Category: Two Thousand Twenty

I have the desire to fall the mask of societyThe mask of my paganbeauty I have this desire to unmask this raw truth of my forbiddensex I have this desire to undress to show off my destitutionI have this desire to strip my skinI have this desire to pierce my absence in broad daylightI have this indecent desire to interfere in my intimacyTo lift the veil of modesty

An Inca pyramid in the middle of the jungle. Mid-twentieth century. In a very rainy season.They had been there for a fortnight, exploring the temples and looking at the sculptures engraved on the walls. They sometimes explored the jungle around. Snakes, monkeys, cockatoos, met on the walls of temples, and sometimes came to inhabit them. Sonia and Jenny were taking notes from their notebooks. They were part of an international ethnology research centre. – This rain is that of the feathered serpent, which pours it abundant on this earth… endlessly.They were sheltered in a large room, surrounded by monkeys. – …

There she was, sitting with her legs folded in front of her, leaning in, wild, in all the brilliance of her seventeen years. He painted the lines of his body, in clean and abstract shapes, and he wanted to squirt the painting on the canvas, he wanted large red lines, green, blue, yellow, purple, orange, he wanted to smear the white walls of the living room workshop. But it contained itself. He tried to keep drawing the black lines of Isa's body, he tried to be precise, to relax, to breathe. – Something is wrong, Andrei?It had been ten minutes …

Now is the time for negress. Here comes the time for writing, falsification, betrayal, in broad strokes, forced strokes, like a sketch, for details we will see that later. Here comes the time for dance, music hall, mime, here comes the time for pleasures.But weary, like a flower fades…Here comes the time for illicit loves, here comes the time for youth by proxy, here comes the provocative and mature time for fulfillment.Here comes the time to say to oneself, to tell oneself, to tell others, to say everything, and even more, here comes the time to write to oneself.The public …

It is 5 p.m. on Tuesday, November 17, 1917.It's been raining since the beginning of the afternoonand I'm going around in circles in my attic.I take my hood, my bag and my hat, and decide to go for a walk in the park.Before going out, I make myself a pipe of little gray.I think back to that story I'm writing.There is no coup de théâtre and it is only made of denouements.But here the knot is too tangled, the plot tightens.I watch the trees in the park, the leaves fall with the rain, when a man approaches me. " – …

Human things are overwhelming like a summer sun at its zenith that is dying with moisture. Human things have risen above the hierarchy of the mineral, the vegetable, the animal. Human things have become elaborate, complexified, abstracted, conceptualized. Human things are of the order of time, speed, nanosecond. Human things are of the order of space, thirty square meters. Human things are of the order of volume, three cubic meters of water. Human things are of the order of analysis, scruple, suspicion, distance, calculation. Human things are mathematical, geometric, algebraic. Human things are precarious. Human things are fragile. Human things …

Calm down, my soul. Soothe your torments. Look in yourself for this point of balance, this axis, to resume a movement in serenity, like a musical mobile that tintinnabule according to the breaths of the wind. Seek inspiration in the hollow of you, inside your body that resonates with so many sensations, movements, vibrations. It does not matter if when we talk to you about light you see in you a shiny black, luminous, because it is your energy as in the heart of the stars the matter burns, as in a bonfire it is the wood that turns black. …

The blonde in a red sports car punctured her right front tire. There are not many people on this road, but fortunately a truck driver has stopped. But since she is as beautiful as she is stupid, he drags things out. So the spare wheel is not suitable, and he wants to take it to a mechanic friend to change the wheel. She says she doesn't understand why she should buy a new one, that the spare wheel is original and that it should be quite suitable. He ends up leaving her in plan and resumes his journey. She finds …

For a Latin American who is going to become a writer, the three most important things in the world are his mother, tequila and favella. He knows that if he wants to succeed, all three of him have to leave them, and that's not easy. His widowed mother wants him to find a "real" job to feed the family. So he found a job as a waiter in a night bar where there is music and dancers. Since he brings money to his mother every week, she leaves him a little alone. So the mother, with the money, it's almost …

Hello dear Franck. It has been a long time since we saw each other again. Our paths separated when we were teenagers. I got wind of you sometimes, and it was like crossing the desert, this wind lifted the sands and I often feared the storm. I drank tea in the evening thinking of you, and I told the Tuaregs to include you in their prayers. I brought it back to you from Egypt. It's a game, it's played with a smile. The plateau is made of linden wood and ebony wood, it is a checkerboard of black and white, …

In February, there was a lot of talk about the disease in China, with a little humor about this rather undemocratic authoritarian system that controls with digital tools the temperature of beijings in the street. Myth or reality? In any case it was funny, and even rather strange.And then the messages of the media: no contact, sneeze into your elbow. With Patrick, on Thursday, we hesitate and then we hit five.Then the measure of confinement is taken: stay at home. Sunny weather, clean air, silence, birdsong. Isolation too, with thoughts coming from my mind going around in circles in its …

While storing the belongings in the desk drawer, I discover this old rusty metal key, long, wide, with this hollow heart in the part that we hold in the hand.I thought it was lost, I had forgotten it, and now I remember this little masure of the Col de la Croix-Morand which served the shepherds and to which I used to go with Lucie, playing cards sometimes with friends, or even alone to read and write.I was nineteen years old, I was drunk on life and nature, while since then I have been working in Clermont-Ferrand as a graphic designer, …

I remember artifices, illusions, brutal realities, beautiful escapes, shortcuts, mist on an autumn morning, dazzling sun, mirrors with larks, prey, shadow, thrushes and blackbirds, starlings, the song of the river, the earth stuck to my boots, frost, fire, flakes, drifts, nights, dreams, jobs, days, rain, gray sky, blue sky, alternations, alternatives, truths and lies, confusion, infusion, codes, jams, honey, gingerbread, a dazed smile, a warm look, soft hair, bright eye, dog, cat, hares, mice nibbling at me – they still nibble at me –, chickens cackling on my back in the backyard, radar alarm clocks, speeding, drunk driving, time running …

– We are PresencesWe are near and farWe stand in silenceTo let our heartspeak In this exhibitionspace That we still want intimateAs far as possible – I am DjiziI am in the room with mirrorsI am preparing for the beauty of my hairAnd my smile – We are busyWe are waiting for the next metroWhere we will join the crowdOf the lost in Babylon – I am HimI brought from my wanderingsA little purpleWith which I crossed the borders – I am SheWelcomeI learned here to dream with the cloudsI put their gray around meAnd the softness of my sweater …