain that few could ever imagine, but he hoped in death he would be released. What he had no idea about was how long they could keep him alive and in pain, just because he had now pissed them off royally.

13 hours later, Cruz and Thinius exited the building. No trace they had ever been there remained, and they had taken care of Gerard’s body. Unfortunately they were no closer to finding Leviathan. The warlock hadn’t known where he was, or even that he had fled Hell. They did get some good information on some who might know.

“Right or left bro?” Thinius asked as he vanished the last of the gore off of his hands.

“Left, and then to Esplanade. Let’s go see the priestess.” Cruz answered as he started walking down the sidewalk. Dawn was just breaking over the city, a haze of fog hung in the air as the two dark males formed intimidating shadows as they moved. Anyone coming across them in this ambiance was going to hastily turn and head the other direction. In the mood that the two males were in, that was a very wise move

@dogmomwrites - not during the 20's, but this is the previous time they went and had some fun together. This was Chapter 19 over 100+ previously written. And...as you can see..Cruz's previous FC was used for the pic.

THE IMPERIUM CHRONICLES TAG LIST - @ceph-the-ghost-writer @kjscottwrites @writingpotato07 @saltysupercomputer @careful-pyromancer @late-to-the-fandom @autumnalwalker @perasperaadastrawriting @fearofahumanplanet @jessica-writes22 @dogmomwrites @mjjune @verba-writing

Let me know if you'd like +/-

[cellobis]

Rien à faire

J' n’ai plus qu’ça à faire

Vous écrire un poème

Car oui, tous, je vous aime

Même si je vous pompe l’air

Mon amour mon idole

A disparu depuis trois jours

Et depuis je pleure d’amour

D’amours perdues

Car lui me pardonnait tout :

On était comme deux gars

Qui s’égaient, se respectent

Qui s’égarent, mais qui reviennent Il partait tous les soirs chasser

Il rentrait tous les matins se poser

Sur mon lit, sur mes pieds, 

Après une nuit d’amour

Bah faut bien que les corps exultent

C’est le sort de nos corps en tumultes

Il me regardait, lui le seul

Sans jugement tel que le font les humains

Vous comprenez ça, bordel, putain 

Regardant profond dans mes yeux 

T’as fait quoi, toi, t’as branlé

Ou bien t’as sucé ton dernier copain

Et alors, on s’en fout

Nous deux on vit la vie sans garde-fou

Mon chat ainsi est parti

La famille se fout d’moi

Me rassure et me susurre

Des mots réconfortants

Mais pas bien bandants

Mais j’en ai rien à battre

Dans la vie faut combattre

Depuis des jours un aigle tourne 

Par-dessus les toits

Tout là-haut dans le ciel qu’on voit

Pour les personnes sans aucun émois

Sauf juste pour moi, je le sais, tout ça 

C’est pas facile la vie d’un chat

À la montagne, les gars

Bien rare qu’ils meurent

Gras dans un canapé

À relooker la télé

Mais moi j’en ai rien à branler

Lui c’était mon pote

Mon ami

Mon copain

On était en cheviotte

Et oui, pardi

Depuis qu’on faisait le tapin

Se vautrant nus dans la laine

Jusqu’à perdre haleine

Devant le feu tout l’hiver 

Dans l’herbe tout l’été.

Puis on m’a dit 

C’est ainsi, c’est la vie

Combien d’oiseaux il a bouffé 

Ton chat c’est un tueur

Npq la belle affaire

J��l’em. la douairière

Qu’a proféré ça gratos

Combien de poulets elle a gobé

Dans sa vie bien planquée

J’aurais ri d’imaginer un os

Leur coincer le gosier

Aux donneurs de leçons

Qui n'sont jamais que d'vieux cons

Mon chat tout maigre

S’offrait juste un rouge-gorge

Une fois l’an à l’automne

Avant l’hiver quand ils migrent

Pour fuir notre givre

C’est août mais mon cœur est en hiver

Je suis pareil un vieux con en somme

Qui pleure quand il est seul

Sans toi je suis trop seul 

Mon confident

Mon amour

Mon pote

Mon ami

C’est une vacherie l’amour

Quand parti en ribotte

Lui, celui

Qu’on adore est parti.

[grand-mechant-loup]

L. est revenue

Comme prévu L est revenue. J'avais anticipé en préparant le matériel dont elle a besoin en amont.

Elle a passé la matinée avec moi pour que je lui configure tout comme il faut. Nous avons rapidement repris nos habitudes, nos vacheries sympathiques, nos rires et nos mots gentils (aussi). Bref je suis content de la revoir dans les parages. Je vais pouvoir retourner me réfugier dans son bureau quand ce sera le feu.

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