02F30 TXT

Fantôme

Tue, 01 Jan 2013 21:46:19 -0500

Mort discrète
Mort élégante
De celles qui enfantent
Ces entailles nettes

Un coeur en noir
Ou blanc de peur
A battre sans saveur
S’est arrêté de croire

Il survole encore
Il monte au ciel
Trop tôt pour être réel
Trop haut pour son corps

Traverse les villes
Passe les années
Un pétale d’une fleur fanée
Qui ne tient plus qu’à un fil

Débarrassé de l’espoir
Il reste toujours l’avenir
Cette plaie à n’en plus finir
Saigne à n’en plus y croire

Déverse ses grands biens
Honore ses promesses
Applique toutes ses caresses
À un coeur qui ne sent plus rien

Pâle comme un fantôme
Sage comme une image
Brûle en moi cette rage
D’avoir détruit mon axiome

"All of us have a fairly extensive collection of such figures and inscriptions in our head; and we..."

Sat, 18 Aug 2012 10:36:55 -0400

“All of us have a fairly extensive collection of such figures and inscriptions in our head; and we have the illusion that we are “thinking” the loftiest scientific and philosophical thoughts when, by chance, several of these cards are grouped in a way that is somewhat unusual but not excessively so. This can be an effect of air currents or simply by constant agitation, like the Brownian movement that agitates particles suspended in liquid. Here, all this material was visibly outside of us; we could not confuse it with ourselves. Like a garland strung from nails, we suspended our conversation from these little images, and each of us saw the mechanisms of the other’s mind and of his own with equal clarity.”

- René Daumal, Mount Analogue

Advice from newfound friend

Sun, 15 Jul 2012 08:20:13 -0400

Just be nice. Live in this instant. Forget it. You’ll be fine. There’s no hurry. Just hang in this great big dark void. Everything will be allright. No hope surely does not mean anything serious could happen to you. It’s just safer isn’t it ? Distance and time. Your safe space from all the drama. Oblivion is the only answer you could come up with in order to cope with the situation. No other way out. Only trouble is you will never ever forget. Brainwash is an illusion. Just like love. An ideal you will maybe touch just once in your life, trapped in a second. A second that may last for years. But Time won’t leave you alone. Maybe try to kill time ? Make it stop ? Keep your eyes on the road. Mind your own safety, and the safety of others. All the passengers. Be patient, kind, and understanding. Time will tell. Tell you what to think. Tell you what you really are, deep down. Do not try to escape. Keep your focus. Watch the road. Everyone will be fine. Try to get rid of these strange feelings. Work on your concentration. Meditation. Emptiness. Until you feel absolutely nothing. And you’ll be dead before you know it. Letting all these eternal seconds pass you by. Preventing your spine from feeling all these intense pains. You miss them don’t you ? You shouldn’t think about them. Get away and escape. There’s plenty of distance to travel. Enough agitation to keep you busy. Until the end. Or maybe the end has already come ? Maybe it’s just hopeless ? It always is in a way, isn’t it ? Don’t worry abour the end. Live in the present. Live in denial. You got it coming. You knew it right from the start. Now get back to reality.

Et Pif Cucurucuc

Mon, 18 Jun 2012 13:52:00 -0400

La lumière incisive

Le rocher s’approche

Mes amours décisives

Que je m’y accroche

Je tiens en équilibre

Debout sur son bateau

La Gala d’un homme libre

Je plane au plus haut

L’esquif ne tangue pas

Mon regard devant moi

J’oublie l’entre-moi-et-l’eau

Je vole au-dessus des flots

Gardant la tête haute

Je fixe le village

Se pourrait que je saute

Au devant, pas le sillage

Ce grand roc me rappelle

Qu’une fuite en avant

Ne peut être si belle

Que portée par le vent

Mon coeur ne t’arrête pas

J’ai la vie devant moi

J’oublie ce que je sais faux

M’envole aux aurores des halos

Et ses faces impassibles

Rigides de gris plomb

Rédigent l’enfer des possibles

Que l’avenir me semble long

Sans vagues, au ralenti

Le vent ne souffle pas

Je passe tel un esprit

Ce beau piège sans appât

En plein été j’ai presque froid

Tous hasards devant moi

J’oublie ce que j’aime le beau

Je n’écoute plus que le bruit de l’eau

02F30, 17.06.2012

"Sa mémoire brûlait au pays du vent"

Tue, 12 Jun 2012 22:23:47 -0400

“Sa mémoire brûlait au pays du vent”

"time is my second worst enemy, right after myself"

Fri, 08 Jun 2012 13:28:32 -0400

“time is my second worst enemy, right after myself”

- XXX

crooked indifference: David Foster Wallace Commencement Speech

Sat, 19 May 2012 12:57:09 -0400

crooked indifference: David Foster Wallace Commencement Speech:

crookedindifference:

There are these two young fish swimming along, and they happen to meet an older fish swimming the other way, who nods at them and says, “Morning, boys, how’s the water?” And the two young fish swim on for a bit, and then eventually one of them looks over at the other and goes, “What the hell is…

"Aujourd’hui, j’ai l’âge exact qu’avait mon père le jour où je suis né."

Sun, 18 Mar 2012 17:03:41 -0400

“Aujourd’hui, j’ai l’âge exact qu’avait mon père le jour où je suis né.”

Prendre le temps de se perdre

Wed, 25 Jan 2012 12:54:00 -0500

Atrophie du courage

Perds tes repères dans une mer pourtant calme

Malgré tous les âges

Cap droit devant et sourires pleins de charme

Pourtant c’est le pire des naufrages

Tempêtes intérieures qui au fur et à mesure

Renversent pleines de rage

Tous ses espoirs tous basculés en autant de blessures

Rien n’est plus immobile

Les mouvements droits et rectilignes nous ennuient

Comme le temps de la bile

Était parfaitement idéal pour qui l’a enfin fui

C’est le temps des tronc d’arbres

Qui remplacent les fleurs

Les cristaux et le marbre

Poussent notre fragile rêveur

Abandon de soi

Oublie donc d’être

Ton petit moi

A qui manque son maître

Les flots ont poussé l’apathie la plus totale

Il faut donc vivre sous tous ces attirails

Les attaques ne viennent plus qu’en rafales

Et laissent alors entrevoir toutes ses moindres failles

Se jeter dans le vide ne sert plus à rien

Le vide n’existe plus

Les filets sont tous tirés pour ton bien

Le destin nous aura battu

Sans danger comment prendre des risques ?

Sans histoire comment raconter ?

Sans musique comment partager les disques ?

Sans vivre comment aimer ?

C’est le temps des longs silences

Qui remplacent la chaleur

Les mathématiques et les sciences

Cassent notre fragile rêveur

Fin de partie

Oublie donc celle

Le coeur sorti

La fin est si belle

—

02F30, 24 janvier 2012

"Si l on n est pas saisi dans sa jeunesse par un espoir, fut il illusoire, que reste t il ?..."

Thu, 05 Jan 2012 09:09:00 -0500

“Si l on n est pas saisi dans sa jeunesse par un espoir, fut il illusoire, que reste t il ? Rien.”

- George Steiner

"Death is the essence of all happiness when you don’t know how to live."

Wed, 04 Jan 2012 12:40:46 -0500

“Death is the essence of all happiness when you don’t know how to live.”

L'ultime poison

Mon, 28 Nov 2011 13:19:00 -0500

—

Ce sombre nuage bât la chamade

En plein coeur de cette forêt

De tous ces hostiles camarades

Rompus à entendre tous ces secrets

—

Les vents courent de plus belle

Et le froid hêle ces insultes

A notre voile bien réelle

Celle qui brisa tant de tumultes

—

Comment peux-tu encore

Comment parviens-tu

A respirer cette mort

A préserver ta vertu ?

—

Tous les tourments de lumière

Ont disparu de ce bas monde

Insensible, droit et fier

Il ne perdra plus aucune seconde

—

L’unique fois aura suffi

A briser toute celles

Qu’il a maintenant trahies

Eteintes toutes étincelles

—

Comment faire alors ?

Pour éviter tes pièges

Qui, enfouis en ton corps

M’ont changé en neige ?

—

La vague glaciale casse et saborde

Toute l’âme des souvenirs perdus

Tous retenus au bout de la corde

De toutes nos forces confondues

—

La confusion règne et nous frappe

Chacun chasse ses chastes discordes

Ne faire que fusion de toutes nappes

Les sentiments s’empilent alors en ordre

—

Est-ce ici encore

Est-ce en cette saison

Injectes-tu encore

Cet ultime poison ?

—

02F30, 28 novembre 2011

Le mal necessaire

Wed, 16 Nov 2011 09:28:00 -0500

—

Les chocs, les maux,

Les cicatrices sur l’email

Les blessures de batailles

Le poids traître de ces mots

—

On persiste à se faire mal

On s’intoxique à notre façon

On garde nos petites addictions

A vouloir le tout lacrymal

—

La douleur privée d’espoir

La solution à l’insoutenable

La délivrance impitoyable

L’intolérable refuge de l’art

—

Il faut pourtant mourir

Il faut quitter en un jour

Il faut oublier que l’amour

A tué l’esprit de ce sourire

—

Sans destruction perdurent

Ces pertes cruelles et fatales

Sans la beauté de ces pétales

Qui enfin secs, iront aux ordures

—

Mon seul espoir est le néant

La disparition, tout simplement

Je ne pourrai plus exister sans mal

J’ai perdu à jamais mon idéal

—

02F30, 16 novembre 2011

Toujours Noir

Thu, 10 Nov 2011 09:56:34 -0500

—

C’est sans une lueur d’espoir

Que j’ai revu tes yeux

Le noir complet de mes voeux

Ne se reflètent pas en miroir

—

La vie n’épargne donc rien

de mes bonheurs, de mes rêves

Et plonge jusqu’à la sève

Lame acérée pour mon bien

—

Tu me l’avais dit toi-même

Cette âme est pleinement noire

Et replonge chaque soir

Dans les abîmes où je sème

—

Ce vide en moi qui se creuse

N’absorbe pas la moindre lumière

Le refuge d’une solitude fière

La fierté d’une âme amoureuse

—

C’en est fini, te forcer d’y croire

Les aléas des illusions

Cette dépendance, ces prisons

Je ne veux plus jamais te revoir

—

02F30, jeudi 10 novembre 2011

Deux Rivages

Mon, 07 Nov 2011 14:13:00 -0500

—

C’est sans un nuage

Que cette pluie est arrivée

Un temps enlevé,

Jamais revenu à la nage

—

Dans ces liquides confusions

Rien ne fait de choisir

Et malgré maints moites plaisirs

Tout n’est resté que fusion

—

Ces angoisses à distance

Le lien de deux rivages

Qui sans même voir leurs visages

Vivent le contact des substances

—

Et on parvient à sourir

Des souffrances infligées

Des désespoirs, des lâchetés

De la toute beauté des souvenirs

—

Je donnerais toute mon âme

A contre courant, obstiné

Je persiste à vouloir traverser

Ce béant abîme amalgame

—

Mais une fois l’eau engouffrée

Ces deux tristes rivages

Se séparent d’âge en âge

Sans espoir de se retrouver

—

02F30, lundi 7 novembre 2011

02F30

Fri, 09 Sep 2011 05:22:58 -0400

02F30

Through the skies It left this morning. This strange feeling of...

Fri, 22 Jul 2011 11:36:00 -0400

Through the skies

It left this morning. This strange feeling of guilt, of being incomplete, of desire and lost dreams. There was nothing left.

As I was looking away from everything my sight needed to see, my eyes just couldn’t get away from the skies. My heart started pounding harder, faster. Getting out of my chest. My ears starting to heat up, and this damn tinnitus starting to boil up again in my eardrum. A strange feeling grabs me. I feel profoundly disembodied.

However, I’m still sitting perfectly still, pretending to be fully concentrated on my work. Of course. My colleagues have no idea. They never do.

As I look further across the reflections, reminiscent of my 5th grade window neon light flashes, I notice that all through the clouds, I’m there, flying away. Across the skies. It has left me. It’s lost. Or maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m lost. I don’t know what these words mean anymore. There’s absolutely nothing left, and I even hear these desperate words the way I’d listen to a pathetic love song in a nonchalantly half inserted earplug earphone. “Maybe I’m lost”. Pathetic.

The dreams, ideas and nostalgia, they don’t make it to my brain cells anymore. They just slide away, fly away, low above the surface, like a seagull speeding like hell above a sea with no wave at all. No wave. Nothing.

But still my body’s burning up. I feel sick now. Have to get a breath of fresh air. I’m litterally choking. I need to take a look at the skies without that thick skyscraper glass wall in between. I need to feel alive. I can’t. Even outside, even laying down, staring at the sky, there is no relief anymore from that dull, lingering pain.

I realize, the soul is something you can experience, especially when it leaves you. You head feels light as air, flying through the skies, while your body, devitalized, is burning up in hell.

Now, please, make me feel alive.

02F30

Clouds She lived on 25th floor. Sometimes, she woke up in the...

Mon, 20 Jun 2011 05:57:00 -0400

Clouds

She lived on 25th floor. Sometimes, she woke up in the clouds.

Everything was white and pure. On her bed, she felt like floating through thin air. There was nothing but white tongues of light water vapour caressing the windows, leaving moist, and giving an exhilerating sensation of speed.

She closed her eyes and felt the sheets slide between her thighs. She enjoyed the sensation for a moment, eyes closed, her full lips slightly open. I could even hear a very very slight sigh coming out of the back of her throat. A sigh that could barely be heard, but this very sigh resonated in my chest, and made my stomach feel like I had been starving for days and weeks.

Up there, lost in the middle of the sky, she was happy. I had made her happy. And noone else could have made her happy. And she sighed, as though this happiness was natural, just about the cloud, the sheets, the 25th floor.

I was as transparent as the cloud, caressing her thighs, leaving a bit of moist, passing by fast, leaving this exhilerating sensation of speed.

Nowhere to be found She just woke up from a bad dream. The...

Sun, 28 Nov 2010 18:34:00 -0500

Nowhere to be found

She just woke up from a bad dream. The sheets, tangled over her long wavy hair, weighed almost a thousand.

It takes her a few seconds to escape from her choke, and get a clean chunk of oxygen. Her eyes are ungluing themselves slowly, mixing up the late morning lights with a blurry grey cloud, that moved swiftly upwards, from the bottom of the tight wool matress to the freshly painted ceiling.

It all might have been because of last night. Everything got drowned in an unusual abundance of white. The snowflakes, the rum and coconut, the cheesecake, the drugs. She had been drowned. Her head was moving further and further away from the surface of the swimming pool, and above was that white chlorine vapours, ascending in the dry winter cold.

But this morning, she could not get rid of that cloud, that had been staying in the room for minutes and minutes now. The chlorine stench became unbearable, so she decided it was finally the right moment to get away from all this, take a clean break, and escape in the country.

She was nowhere to be found, before, and after that happened.

Paradox Can you really admit you are getting worse at...

Wed, 24 Nov 2010 18:54:00 -0500

Paradox

Can you really admit you are getting worse at something ?

Time goes by and your eyes learn and see artefacts of what life is made of. The more you know, the less stupid you get.

However, being wise can harm you: At one point, knowledge becomes enemy of all action ; understanding is paralysis and you have no choice but to regret what you have done or to use your brains to find some dishonest interpretation to all that.

That is precisely why I love the fact I am mentioning Paul Feyerabend’s Epistemological anarchism. It looks deadly relevant, though I just found out about it a moment ago. I could have afforded to get away with looking smart with that, but the truth is it will add to my tremendous “must-reads” list.

In a few years, I will have understood, and I will finally understand that I might have been wrong about the whole thing in the first place, thus proving my very point.

Guys, we just enunciated a paradox.

Good night, thanks.