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Nous invitons nos amis étrangers résidant en France à nous faire part en anglais, en espagnol ou en français (seules langues dont nous pouvons contrôler le contenu), leurs contributions : manière dont est appliquée la loi dans leur pays, différences avec ce qu'ils observent en France, simples billets d'humeur ou de réflexions. Contacter par mail spartaclop@free.fr en précisant dans l'objet : RUBRIQUE INTERNATIONAL CORNER, en n'omettant pas d'indiquer vos prénom, nationalité, et lieu(x) de résidence.

Tell us (in French, English or Spanish) about how you feel, in France or in your own country, about the smoking ban and the new hygienic order. You'll be published here.

Samedi 8 mars 2008 : poème à l'occasion du 1er concert de soutien aux résistants. From El Gringo Hadley (Wales)

Poem written for the first concert organized to support the opponants to smoking ban in France

Roll up!
Roll up!
The new freak circus is in town.
the first smokers happening!
It's life or death!-SMOKE or DIE!
One drag of a fag will be mightier than a flutter of a butterflys wings.
There'll be no room in the inn for lightweights only diehards!
So pull up your sleeves and socks and SMOKE

Mardi 5 février 2008 : de Matias Alcoba de Barcelone (Espagne) habitant à Paris

Que deviendra le bistrot Parisien sans son rideau de fumée qui nous emmenait dans un onirisme nécessaire à la débauche. Un vrai désamour celui du café, extirpé de sa plus belle amoureuse nicotinée...
Grand désespoir pour essayer de combler ces vides, avant chaleureux et tendres.
Je me sens comme un amérindien devant un évangélisateur, morale radicale.
Laissons les gens décider que faire de leur poumons et les restaurateurs décider que faire de leur cendriers!

25 janvier 2008 : From El Gringo Hadley, Welsh (Gallois), de Pantin 


There's no smoke without fire, or better still there's no enjoyment without smoke, especially if you're a western leper hunted ! Chased ! Banned ! From all watering holes like a sewer rat. Nostalgically thrown back to the streets and the bog where it all kicked off. The good old fag, the first rebellious act which sent shivers down the spine of school conventuality. It was our red flag, our budding virility, our diploma. Whatelse could we do? But smoke our way through it. The factory wasn't much better either, it was our only life jacket from supreme boredom. Out of reach of the assembly line it manoeuvred the way we lived and where we hung out. It was that magic wand for doing that marvellous and underrated past time- nothing. It gave us so much confidence that we had smoke coming out of our ears and asses, like a steam train chugging up a triumphal mountain. With your dick on the right side of your trousers, and a fag dangling from your gob you could be who you wanted to be even if you didn't like them.

The hypocritical correct have condemned smokers to the last call, and have been swept out of the bar. A new breed. A spend threft hoard has been hailed in with children to boot. An extension of Disney world where Mr. Mickey Mouse, Mr. Pinocchio, Mr. Popeye can gambol to their hearts content in a purifying air of stupidity. Sweets and soft drinks galore for the kids, carrot juice and soya sandwiches for the adults,. knitting courses for the less adventurous, a bar of fun and games. Didn't Nietzsche say that his genius resided in his nostrils. Well, now the punters have picked up on it and not all is yepee... with song and prayers in the smokeless utopia. The sweat, the whiff of anus, is more than holding its own against the perfumed jet set... the newcomers are starting to grumble...too bad for them...they can put that in their smoke and pipe it.

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