je crois à mon chien d’être fidèle
le chien sait que je partirai un jour
j’ai donné un regard à une ligne
elle est devenue la vérité
sèment les feuilles à terre
ce que je désaccorde je ne sais pas ce qui est
je suis naturellement désespérée et décidément sans future
je ne peut plus viser le pistolet à toi
je préfère à peindre mon corps nu
si on donne un rendez-vous à
la ligne de chemin de fer?
il est honte de dire que ça a été bien passé
je voudrais au moins la rencontrer
I was surprised, that’s all.
It was like going up to the sixth floor in an elevator with no lights.
Dark… and scared.
Looking forward to it to stop.
Love? What are we like so much about it for?
What a strange feeling to count on for?
Are we all not just so much deceived?
It is not about creating something “new” but rather creating a situation to find out what already existed.
Looking at her standing with her pendulous arms to the rhythm of her breathing I had to be in love with her.
Like people who has been waiting for the bus for a long time just to have the bus arriving but packed with people and no space for you.
I like to be in a country where I do not understand every words people are saying. I like to have this space without words and speakings to be able to sense things.
“Thanks for offering me to stay with you under the bridge, man… but I’m going rooftop with my girl tonight.”
All junkies seem to have a certain certainty. They seemed to have certain superiority. I don’t know if the pride comes from a sense of knowing something that the others don’t or a forced necessity from lack of it. Even when they lie, they lie so honestly. It’s like in the house of justice when you see the man in charge going in and out of the room of justice without a single change in their expression whereas their family would cry or shout according to the verdicts of the judge.
“He is to be remained in custody until the 25th July.”
“Oh my… it’s day after his birthday!”
Cracks and browns were reserved for the junkies and junkies were reserved for the foolish, uneducated, nameless crowds. The police told me that it’s dangerous to be here and asked me what I did. I told them that I was a university student. The woman police enlarged her eyes wide open and asked “So what are you doing down here?” But then again it’s not just the police. Even Monic told him off saying, “Why did you bring Cha here?”
I remember liking what I used to call “the coke sleep” It’s when I would have trains of images from the real life (in front of me) passing by as an assemblage of strong but unusual images. The images were not telling as to foretelling. I would use these images to have some positive impacts on the reality. We would be in a waste factory – like place with the sounds of electricity just next. I’d say something like “Let’s imagine that we are at the waterfall or at a riverside or something.” because the sounds of electricity to me were like water falling.
He would say “Listen to the various languages of stones, walls, shops and dogs then when you don’t hear them anymore, that’s when you write.”
He had a body like what I would say Siddhartha; a long and thin but boned body.