Première étape: regardez comme le prosaïsme de la vie a rendu nos yeux ternes. "World in my eyes", "Your joyfull eyes are like paradise", est-ce que cela vous ouvre une porte? "If you want to see the sky, just put a window in your eye", est-ce que cela ouvre? Non, nous vivons ici et maintenant, prosaïsme... Télévision, sofa, jasette, jasette, je sais ce que je dis, rien ne remue dans les profondeurs... les profondeurs?? Comme cela est irréel... Simulation de dialogue:

"- C'est stupide...
- Je sais, c'est stupide...
- Non, je veux dire, regarde-les...
- Je les vois.
- C'est stupide... ahhh, je suis fatiguée....
- Et moi donc.
- Fais quelque chose!!
- Quoi? Si je fais quelque chose avec toi, ce sera telle que je t'ai connue dans mes rêves.
- Qu'importe...
- Mais tu sais ce que cela veut dire... ça peut être étonnant.
- Ahahah, qu'est-ce qui peut être étonnant?
- Je t'ai connue autre que tu te crois.
- Évidemment...
- Non, vraiment autre, telle que tu ne te soupçonnes pas.
- Tant mieux, je m'ennuie, ma personne m'ennuie.
- Alors tu veux croire à une nouvelle réalité?
- Bien sûr, une nouvelle réalité...
- Tu ne pense pas à...
- Mais bien sûr que non, regarde comment tu me regardes...
- Comment je te regarde?...
- Ah, cesse cela, viens en au point, je suis déjà tannée...
- Au point? Quel point?
- Pourquoi tu joues les stupides? on veut la même chose.
- Ce n'est pas ce que je crois. C'est facile d'obtenir ce que l'on veut en croyant que tout le monde veut la même chose. À supposer que l'on sache ce que l'on veut...
- Tu ne me parlerais pas si tu ne savais pas ce que tu veux, alors...
- Alors quoi? Il ne reste que toi? que toi et moi?
- Pour une fois tu parles bien.
- Toi et moi, seuls dans cette pièce, vide.
- Voilà, c'est ta nouvelle réalité? ahah...
- C'est le désert...
- Heureusement il y a de l'eau pour nous désaltérer.
- Je préfère crever de soif que de boire une eau aussi ingrate.
- L'eau est la seule issue.
- Je vois ta vérité...
- Tu me vois pour la première fois."

Construction human again. Why do I always feel like there is a need for a new beginning, while being stucked with the idea that this is impossible, and feeling like this is that last idea that is keeping me away from starting everything all over again... I feel stuck with ideas, stuck with damn old ideas, vision, that get the chance to "live me" because I am not always aware of them. I cannot believe how deep you make me sleep... I want to believe that something in my conscience is stronger than you... god, I am all fucked up.... I know I am life, so that I am full of movements, full of things that I dont know. Knowing something doesn't mean that you stick to the thing: no, knowing is fantasying. So I am all fucked up... `cause I feel like everything I know is wrong, meaning that it is a product of my imagination, far from objectivism. Maybe I should not care about those times when I sleep, when everything goes like afterthen I would destroyed myself: "Why? why do I do that ? why does it have to be this way?" etc. Every moment you get more lucid, it makes you frustrated about the times when you aren't. And it makes you feel like you are only living when you are truly lucid, truly awaken. It makes you swear that now you'll only live the lucid life, fully awaken in your consicence of everything that goes. What shit is that... That leads me to a theory, and as I am reading Bergson's philosophy these days, it will connect with that. Bergson made the experience of the mind a time experience. The unfortunate doom of Man is that he is living in time. He always makes the opposition container/contained. Following that idea, Man lives in Time and that's his misfortune. Because he has consciousness of Time, he lives into it, and it makes the happiness impossible, `cause the unity between Man and its world is lost. So for Bergson happiness is a state of grace where everything flows and anticipates the future by its own grace. Because grace is a movement that is so in harmony with its world that it goes all the way, like a prescience, already having traced the path. Sadness is to rely on the past, is to be disconnected with Time, to think of it. So here we come to my mind. I found out how nostalgia is everywhere, how important it is, something that is almost in every tought, like if we were stuck with our history, unconsciously driving us. It makes every new idea a flower of the past. When we have dreams, thinking of those dreams makes us nostalgic, because its like lost worlds, and we can imagine the feeling that we had in those dreams. The fact that it isnt connecting with our awaken life makes it even more like a lost paradise. Childhood impressions do something similar. We lost those impressions, and we idealize it because it was so powerfull in its freshness when it happened. I feel like I am filled with nostalgia...in everything that I do, as if I wasn't abble to leave me to the world, to abandon myself. What a gloomy feeling... So I want to construct the human again, to see it a new way, but all my oldness keeps me from it, but I feel like I can do it, so that makes me even more frustrated to notice that I cannot see everything in some fresh way, except for glimpses. That is so damn frustrating... why do we have to be human?? Is it me not being able to get the good side of it??

Buildings were all messed up and I tought I could kill myself in this unsafe mess. I went to the mountain but I was missing something, then I saw someones I knew, and gave them a sign. We recognized each other, but somehow we lost ourselves in our way to meet. Maybe we didn't want to meet. We're too different and unknown to each other, everybody becomes a presence, but we don't meet nobody. Devastated buildings (or maybe it is just renovation), and when I go outside this is nothing but strangeness... the air is filled with mysterious danger: and I slide, I fly, alone with my feeling. Ohhh, nights of terror... you don't want me to feel good... but I am addicted to your power.

Disconnected

Vide, totalement. Vide. Nous avons peur, et c’est tout. Les corps sont inconsistants. Nous leur avons donné une vie, en pensant, nous nous sommes imaginés des tas de choses lourdes. Mais il ne reste rien de tout cela. Pourtant je crois en vous, mais c’est comme si je vivais dans un sentiment, et que ce sentiment était toute ma vie. Je n’ai jamais été à ce point abandonné… mais pourquoi est-ce que je ne sens pas d’appel de Dieu ? Et pourquoi je ne crois pas ceux qui vivent pour Dieu… je suis si loin de les comprendre. Pourtant nous vivons côte à côte, mais je ne distingue plus personne, parce que je ne reconnais plus personne. La manière dont j’ai connu les gens, c’est comme s’ils avaient disparu, comme si il n’y avait plus personne. Mais pourquoi est-ce que je ressens toujours une menace et que je suis incapable de ne rien faire ? Si seulement j’avais peur… mais ce n’est même pas cela. C’est même pire parce que je ne le sens pas s’emparer de moi, j’en ai seulement la vague intuition, et puisque cela n’a pas de nom, et puisque ce n’est peut-être rien, ça ne remplit pas ma vie. La marijane me met dans un drôle d’état. Je sens seulement que mon existence est tragique. C’est comme si ce sentiment vibrait dans l’air, et j’ai le goût de pleurer. Par ailleurs je n’ai plus le goût de rien… à quoi bon si je ne reconnais rien ? Je pourrais concevoir mon au-delà, comme Saint-Denys Garneau, « diviser à l’infini l’infime distance de la corde à l’arc, créer par ingéniosité un espace analogue à l’au-delà », mais je ne pourrais me concentrer plus d’une seconde et j’oublierais ma création. Quelle nauséeuse lâcheté… Qu’il serait bon d’être un adulte moral surnageant tout. J’ai perdu toute connexion, je ne sais même plus comment rêver, comment écouter de la musique, puisque ça fait trop « partie de la vie ». C’est une activité, du « quelconque ». Je sens que j’ai abandonné quelque chose, mais je ne sais quoi. Je ne peux plus m’émouvoir si je vis ici, maintenant, en tant que moi. C’est trop « ma vie », ça m’exaspère. J’ai d’extraordinaires contradictions : je veux tout mais ne veux rien de ce monde, je ne veux être personne mais quelqu’un d’extraordinaire (j’avais écrit « extropmadore »…, je déteste mais j’aime les gens… j’ai l’impression ne pas vivre, mais je ne désire rien de moins que de vivre merveilleusement. Je crois cependant que je suis autodestructeur, que je veux le pire, je veux mon malheur, je veux la détresse générale, simplement. J’imagine que c’est par là que se réalisera mon idéal esthétique. Je ne souhaite pas punir personne, mais faire émerger le sentiment tragique de l’existence.

Too bored and depressed, the doors of success are closed. No way to my desires, the things outside they make no sens. I've lost the sens of all the words, "reality", "life", and so on, they leave me cold with no understanding. Everything that exist to me don't exist for no one. I've poor my life into secret and invisible, things with no names, non-existent situations, and lost contact with everything and everyone. I am stuck with the feeling that everything is lost, stuck with inconstistant fantasies where nobody lives. I poor my life into fiction, I let my visions drone me, only to return empty and unsatisfied as ever. I go to people, I do things, I learn to want outside things, but I stay with a feeling of evergrowing frustration. The more you try the more you get frustrated. Nobody knows what they are doing, but they figure that what theyre doing and thinking is ok, with no need for more, no need for change. Content, we are content, everything goes on, it's ok. The world is filled with what we are, it is for us. Why look for something else? why not knowing? everything is here, everything has been tought, just choose what you want, it's here.

Hi ghost crew, I am back after being absent for pretty much a while. Doesn't mean life has been consuming me, no, no, never will it happen... It's just that I didn't feel like, you know...

I wanna talk about the things that I love. But I don't wanna tell you what are those things. You are waiting for precise things, buy you'll have to search after them behind what's coming.

And what is coming is a rain with full of white light. There will be wet young girls crying under the rain, black alive images of pure distress, and tears melting with that rain so that we cannot make the difference beween the two.

There is tragic in the air, tonight. People will crackdown and will be completely lost. Her goth make-up will melt, maybe her black hair too, and she will crawl on the sidewalk. She'll maybe hang to a tree, but the tree won't understand, so she will be even more distressfull. High violins will sing desperation. She cannot hold to anything, she is completely lost, completely lost. There is no one for her but there are tons of strangers that might... But they almost don't see her, and she sees that. There is nothing in life for her, she realizes, nothing. Everything is too fugitive, nobody cares, there is careless cruauty everywhere, even her relatives seem awfully strange, with no connection to her desires. It's the eruption of the big scream into the night, the scream with no echo but its own. "I wanna go away! Even that... I wanna die right there! Give me someone and let me kill his hopes like everybody killed mines! I am just gonna consumed an ultimate pleasure alone, even if I am with him, and I will let myself die under his eyes! That will be sensation! You want hardcore, I am bringing you some."

Dreams, confusion, little little little pleasures, and I am forgetting, that it is so so so sad, but then I start to panic, what's going on?! what's going on!?! Affraid of everything, aside of everything, being in it just pushes further my big blow: the scream into the night!

Stangers on the street... why don't you come over to my house? I see shining windows everywhere, with things and people behind. I like these windows coldness. Face it. I don't know what I am up to. I am stealing looks, shivering members.

Crystal light, dope snow, burning eyes, love punch, fire pulp, angels with stick legs dancing over a sea of light, coffee shoulders melt, lips take the sea, nobody hold their bodies, freefloater, the ghost night elevates us, no feet touch the ground, allowing the day vegetation to grow, and when the day comes back, we lie on this grass, where the hoppers with their millions magical legs put vicious ferments in our heads, and this ferment into the night, and lift ourselves over sanity, over the grass. When the thrill is gone, some fall on the floor, some taste it, some cry the hoopers poison and it just feels good, some scream and hope a soul to respond, sometimes the echo is just an insect crawling. Dying on one of your lumb. You will now experience difficulties breathing, 'till the insect desintegrate. Flaming bugs cooking up our wildest dreams, whispering it to us in the cold streets where we lose conscience of the world. While I am dreaming of a boat, Biniji is cooking up vicious visions, and as I cannot find a beautiful boat, I lie on the grass and let him whisper to me that I should chase little girls, that I should drink prohibited drinks, that I should be bad to everybody. I like the sound of his voice, and my voice echoing it. I will go wild soon: I like too much being a luminous bug. I don't like to be understood, so go away.

Time for the words... words in a mean that... Goodbye, there's nothing new, but this last said by you... I'm sentitive, touch sensitive, nothing new, sentitive touch sentitive... there's nothing new, but you... your hair, they fall on your eyes, there's nothing new, you're beautiful, I hate you, I hate everything... nothing comes to life in that context... I can't believe this is happening... to me... again... snowfall soon... Goodbye, there's nothing new, but these last ones, said by you... and this world tricks to an end, wether there's something inside... nothing inside to rescue mine... just making up fantasies... you wont believe it, just classify me, I am telling... touch sensitive, I am sensitive, touch sensitive, a teller, dreams

The aestethic of "the fugitive", as it goes.

Smiles, faces, looks, and somehow it's more that it could ever be. I picture myself in a situation, and yes I am thinking that it would be better that way, but I am part wrong. Can we have complete situations, well done ones? I think we get fugitive happiness moments, but how hard it is to get a perfect situation? It takes wine, right people, right time, the right girl, and love getting the world in motion. Cigarettes are good too. Those perfect moments... before youth is going away. I wish the right ones would get in my way. But I cant even open my mouth, and opening the mouth is the first step to everything, world teached me... unless you are a true magician, but I didn't reach for that... Blah beuh bah, I follow you, everywhere you go, 'till tou talk to me. Where's my luth... too kitshy, I've already destroyed it... but that's kind of overdone, destroying instruments, ....damn!!! I am stuck with that luth!! Build me a vessel!! with everything! It's the sea, it's the drifters, it's... never gonna end, take my hand.

You will never understand. You become what you stare at. I don't like being lost all the time. That's why I need you. When I am lost, when I don't know where I am and when it is, you have got to give me something... maybe just a part of you're body, maybe just a word, a look, I don't know. Maybe you have got do to nothing, because it won't help. If you try too hard, maybe I 'll love you, maybe I'll hate you, depending. Can you get it when I close my eyes and everything disappeared and I'm lost? Would you recognize it and would you know what to do or to do not? Ideals made me ideal and fucked the whole world just enough so that you can't recognize it. You'll be in full sea of mystery. If you panic, maybe it will feel just right, because it will fire me up. Once you fixed in reality, you are lost forever. Then you won't see me by no window. Hope you fly, hope you float, hope you dream, hope you sleep, hope you get all mixed up and become crazy. I will be pleased watching you rationalize it. Maybe you'll see a secret kiss flying out my smiling eyes and you will strangle me and love me. If I predicted it, then shame on you, you already bore me. Each thing, everytime, I don't want to know what you're after. And who knows exactly what we're after? Certainly not me, neither you. That's what allows everything. God, that sea of possibilities... Can you count them? Do that funny thing for me. I ask you so that so that you can do something else that I wasn't waiting for. That's the point, if there is one, of asking: getting something strange, totally disconnected out of it. So I hope you are not waiting something from me, because here's one thing I never do. The only thing we can trust is secret, because even when it reveals, it's to trick us. I believe in secret.

Soon I will be writting in Spanish. I am just leaving a language for another, like this, like a lazy lazy contemporary guy... I am pretty proud of myself. I am not messing with anything for too long, I am like this. So I could die soon, I don't mind. My mouth speaks the truth, my mind is living on the edge. The thing I like more about life: anyone may crackdown at any time. Fall or crack, at any time, never know when neither where. It's the crackdown. I don't think everything is illusion, because that last concept has been over-soiled. I just can't believe what I see, I am astound and desperate. I'm like: "What's this?! Did it had to be that way?!"

Aureliano had chosen Remedios. Why? She was the only one still weting is bed. They had to wait after her puberty before their union was to be consumed. Aureliano had that steel conviction, almost stupid, well that's love. Remedios didn't understand anything. Well did she really understand nothing? I guess everything was kind of magical for her. She was kept in her house with her toys, not having any bad toughts, almost any toughts at all: puberty had not changed her. How pure is that? Aureliano and Remedios were to be together, it was simple, Aureliano had find his love. Remedios was to love him, first by strangeness, because she was living her young magical existence, and then she would love him for he was to be the only masculine figure around. And he would love and adore her, and care for her. There would not be much questions or hesitations, how perfect. Had she seen the little boys hanging around, with their lazyness and futility? She would have had a wide variety of choices, in fact it's the same thing: she would have had no choice of falling in it, falling for someone, then another one with something stranger, then another one who was simply the one she hadn't noticed she loved. Did Aureliano saved her? Well, who can say what's right or wrong these days... Multiple love affairs, falling in love all of the time or devote yourself to single adoration and grown affection. That's just anything, anything, and there's nothing good, just anxiety. And small pieces of happiness.

Fli

Yeah, the cop story that was coming.... well, you'll be a bit disapointed, because there is not much action. Rereading my last post about another dream that I had, I found that there was not much of an action, no particular details about the dream itself. And the fact is that it's true that I am not really giving any precise details 'cause I don't remember about it, so don't expect the telling of a dream like if I was telling you a story. It happens frequently in litterature that dreams are told like if it was a story with a detailed environment an a detailed tail... well, it's not really how it happens.

Let's start with a general consideration related to the dream I am ready to tell you about: have you ever noticed (I say that formaly, because everybody has) how selfishly we think in a dream? I mean, even more that in real life. It's even more obvious and embarassing in "life or death" situations dreams. I don't really remember what I did wrong, but I was fleeing away from the Justice. Not exactly I was fleeing, but I knew that I was suspected for something, so I was keeping on the lockout. I was driving in a kind of highway (when I am driving, in my dreams, its always on a highway or some kind of deserted road). So, I was driving in a really clumsy way, as ever. I was getting out of hand, carried out of course in the off-road, in a word I was out of control, as I always am in my dreams. Suddenly, I crossed a cop car: bad news. They abruptly turned back and chased me. I offered no resistance, and stepped out of my car. I was desperate, I was facing serious jail time. I knew that my life was going to be messed, it was the worst thing that could happen, I was caught and about to live a hell time. Again, (like in the other dream I told you about last post), nature was so bright and marvelously desolated. That's the only thing that made me feel good. Lets get back to the action. When I was out of the car, I stole one of the two policemen' gun. It was not an intense scene, I just stole it, I think they were almost laughing. And then (and that's wild, I never did that in any other dream before, really it was so bold by myself...) I pointed my weapon toward them! I was about to shoot them, or one of them! I remember perfectly my reflexion: " If I shoot him, I could get in even deeper trouble, so I should not do it." How selfish!! But the fact here, it's that I didn't shoot any of the two, and turned the weapon over me! again, its my reflexions that I remember the most: "I could suicide, and it would end everything, I would have no trouble anymore." I then turned my back to the cops. I had a small reflexion about the fact that they could should me in the back. Here's what I tought about it: "I much prefer dying that way that they should me when I look at them, BUT, I am affraid that they miss the killing target and that they just hurt me, it would be more painfull." But I also tought that they could not shoot me in the back that way. I was kind of on a bank. The road was alongside the sea, just a little higher. So I looked at the sea, and tried to get deep tragic toughts about my situation. I was kind of disturbed by the presence of the two policemen. God, it was strange... I was having toughts about suicide, I was trying to get some courage, trying to convince me that it was better, but I was hanging to this life, I was affraid of the big nothing awaiting me... Should I shoot me, it would end everything, but... if it was more? if there was a chance for me to escape from my desperate situation? But if I shoot me, what will happen? A big nothing?? I was so scared, front of the sea, disturbing policemen behind me, and I was about to shoot me. I admit, I had the courage of doing it, and you know what gave me that final push? I suspected that I was in a dream!! So I pushed the trigger... And that's the thing I remember best from my dream: the sound, the texture of the bullet coming out of the gun, the sensation of it... The end.

Telling of some asleep dreams.

Agression in a bright medieval garden

The chosen one ... on me as I show them that I can fly. But it's not the same thing when I am doing it for showing them. I kind of lost them in a messy crowd that is not human, but that is mostly disturbing. I sense that they are busy at something else. I can see that from above, it's like a Bosch crowd, like an insect cloud. I can't remember how was my flight, because what happened next was so powerfully traumatizing, that it is what I kept in mind when I awoke and tried to hang to one picture of my dream. It's a sumum of an humiliation scene that reveals me what I am haunted with. I've been mocked, humiliated, but it was so vulgary done, I am so sorry that there was no continuation (or did I forget it??) of my dream, because I would have like to see the reaction of other people. I can just remember the evil face of my agressor (which I know in my real life, and which is indirectly related to my "love" relations. He has a whole particular status in my mind, like everyone I think). I had no conscious bad toughts about him, and at the opposite, I kind of admire him. Which means I must have been envious. What is sure, it's that he was far from letting me indiferent and I considered him like one of the most impetuous person I knew. And God knows he was in that dream. Another thing I can remember of that humiliating moment, its something more vague, and its something that takes no clear position versus me. So I don't really know if the person I remember was sympathic to me or was kind of against me. It happens frequently in my dreams that my best relations turn against me. It's simple, I think they know me, so they know what I am bad for and what I am doing wrong, what I am laughable for. So that's why they always turn against me in my dreams. Do you imagine the adversity??! I only find friends in some cold emotionless mysterious figures that I don't know. Usually they don't say a word and they don't express a feeling, otherwise I would take it bad. So it leads me to think that the person, the main attender of the scene was kind of with the agressor, but I really am not sure. And the more I think of it, the more I think he was neither with him neither with me. He sure understood a lot of things, but all in his way, like he was not implicated, which is good for me. It's funny, I see only his head in a messy carnavalesque crowd. Like a head floating, what makes him like a spirit floating. Generally, this dream (and I am finding out about that right now, as the images take form) seems to have a lot of Middle-Age and Renaissance imagery... how weird is that? Lots of pictures are like Bosh paintings, mostly the edenistic ones, and for that also there are some pictures that are reminders of how I picture Le Roman de la Rose, a medieval analogy novel. In the agression scene, I felt like a character of a violent medieval story trying to flee and cover himself from the agression, in a eden garden or forest. It's weird how luminous nature was in that dream, how bright and medievaly edenic it was... Maybe it has to see with the subject of my dream, which is intensely related to the obsessional themes of medievists. Well, that theme is haunting in each Age, but in my mind, it has a really particular flavour in the medieval context. I feel like I am resurecting that humanity... They managed to create an imagery that is so marvelous and that sublimates the subject of obsession. So it kinds of put in scene everything but the subject of obsession; that is the best.

(tonight or tomorrow: a cop story! well, not really... but you'll see, it's another dream made in the same night)

"You want to see the sky, just put a window in your eye" But your eye is liquid, I cannot breathe. That's perfect, languishing spanish ink with green and purple glints. I swim up to the surface, I am so wet, hallucinated, spanish glints sea, I'll never be the same. I cannot stay in the waters forever. On the bank fizzy fairies are dancing in the wind. So young, so fresh, bubbles smiles bubbles eyes, and I am young again, I'll never be the same again. What do you learn in school? School? What's that? Books? Heroes? Your book and your dreams, my fairy. Words, mooves, looks, and I am crazy.

Waking up, new light. I once was lost in that chinese austere and full-of-mysterious-expectations-and-coldness world. Tried to tell myself that there was nothing more. It broke my heart, felt in another dream, and I don't recognize my chinese faces anymore, they lost their charm (I mean, I forget...), they left it in some past faces, fixed forever, and that forever will end soon, where bubbles will pop again and my brain go crazy for it.

Love is never boring, but I am exhausted. I've traveled all around the world, where the sea tastes gum, metal, ink... Lost, found, lost, found, my explorers, endind in the pub of low imagination, or sleeping till inspiration comes back, at the edge of an hair, of a finger that is so soft it is creepy love. Creepy love, pudding, yaourt culmination. Creamy fairy, don't jump to hard, or if you do, take my hand. Even without seing each other, we are in the yaourt together and that's everything. Is everything that I say just getting you hungry? Well you don't have to open your eyes and look, it will burn. Just taste. Doudooudou, my raspberries! Little perfect worlds, you're not vessels? What really is moving? We usually ask the wrong questions, we are so wrong, I am the extraterrian laugher! Suffocating in my pudding! Stop, now there's just air, I don't understand... I have no consistancy, nothing, nothing... Now I don't believe in any form of body. The states are messing with me: air, liquid, gaz, all the same.

Un nageur dans l'oeil

Mon corps aurait besoin d'être constamment traversé par un fluide ou par la fumée pour être bien. Alors je pourrais écrire de belles choses au-dessus de la réalité. Si j'étais un petit poisson fendant l'eau, ou une taupe creusant la terre, j'aurais ma petite vie magique. Trop de possibilités en moi m'empêchent de choisir une vie. Ceci fait de moi un halluciné errant, un impuissant diront d'autres. Par mon corps, je suis devenue une charmante comédie. Par mon esprit, un gâchis dont je ne soupçonne plus les abîmes.

J'ai créé un monde merveilleux pour Alice et Anet, il est fait de bulles de lumière, de vent liquide blanc et de soleil rose. Lorsqu'il y a musique et danse, cela vit. Lorsque la musique s'arrête, il y a une attente, le monde est secrètement haletant. J'écoute leur souffle, respire leur haleine, et admire la sueur scintillante suspendue à leurs corps: cela m'inspire.

"...tu ne fus qu'un contraste de lumière blanche me déchirant le coeur. Ton spectre..."

Vous levez la tête et voyez un monde fantômatique en suspension devant vous. Il vous est impossible de vivre sans flotter, mais sans cesse on vous accroche. Envolez-vous dans la vie, et ne comprenez rien. Tout sera curieuse logique, comme un rêve, comme une petite vie magique de poisson ou d'oiseau.

Slamming windows, tozen windows slamming, and as I am trying to close everything, other ones appear or open brutaly, ...what's that?? Seems like I am all messed up, trying to breathe... Is that me?? The storm raging, my belongings drowning, what keeps me alive? I know, it means that I don't belong, neither to me, neither to anything. This is the new life, just mirrors, only questions. Where is the spirit, god help me... It's just a boat, and the sea never ends, that's the only thing I can be sure of. Lost a dream there, now it's an island that nobody ever visits, or really? I look back: must reinvent again, or must create something new: choose.

Milk

Love you, drown me, must not see the end of it, neither the stream (feel it, don't...). Fruit Island, where I sleep, Eden where I find virgin-me. Lying, watching the fruits falling slow motion... nice, felt on my head so softly. Now I will bite one of it, will be so soft that I will die of this new feeling. Now I am having visions, white visions. Mostly milk. Milk people. The milk people try to talk but only greasy pearls flowing out delicately on the extrimities of their mouths. Their breathe makes bubbles. Now I climb a pear tree, sit on a branch and sing melodies. At anytime I want, I can just let myself fall in the milk bubbling broth.

Western eldorado

Invented myself a western eldorado, with square horses with sad eyes, mad gold searchers with ugly mouths, mechanic pianos playing itselves all day long, shady faces appearing behind windows, a crazy grandma, some dirty vicious babysitter with a criminal background... a ghost city with something in the air but with humans with nothing inside. A gloomy music, everything perfectly detuned. The place where natural elements make everything suspect, but where nobody cannot do anything that we know. There are people playing some kind of roles, but nobody really exist, and they don't know. They're like ghosts, everything is happening outside them. They only have an abstract feeling of desolation and death, but most of the time it doesn't come to life, never.

(Soon coming: the story of the plastification.)

I have got good news. Time has slowed down, and then started to go backwards. Then it stoped, around 1986. It existed for a flash, and then it died and we got back stuck in here. Here's what happened in that 1986 flash.

Two girls were wearing excessive white sunglasses with pink shirts and those pants that fits your ankles perfectly, skin-tights. They had leather hand bags, pretty flashy in the sun, and they had never been so girly. Oof, they would have need support from the world around, I mean, who catches when time has rewind? They turned their heads back very quickly, very in the air with the hand bags and the hair and everything, and started to laugh throwing their heads behind. Somebody touched me and it ended. Need to find a way to float.

Hi, it's me, again. And I am getting fired up, again. About nothing, again. Well, in fact, it's about something so far away from concrete life, folks, but in an other way so close... I just cannot tell from here. Would need the support from an outsider... A trustfull one... Someone a little like me, or someone that could be my girl... in a non-existent life. Unless I cannot tell what it was... anyway it doesn't matter.

It happened that I found out that we can summarize anything with a single colour. Or two. Anyway, when you become a colour, or a joyfull mix of two, you may meet on your way other people that also are a colour or a mix of colours. And you're happy, and people are tastefull, and it makes for greater memories. Everybody knows the song "Yellow" from Coldplay. Love that song.

Eyes talk but cannot get to a point, because there are people. Eyes, juice, crystal, light... and I'm crazy.

Are those little girls angels or butterflies? Anyway, they know the way to our stomach, and they are hungry for it. I think theyre just killer angels. Wish I could see under reality... Then I could live with them... there... where it's... you know...

The day doesn't fit my mood... the night comes.... and I am floating...floating into the night. I am living when darkness comes. I don't understand the day... and everything that is happening during that time. I cannot settle into the day.... it's getting me nervous. Everybody starts living when darkness comes. Please don't read me as a gothic, 'cause I am not and... I not am. Darkness, velvet coat... where we feel at ease to create anything, evrything.

Gouzy gouzy gouzy girls, gnia gnia gnia smiles, that's where I am getting started. I've got two apples, one in each hand. I cannot touch you. Jungler? No, I am not jungling. A young man, alone, jungling on a place. I saw him. Hey man, what are you doing? This place is empty. Are you furious? What have you got in the eye? That's like a big nothing covering up something. How can I think of something for you?

I'll be tracked forever with japanese visions. Pink air, you know, flying manga gouzy gouzy... Stand in the air with that japanese music, everything flies around. Can I find the music for that pinky japanese world? Girls are so tiny and fragile and soft. I cannot take it... I have got two apples, one in each hand... Take a bite and smile, juicy juicy... juicy girl. Befor I chew the apple of your eye. I don't know how to say that I wan't everything else dying... Because I don't really want death, it's more of some kind of reality that has to change of colors. Some colors don't exist here. We don't have to talk about it, we don't have to talk, because talking belongs to a shit world. Some other world exists beyond talking, we don't understand that. Now I have got to be an extraterrian. Or figuring some heroic japanese world that must be like a young manga-girl phantasm. That's already too much... `cause we're not together lying on the grass looking at the sky. That's the only thing that should be.

Damn cats...

" I know I am guilty, my stomach always hurt. " Guilty? Let's say "stupid". I would have eat you, man. But instead I'll swim after her legs underwater. Nobody can see me there, I feel good and it kills you. Just the two of us...

You saw that non-existent movie (more like a scene, should I say) where the girl is making lustful signs while going backwards in the hall?? I am sure you know what I'm talking about, even if you didn't see that non-existent movie. Well, there must be a guy too, following the girl's signs, but without ever getting to touch her. A dream taught me that I really don't mind touching her. It really is not the point, you point-men. The only person that could understand that is that character woman that was fascinated with the action of taking out the trashes or something like that...

Anyway, wish I lived in Puddle Beach...

Hey, I say that age doesn't matter... Are they too much hung-up to understand that? You dress like in the 80s, you have greasy pink lips and wear excessive sun-glasses. By the way you mooved, and by the way I looked at you, we both understood. Inhibition wasn't your problem. But you had a baby...

You may just lost yourself into impossible dreams, you may either give up on that, as guys like me are blind and stupid. The way you mooved showed me that you still believed. I'll be there.

Shit happened today. First with Karen. She phoned me soon this morning, I was in a bad mood. I almost didn't awake and talked to her very rudely. As she was boring me with her reality details, I told her one dream I had and informed her that I tought it was a premonition that everything would soon fuck between each other. She begged me to get back to a normal behaviour. It got me angry: "I love you but I don't" I told her. Then: "If you were little more different, little more like I want, maybe it could work... I am sorry." After I told her that, she insulted me. I said: "You are starting to be interesting." She insulted me heavier. "I love you!" I told her. She started to cry and hanged off. When shit like that happen early in the day, it gets me started for the rest of the day for other shit. I ran into a girl that I was crossing by almost everyday in bike. We told each other so many things with our eyes, when we were crossing, that I think we were deeply in love. So I just fell of my bike and she understood, and then I loved her and then ignored her. She was so confused that she will love me forever. Girls...

Got to work today, fell asleep. I am a touristic guide, waiting for custommers alone in my box. Two women came and almost awoke me. First automatic tought: being affable. So, unconsiously I stood up and went to them with so much conviviality that it didn't awake me. I don't know how it happened, but in those few moments, we acted like aunts and godson. One of them touched me like if it was, if really that kind of touch exist (you know, the way aunts touch their godson...) Anyway, it lasted for couple of seconds, they went away, and I woke up.

I am not orphelin, by the way. Would be funny however that reality would be so simple. Dreaming of having a real comfortable familly as you are an orphan... And it ends there.

There are lots of places where you can write things that are not to be red by anyone. I just found out that a blog may be a good place to write things that would be red by people who would read it and hopefully reply to it. People struggling with their shit life seems to be the more interesting stuff for normal people. As my life as "me myself" -which means my mind life- doesn't have any interest in that context, I find no use being that "me myself" that I must be, I find no use being that small "me" that I must be in the ocean of life inside me, so I'll just be a pissed off American in need for affection. Why not be an American for this time? I can be anything, it is worth anything.

Emptyness allows us to move, to breathe, to "talk-shit-do", as I love to say. Otherwise we could not do those essential things. We would already be drone before to exist. This is where I start, to show you that I am serious: talking is nothing, as writting is nothing. Words and ideas just flow, there's always a mood behind it, and another more obscure mood behind it, and so on. The deepest mood is the one we cannot find out that it is possessing us as if we were puppets. That's why after having deep shit in our lifes, we wake up, but only a long time after and to fall in another dream. Radicaly, the deepest mood, the inaccessible one, is the mood that will stay constant all our life: we just cannot think it, we'll die before we find out. That's why we sometimes cry for no particular reason. It's like if we were living a tragic life and we could just feel that it's tragic without knowing why.

Messing with many girls at the same time, being exhausted by our relationships and starting to act bizarre, and when everything is over and we have a rest we awake up and find out how it really was, how we were at that time. We would cry for insignificant purposes during those tumultuous moments. We would float, sink, rage, become unrecognizable for our relatives.

No shame: no me no shame. Be ready to believe anything or go throw yourself into the river.

Art primitif

Plaisanteries et mystère

Baseball

Soirée au club

Mer antibiotique (Dead Sea)

Alpiniste solitaire la nuit

L'Ouest

Dreamers