(…)But I learned fast how to keep my head up ’cause I
know I got this side of me that
wants to grab the yoke from the pilot and just
fly the whole mess into the sea.(..)

there’s a piano inside my head that won’t stop its solitary breath, and my work isn’t finished yet, and i feel that it’s still not time for bed. there’s a broken voice inside my head that won’t stop its solitary moan, and now the guitar stops but the song isn’t over. it’s never over. there’s never any good time for bed. i can’t stop shivering when i think about the broken voice, the unfinished song. god’s note, G. i smile. do you want a slow one or a fast one ?
a few meters in front of me, the street was as empty as if the whole city had died in a second. but where are the bodies ? i said i could run wild in the middle of the avenue, if i wanted to. he laughed and said maybe we should. maybe we should.
am i disturbing ?
well, kinda, i’m working.
i have a twenty minute walk to go home, she said, would you keep me company ?
i said yeah, of course i would.
so i walked with her, in my mind, while she told me about her day, and she described me the restaurants and menus, people playing cards in a bar, the shop where she buys her cigarettes, what she’d offered to her friend, it’s -4?C outside. i should buy myself a coat for montreal, i said. i didn’t mention my hesitations about the trip. where will i be in november ? where will i be this summer ? juggling with trains and destinations, hopefully.
but i said nothing of it. just that i needed a valid passport for whatever plan in the making, of which i know nothing.
nah, don’t buy yourself a coat, take what you have and we’ll manage.
and i need to be sure that we’ll have enough money for toronto, too, you know how it goes.
don’t worry.
but i do worry. who knows where i’ll go once i’m free ?
and i can already guess their words tomorrow, their appreciative looks, i can already see their smiles, hear their funny jokes. and all the words that i need and don’t want at the same time. no, it’s not my fault, it’s not me, i didn’t do anything, i swear. they won’t believe me, so i’ll just smile, and put their words in a box for the time when i’ll be doubting.
and now, i almost don’t want to show them the pictures. i can’t help it. because i can already guess their words, and it reminds me when p. said i adore you, and i only wanted to run away. we were in bed, half asleep when the words fell from lips too close to mine. it’s just like j. holding me and kissing me on both cheeks once again, saying you’re too adorable.
and all the times, i just want to run away, just run away.
and one day, i might just do it, i know i might and you know i might…

Paris is a pain in the ass since Her (his ?)Excellence the Emperor of China has arrived for an official visit to his buddy, Moron 1st, king of France. Like a spoiled rebel teenager, Paris is just getting on my nerves.
there a hundred cops at every corner of the streets that the imperial carriage will take, who can’t figure their right hand from their left, there are subway stations closed in a random order that changes everyday, to name just a few things that get me angry as hell.

yesterday, i was to get A., the daughter of my former english teacher in photo school, from her english class at the british counsil and take her home. she’s 12 but her parents are the overprotective kind who think she needs a baby-sitter for a fifteen minutes subway ride.
but what the hell, i’m paid.

so i was angry yesterday at Paris, the whole city, and our goverment that bends low before a man responsible of countless freedom repressions against his people, just to have the opportunity to sell planes, nuclear power or whatever will make the most money.
– what a bunch of hypocrits, i blurted out after i heard A. tell me how cops had nearly arrested one of her friends because she has the bad luck of living in front the hotel where the emperor of china is staying and had forgotten her pass this time.
– why that ? A. asked.
– because your parents and mine are paying on their income a bizillion cops to protect some rat’s ass who puts in jail everyone who doesn’t agree with the politic of his goverment.

i deliberately made it simple for her.
– what do you mean ? A. wanted to know more.
i wasn’t much inclined to discuss politics with a 12 year old girl because i’m simply not paid for that, and i didn’t want her parents to think that i was brainwashing their kid. but i was angry, so i went on.
– well, it means that if you’re chinese and you’re expressing your opinion against the goverment, say on some internet site, you can be put in jail just for that. that’s what’s happening actually. you just don’t have a real freedom of speech there.
A. nearly shrugged.
– so ? it’s the same in the U.S.A., she said on a “why do you make such a fuss about it” tone.
:eek: :eek: :eek:

to my american buddies out there, this is what a french 12 years old girl, a smart kid raised in an educated family, with intellectual parents and background, going in a private school, this is what she thinks about the USA.

i spent the ten minutes left i had with her explaining her what’s the freedom of speech, opinion and beliefs.
maybe i’m going to prepare another lecture for next week, say on democracy, and how much blood is still being spread for it in many countries.

maybe i’ll also ask for a pay raise.

je guette ma lueur.
elle est apparue au sud, sous forme de tons turquoises tr?s clairs dans le ciel orange, se d?tachant tr?s nettement malgr? son appartenance aux brumes de nuit. je la guette, je l’observe. elle s’effiloche, comme les nuages, et voltige entre l’horizon violet, le ciel bleu fonc? et les nuages orange p?le. elle s’?tire comme pour se montrer au plus grand nombre, puis r?tr?cit, moqueuse.
je guette ma lueur.
je n’ai pas vu la neige tomber ce soir, je l’ai entendue.
ma lueur a vir? au blanc le plus pur en son centre. j’aimerai bien que ce soit une galaxie ?close pour les r?veur encore ?veill?s cette nuit.
ma lueur ne veut pas ?tre prise en photo, pudique. elle s’est transform?e en halo flou et fonc? sur l’?cran LCD de poussinette, elle a chang? le ciel orange en nu?e sombre, et poussinette enrage.
je jette poussinette sur mon lit, et je guette ma lueur.

dans ces moments l?, je pr?fererai ?tre ?crivain pour raconter beth gibbons et mes lueurs glac?es, qui donnent au ciel de paris des airs d’apocalypse paradisiaque…

“…i’ll try not to expect you to give as much as i think i do.”

rhythms of life, cycles of days and change of seasons, where do they lead us ?
we all start at some point, trying to figure out a goal at which to aim, our bodies and minds tense by focusing too long on some distant point that we can barely see.

meanwhile, rhythms of life, cycles of days and change of seasons show us the way, a path that we see nothing of, because our eyes are staring in the vague space in front of us, or staring at our own nose, preoccupied by our daily occupations, cares and worries.

but i keep in mind that it’s the way that defines the goal and not the contrary, that there’s much more to learn from our own paths than from each goal that we reach.

it’s like climbing a mountain. you may have the most beautiful view from the top, which is why you want to attain it, but since you’ll spend the most time climbing, better learn to enjoy your walk, too, and after all, the best memories i have from my teenage mountain climbs with my brothers weren’t the tops we’d rest on for awhile, they’re from far, the times spent walking and climbing, struggling for breath often, feeling the sun on our faces, and our endless talks that had much more meaning that we were aware of at that time…

we’re all the ones with pretty words in our smiles, planets circling on different orbits, growing to learn our own life rhythms, waiting for a change in the air to decide which season we are and what we’re supposed to do according to the period of the year. but today, i think, i feel, it could just be an afternoon late april, if i want.