Didi de Paris started as a young a punk rock poet in 1981, and his actions to the days have performance character. He started writing and publishing work during this time. He got attention for his second bookMaladie d'amour (1987), a 'therapeutical' novel that deals with relationship, work and mental health issues.
He wrote for Double Talk, MillenniuM, De Rottend Staal Nieuwsbrief andBrakke Hond, he worked for the underground magazine Gonzo Circus and has regularly columns on Flemish radios and television stations. His poetry actions can be found on podcasts and videos online.
Didi de Paris performed at V2's De funktie van geluid in 1984.
He wrote for Double Talk, MillenniuM, De Rottend Staal Nieuwsbrief andBrakke Hond, he worked for the underground magazine Gonzo Circus and has regularly columns on Flemish radios and television stations. His poetry actions can be found on podcasts and videos online.
Didi de Paris performed at V2's De funktie van geluid in 1984.
Didi de Paris, beste lezers en vooral recensenten, is geen wulps meisje maar een stevige Vlaming, die al vanaf het begin van de jaren tachtig schittert op de dichtpodia in de Lage Landen. Zo stond hij als jong punkdichter op de eerste Nacht van de Poëzie in Muziekcentrum Vredenburg in 1981 en in de zomer van 2000 op Poetry International, waar hij voor de eer van Vlaanderen streed tijdens de Poetry Slam. Hij heeft een drietal prozawerken bij In de Knipscheer gepubliceerd. Hij werd op die gedenkwaardige 10de mei 1957 geboren in het pittoreske Leuven. Gedichten van hem verschenen o.a. in de bloemlezingen Double Talk en Sprong naar de sterren en in tijdschriften als 'MillenniuM', 'De Rottend Staal Nieuwsbrief' en 'De Brakke Hond'. Hij was medewerker aan het Vlaamse glossy undergroundtijdschrift 'Gonzo Circus' en heeft regelmatig columns op Vlaamse radio- en televisiestations.
http://www.epibreren.com/rs/paris.html
Plooierijen van geschik
wij zijn uit hetzelfde hout gesneden
waaruit men soms
papier maakt
waarmee men soms
origami bedrijft
een hoedje vouwt
een bankbiljet
of een tijger
van papier
http://didideparis.wordpress.com/
http://www.rtbot.net/didi_de_paris
The daily news seeps into the room. Sharp, wet north wind and heavy clouds are to be expected. Suddenly we look at each other, shocked: war has broken out. Tonight, British and American fighters, the shimmering miracles of high technology, have carried out the first 'surgery' on Baghdad. The latest euphemism to evade the international law on war. A rhetorical perversion of medical language. Baghdad as a malignant lump to be removed from the globe. So has decided the hygienic healthcare of the western world. Doctors beyond borders. Science as a new Bible. God with US, Allah a desert rat. A pilot, safely returned, wipes the sweat from his forehead and is pushed a microphone under his nose: how did it go? Science turns into aesthetics: It was like the movies. The city was illuminated like a Christmas tree, it was like shooting colored balls off it. Reality is a movie, movie and television are reality. In the prehistoric times of Vietnam the screen at least showed a glimpse of the real war, but the civilized world was panicking by seeing her own blood splashed murderers face. No such thing should happen again. War will always be, but never never the truth about war.
The daily news seeps into the room. Sharp, wet north wind and heavy clouds are to be expected. Suddenly we look at each other, shocked: war has broken out. Tonight, British and American fighters, the shimmering miracles of high technology, have carried out the first 'surgery' on Baghdad. The latest euphemism to evade the international law on war. A rhetorical perversion of medical language. Baghdad as a malignant lump to be removed from the globe. So has decided the hygienic healthcare of the western world. Doctors beyond borders. Science as a new Bible. God with US, Allah a desert rat. A pilot, safely returned, wipes the sweat from his forehead and is pushed a microphone under his nose: how did it go? Science turns into aesthetics: It was like the movies. The city was illuminated like a Christmas tree, it was like shooting colored balls off it. Reality is a movie, movie and television are reality. In the prehistoric times of Vietnam the screen at least showed a glimpse of the real war, but the civilized world was panicking by seeing her own blood splashed murderers face. No such thing should happen again. War will always be, but never never the truth about war.
