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Chronicles The Chronicles of Defence Defence

Redo paths Defence has, inevitably, brings back some memories of my past trips. Then I remember too. I remember the small garden that overlooked the Ark, the one I crossed every day and was busy on summer nights, with small groups of homeless. It was a place of rendezvous, a forum, a place of sociability. In its place we can find now a multiplex, which I saw the slow construction. First, is were the scaffolding, piles of plates, bags, tools. Then came the machines. The garden was filled. Then dug holes, in order to connect the lower floors with this platform. Soon, he was no longer allowed me to cross this space, a labyrinth appeared. We had to make a bend, cross the related building, spend a few doors that never closes. Quickly, the foundations of what is noticed is now completed, on which soon pushed the walls and ceiling. The labyrinth disappeared with the opening the broad avenue that now borders the site.

This is a remembrance of Defense, there were instead of the whole glass, steel and concrete, a small garden I quietly walked through the summer nights. That was five years ago. I remembered last week. I forgot. I forgot I had forgotten.

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Children played in the aisles of the stadium in Nuremberg. Lovers kissed on Lake Wannsee. A friend told me a few memories of childhood in La Defense. A friend told me said what was unique playground. Child, I played in vacant lots around the house, in the cemetery at the end of the street, I jumped the section of wall that ran along the water tower. Defence which I speak it is also a place of memories, an imaginary place, a place of daily, a place that everyone is investing in its own way. An architect friend was watching some towers subdued, aesthetically they touched. I see something else in La Defense, I see the crowd, rubbish, very fat cats, the back round, red eyes, fatigue, boredom, the hardness of the concrete forms of the towers bordering absurd the esplanade, the interlacing bridges, stale air and early morning, from my office window the sun trying to cross the crust of the Parisian sky. I'll go visit the Defence that I do not know, I take pictures of these places, I will take what we have said to me. I guess without any penalty that can be done when there are children, and adolescents. Following is another story.

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Chronicles La Defense La Defense

I thought for a moment to be a friend and get into a blog on Defence which would present as a place for thousands of places, with its hidden opportunities, its little secrets, possible encounters. But I do not have his eye and Defence is not the Father-Lachaise. Here, there is nothing to see here is crossed, it is in transit, we do not stay at La Defense, we do not loiter in La Defense, we do not stop to admire the Grande Arche, it 's admire from a helicopter or from the Arc de Triomphe or from an architect's plan, we do not admire it for its stairs, she crushed despite its emptiness, and soon you end up ignoring it. I tried to remember what it was for me before the defense put the feet, and I had to get this conclusion it was nothing. I did not know it existed, I had to know this name, but he did not raise anything in me. There must be few people in front of memories Defense, Puteaux a former time, as I could have, without seeing experiences, memories of the old Montmartre or of Perpignan front war. But when I look around, do nothing old remains, this requires going a little farther, farther north and reaching Neuilly. But we are on defense as in coal mines, nothing else remember that work. The local coroner would be overflowing trash bins.

Definitely, there is nothing to see in La Defense.

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I left with an obvious joy the pleasures of hunting. The hunt for words. Hunting citations to relevant articles, through the press. Today, for example, in Les Echos, a nice article on stress at work in La Defense. Like what. An Italian sociologist has recently raised an interesting problem. In the 80's became a new master discourse, the managerial discourse. In this speech, job responsibility is transferred to the employee. The employee became responsible for his work, he became responsible alone. In this speech, it is no longer called employees but collaborator, he is the front line, he bears the burden of his work, he makes statements. It must therefore bear the mistakes, errors, the company suffered. But the quality of this work does not change, this remains the firm's work, not his own work, not his business, it is always the same project work, an assembly-line work there only partially involved. Full responsibility on a part-time work, compartmentalized. Result, the stress of the employee increases. Inevitably. It must be justified a work that exceeds beyond its control, it invests massively. This surcharge is isolated a bit more, makes him forget himself, and sometimes it ends in burnout. Labour inspection of Nanterre hit hard by forcing companies to justify the working conditions of employees. Few, poorly equipped, without significant powers, labor inspectors are trying as best they could do their job, that protect employees against such speech. Many employees have yet so well integrated that they no longer react, they take the same from their bosses, the party of business. The culture of resistance has thinned, replaced by a performance culture, a culture of enterprise.
Defence is one of the forges of speech manager, a place of experimentation. I remember the scene of revolt in Metropolis, in the middle of machines, men and women who rushed in anger against their conditions. Aesthetically, Defense looks instead devised by Lang. Maybe one day ...
can always dream.

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Chronicles Chronicles Chronicles of Defence Defence


Sunday night, Monday morning, the last metro, I traveled alone half the time. Nobody in my compartment. At Saint-Lazare, some travelers will join me. It separates at Concorde, the better to find a few meters away. These are not the same, but I do not know the difference. I had the opportunity to take the first train to La Defense, on the first RER more exactly, which is not the same thing. In the first subway, there is a bit of everything in the first RSP there is always the same, many women, black, they are in small groups, they make this long journey together, they talk about this and other in colloquial touch of French. The vernacular of RSP 5:25. They scatter always in groups all along the stops, but most lots in La Defense. They will clean the offices. I was often the only white in my compartment. Plump and bearded. I went to work then a handful of hours. I finished my contract. I did not have much to do. I made an appearance. I was pretty happy to go. I was already elsewhere.
yesterday so this morning I went out alone to the station of La Defense, I only crossed the small piece of esplanade that leads me to my office. I threw a glance from the escalator on its north face. It was cold. Since my height, I thought the desert of the Tartars, the battlements beneath my feet, imagine the life for which all this was designed, the crowd going, the crowd always has the crowd intrinsically linked to this panel, drawn and spat out by the towers. I imagined the thousands of small paths made by all those people who behaved like wt cells, carrying oxygen to the arrival and leaving heavy noxious gases, they purify air that is not even for them. It is through them that saw this Leviathan of concrete, but they forgotten. The defense turns, crushes and retirement each. Each of us. Defense is a place that pretends to live.
La Defense is a desert, surrounded in life.

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I'm back in the space of the tunnel. For two weeks now.
The first day I aped a procession, led me and following me all the time spent on this path. The first day I saw many things. I decided at the last moment to take a bike rather than the subway. I had to cross Paris to the banks of the Bois de Boulogne, a place of last resort for free bikes serve the city of Paris. After the first rib, an incident, rather a fire in a building adjacent to the Terrace, famous Montmartrois planted on a corner of Montmartre cemetery. I did my time due to the apparent unpreparedness of a young recruit from home poulaga who knew not oppose my imperious will cross the bridge. Zigzag between fire trucks, glances at the building evacuated and resumed my journey. After the Porte Maillot, I skirted the wood. A few meters from my first stop, I saw some big black cars with tinted windows parked in tears that marked the entrance of a posh building guarded by men in dark sunglasses and arms crossed. I immediately thought that the Russian mafia had to have an appointment. This vision made me smile. I parked and then resumed my walking bus route to first overcome the vast esplanade of La Defense.
It was dark. No moon, no street lights, these vast spaces are crossed by feel and imagination, we are witnessing everywhere hordes fatal, with a strong Mediterranean accent. I despair of my racism often paramount. The only permanent inhabitants of these places are cats, fat and shy. They flee and burrow into the thousands of corridors and recesses which are the only privatized spaces of the desert concrete. I see them slip away leaving in my eye than the fleeting vision of long tails ending in a hole. It is the image that came to me this flat stomach and cold day in swarms of thousands of bacteria in costumes strict, I hole up through the filthy mouth who throws up his view of the Louvre to Saint Germain . I leave the mouth by one of its edges to achieve the goal of my way, the sad and gloomy passage under an interchange any adjoining office where I spend my nights. And
shortly after sunrise, I'll take the opposite route, either on its belly but in her intestines. Earthworms since me back every night.