dimanche 20 décembre 2020


Le film commence sur un ton de sarcasme et d’ironie; le père noël chassé par les gamins et le père d’Elia qui maudit discrètement ses voisins tant qu’il les salue de manière systématique. Et on trouvera plus tard que cette séquence là résume bien la tension entre monotonie et violence latente qui persiste tout au long du film.

On remarque que presque tous les habitants du quartier plongent dans la conformité totale. Ceci est exprimé dans les moindres détails comme les bouteilles collectionnées sur le toit par le vieil homme, les post-its bien ordonnées sur…

21 year-old Willi Herold gets executed on the 14th of November 1946 in Wolfenbüttel prison.

21 year-old me laying in bed at 4 am of the 27th of March 2020 watching Der Hauptmann, a Robert Schwentke feature film. I don’t even know what day this is. I lost count during my covid19 quarantine.

So who’s Herold? A German army deserter as it appears from the opening scene. An imposter. A German war criminal as it appears later. So my question is: Is this Herold? Or in other words, can we include the deeds of Herold in the definition of Herold…


We have set our eyes

On the gods of Athens.

These pair of shutters

May be the only gates

Two shallow gutters

To our sleeping hearts

A heap of thoughts

Racing on the surface

Of our shivering minds.

Infinite judges

Here we are

Back to survival.

My face rips

Between a dozen emotions.

I can’t even decide on that

Nor can I plunge myself

In anything agile.

Me who walks on the thick fragile

Surface of things.

The cortex of the cortex

of feelings with wings.

Soon enough,

Gone with the winds.

Time to yell

To Ring a bell

And break the shell!

For I live in ashes
In scattered bits of time
Inside cookie crumbles
and leftovers soaked in lime

Here everything is dysfonctional.
But nothing is a crime
We may still want to try
Whenever we’re unable to cry

Can we cry for help?


How could we?
This is a place with no echoes
No bursts of humour

I wonder how it feels not to be me
Not to be here?

In here,
Rust ate all of my joints
And this flesh of mine
got rotten.

You didn’t have to go

No more of your hair everywhere
No more tender touches

I still watch for my steps at night
to not wake you up
I still wait by the door
for you to get back inside
Will I ever stop nodding
to your spot every morning?

Finished a tour around the sun
You then fade away — — — — -

I will not sleep
For only night understands our sorrows
At night we shall meet
we shall meet again
my big furry friend

I threw away the carrier
burried you inside

Poisoned, so I figured
I suppose you were a nuisance
You gentle presence
I’m sorry
Sorry for failing you
And sorry for this world.

Reviewing my experience as a viewer at the Carthage Film Festival 2019. PS: I’m only going to pick one film to be the highlight of each day.

Throughout the week I was bombarded with all sorts of images, sounds, and stories from all around the world. So what has clung to my mind at the end of it?

Day1: I began with appetizers; 3 short films. “Le dernier voyage” ( the last trip) by Latifa Ahrrare is a short documentary in which she retraces the steps of her deceased militant father. Although I wasn’t so caught up by the film…

There is something about feeling sorrowful and downhearted, that makes us react to things in our daily life in a completely different way. This affirmation seems quite obvious you would say. But the way I experienced it, it felt like magic. It magically solved things I was struggling with since forever. Bare with me. I will explain.

I spent the past couple of days feeling mournful and emotionally traumatized because of a heartbreak, to cut it short. I could sense this deep black hole inside me that’s sucking my hopes and fantasies, my foolishness (I still do)… I am overwhelmed…

I sometimes wish I hadn’t been exposed to any images, stories, films, or any kind of media at all. I imagine I would be free of a big storage of expectations now. I wouldn’t care so much about how things should be and should look like. I would have my first love experience clueless of what to expect. Certainly, I would be confused and ignorant is some areas. But the contradiction between reality and expectation is more confusing anyway. Needless to say that it would be easier to LET GO of my expectations if they haven’t existed in the first place.


Yesmine Ben Salah

I am not anymore.

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