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Poème Je suis la Terre. Percée trouée vidée labourée arrachée laminée étripée. Lynchée écorchée lacérée étranglée lyophilisée écrasée. Griffée pompée éviscérée et déchiquetée. Je suis la Terre et mon corps n en peut plus,. Mon souffle se perd et mon sang est pollué. Depuis des millénaires vous me passez dessus,. Je suis votre mère et vous me violez. Voila cette introduction en dit long sur ce skyblog.

The purpose of this assignment was to create a still life an image of a constructed arrangement of inanimate objects. I chose this subject because I have interesting objects lying all around my house that have no other reason for existing than being interesting.

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Anger at the injustice of this whole situation. Where is her mother? Far away. Why? Selling her body to stay alive. Who is looking after this one? An overburdened woman with a home bursting at the seams and a time-demanding job. How did we arrive at this moment? I repeat over and over in my head. What can be done? What will it take to break the cycle of brokenness? These are j.