Page 178; ¶ 2 and 3³:

Previously on WFA and WOFA…
Pour écrire cet article, j’ouvre mes archives, fais appel à ma mémoire et reprends les notes où j’ai consigné les dernières rencontres ; un printemps, un été et un automne sont passés entre la demande et ma décision de relever le défi d’un récit. Mes souvenirs s’éveillent. Cha-que nom est une personne, une individualité.
Je vais travailler par éclats, en kaléidoscope, raconter des fragments de rencontres avec des hommes et des femmes à la rue que je sais dénommer grâce à mon expérience à la Bagagerie. J’espère, ainsi, pouvoir rendre compte de la diversité des caractères, des trajectoires et des espoirs et désespoirs sur un temps relativement long. Pour ceux que j’ai connus dès la fondation de Mains libres et que je croise encore, seize ans ont passé.
Les jeunes, la petite vingtaine, englués dans des histoires familiales pathétiques résumées par une sèche annotation « rupture du lien familial » dans les fiches de suivi.

³~. Marie-Ange Schiltz’ adaptation projects

Indeed, Willie Geist, in•deed! There is something in the Water and the white powder in that baggie is Cocaine.

Boogie, man!
Page 178 ; ¶ Tú and Three:
To write this article, I open my archives, call upon my memory and go back to the notes where I recorded the last encounters; a spring, a summer and an autumn passed between the request and my decision to take up the challenge of a story. My memories are awakening. Each name is a person, an individuality.
I’m going to work in fragments, in a kaleidoscope, recounting fragments of encounters with men and women on the street whom I know by name thanks to my experience at La Bagagerie. In this way, I hope to capture the diversity of characters, trajectories, hopes and despairs over a relatively long period of time. For those I’ve known since the founding of Mains libres and whom I still meet, sixteen years have passed.

But First, the knews that I was tellin’ y’all about last week to Dey… you know the ones, it includes the one where El Présidente Sarkozy signed a law that did not require a ‘competent’ and qualifying recepient of a French Visa to not have to waste time trying to learn the language of Molino, perdón la lengua de Molière, as a hook to conduct the BUSINESS of JOURNALISTS and the Black Arts of research on the so-called HEX-a-Gone… 

Girls, Girls, Girls.

Crazy Horse, Paris, France
Forgot them names, remember romance
I got the photos, a menage a trois
Musta broke those French’s laws with those…

Girls, Girls, Girls.
https ://paroles2chansons .lemonde .fr /paroles-motley-crue /paroles-girls-girls-girls

 

Valérie Pécresse of the so-called “Ile-de-France region » changes the name of the Angela-Davis HIGH SCHOOL due to the civil rights icon’s criticism of France… Pap’a Ndiaye, the current Minister of Education, is not amused.

At first Eye tought that it was a figment of Mí’s imaginations, mais non-ton ton, my phone was being zapped. God damned frogs, always using my iniciative to bring the people down, just like the Ministry of Immigration did when Bruno’s boss decided that “compétences” in La France be a thing of the PAST. So sit back and enjoy the ride. And, Öüï (that motherfucker) begins in Switzerland where so-called “message delivery boys” from the Western Union Telegraph Company are having the time of their life at the Crazy Horse en Paris XVeme, or maybe is XVIeme… ya se me olvido la dirección del establo ese.

I’m just watching the wheels, go round and round, Issy, Mme. Hidalgo took away the Marie-Go-Round kissing booth at The City Bazar Hotel 🏩.

And, James, drive Mí down to La Gentric’s Happy Whore House Place at Pigalle, Öüï ho’ID that there’s a new act from the Putas Exchange Program at Erasmus Ewe direct from Mary McCartney’s Abbey Road’s Camptown GO’ills Unlimited scrap book.

And, Katty Kay, Marie Gentric told y’all that it was going to be a BLOW–out on history on the Federalist Society nº 46. She should know, La Gentric hails from Columbia Ewe at Sciences Po.

Any how right about now, 14h in Central Europe Time, the Picpus Cemetery Society is officially celebrating The fello’ 📐 next to La Noailles (pronounced, No-Haÿ-es), but that’s just to taunt The Americans representing Lafayette’s gallery at Valley Forge, who sang the Star Spangled Banner next to Las Carmelitas de les fossés there, —Yesterday.

A Closer Look, hol’Up now, wait a minute what? I know that it’s just a silly adaptation of yet another interpretation of a particular translation, but are Öüï and Eye wrong to note from page 176, ¶ 2, that reads:

Proximité, familiarité et parfois sympathie, parfois antipathie, avec une frange de la population – que tout un chacun croise avec, usuellement, peu d’interactions – ne veut pas dire discours scientifiquement établi. Je n’ai pratiqué
ni l’observation participante, ni le carnet de notes de l’ethnologue. Je n’ai
jamais passé la frontière, fondamentale, me semble-t-il, celle de « ne pas avoir un chez soi ». Je suis restée ce que je suis, une ADF – de surcroît, par tempérament, peu encline à l’écoute. Aussi tout ce que je peux dire leur sujet n’est-il, à mon sens, que partiel et partial.

It’s another 2nd Amendment Blow-out dirty sale. Grab a hot dog and snort that coke like it ain’t no joke, because Eye could not have written this last week To They without sounding like one of Senator Claire McCaskill’s “trippy” deadheads lounging naked at her Ozarks camping grounds.