His  tête  motions up, and  lumière  streams from his  yeux  and through the glasses (or just a reflection). The murderous gleams of his projective glasses echo the  espace  where the glassy beetv rotates inside him, showing things outside his  cerveau  on their mirrored fronts.     Quand le soleil souterrain s'est levé, j'ai senti ma destinée se presser.