je ne touche pas je n’effleure pas je n’ai pas d’arme assez affut?e, je n’essaie m?me pas je ne cherche pas je ne pleure pas j’ai les larmes trop ?mouss?es, j’avais oubli? le vide et le refus, la lassitude et l’abandon, je ne me mets pas ? nu je ne me mets pas ? mort, il ne devra rester que la poudre aux yeux et la lame au fond, des maux fades et pas d’?cho qui leur r?ponde, je te l’ai dit, je ne touche pas je n’effleure pas je n’ai pas l’?me assez aiguis?e.

soundtrack : lodger – doorsteps

je l’ai appel? en d?but d’aprem, il ?tait encore dans le train et moi je sortais de la douche. il a rigol? au t?l?phone, il a juste dit puisque c’est moi qui d?cide, tu viens me chercher ? la gare. je l’ai rejoint en retard, mais c’?tait pas grave il a dit puisqu’on a tout l’aprem et puis la soir?e aussi. on est rentr? chez moi pour qu’il d?pose son sac, et il a sorti une bo?te de son sac. il a dit c’est pas pour ton anniv’, faudra me dire ce que tu aimerais, mais ?a je m’en sers pas et je me suis dit que ?a pourrait t’?tre utile, et pendant que j’ai fait plein de caf?, il m’a install? cette carte usb 2 super rapide. on a fum? des cigarettes en rigolant comme des gosses, il a voulu voir mes photos publi?es et il a dit qu’il fallait qu’il fasse collec.
et puis on a d?cid? d’aller au cinoche parce qu’on n’aime plus y aller seul et que ?a faisait mille ans chacun qu’on n’avait pas vu de films au cinoche. on a march? jusqu’? bastille, ? grands pas comme on aime, il m’a racont? ce qu’il faisait, du ton qu’il a quand il est heureux de ce qu’il fait. ?a faisait plaisir ? entendre. la s?ance ?tait compl?te, alors on s’est regard? et on a achet? des cr?pes qu’on a mang? dans le froid en se disant qu’en automne et en hiver, c’?tait largement meilleur les cochonneries comme ?a. et puis on a remont? la rue st antoine, en prenant soin de tourner ? temps pour rejoindre la place des vosges, on a march?, march? jusqu’? hotel de ville, on est remont? jusqu’aux beaubourg, en parlant sans arr?t parce qu’on avait des milliers de trucs ? se dire, parce que ?a faisait tellement longtemps qu’on n’avait pas parl? comme ?a tous les deux.
on a continu? ? marcher jusqu’? ce qu’on retourne dans mon quartier, il ?tait 7h et demi, on avait la dalle et on s’est arr?t? dans un resto japonais super bon. on a parl? rock’n roll, new-york et photo avec passion parce qu’? peu de choses pr?s, on a toujours eu les m?mes go?ts. il m’a racont? plein d’?motion quand la chatte de la maison a mis bas dans un panier sur ses genoux, le soir de son retour comme si elle l’avait attendu, j’ai sourit, ?a ne m’?tonnait pas de lui, ce rapport incroyable qu’il peut avoir avec la nature, profondement humain et profondement animal ? la fois.
on a fini par rentrer chez moi, pour qu’il prenne ses affaires avant de repartir. on a ?cout? des chansons des beatles en chantant ? deux voix comme quand on ?tait adolescents, on s’est rappel? de cette soir?e buster keaton o? on avait failli s’?touffer de rire et r?veiller nos parents, on n’est pas arriv? ? se souvenir combien de fois on avait fait tourner les vinyls de sidney bechet, on a eu des frissons en repensant ? cette soir?e dans un club de jazz de greenwich, il m’a copi? plein de musique qu’il aime, et moi j’ai oubli? de lui pr?ter oracle night.
finalement il est parti. il m’a envoy? un texto quand il est arriv? et on est tomb? d’accord qu’aujourd’hui nous avait fait du bien ? tous les deux.
si jamais vous avez besoin d’un grand fr?re extraordinaire, je veux bien vous le pr?ter, mais faudra promettre de me le rendre.

soundtrack : the beatles – your mother should know

they asked me how work was. i said fine. i had a wry smile. then i conceded, great. simply great. i couldn’t help but grin.

exhaustion.
the taxi driver drove too fast whenever traffic allowed him to. i watched through the window, streets and avenues all painted in black and orange, thousand of cars like lost without any coherent direction, pedestrians flashing at intersections, magically appearing and disappearing in the night, all part of a saturday night dance that i don’t want to be in. we got stuck on a bridge and the waters hypnotized me. unusually enough, the driver didn’t say a word. he barely acknowledged the direction i gave him, he barely muttered thanks when i paid the fare. i wouldn’t have liked him to talk anyway. i was feeling heavy, the same heaviness that has been within me for weeks now. i don’t know how to figure that out, its complex oddity seems out of grasp, even though i know that it’s happened to me before, i know that feeling, i recognize the emptiness, its signals of alarm as a lack of coherence, an utter absurdity, my unability to sort anything out and how i must take the decision to keep going on no matter what minute after minute. i know where i come from but i don’t know where i’m headed.

i keep thinking about new york again. every now and then my thoughts wander there and get stuck, hypnotized. i only remember blue maybe because of the last full day i spent there. mid-september seemed like the june i know in paris. sunny and warm. light too. i took a nap in the sun in central park, walked all the way down on broadway, before reaching brooklyn via the bridge. i was slightly light-headed. i took a ton of pictures on the way. streets, buildings, cars, taxis, trees and people, the bridge, everything. when i came back to grand central, everything seemed to have settled down in the most perfect way, and i thought that it wouldn’t matter if i just died instantly. my bag was full of the blacks and whites and grays i’d captured, but if i hadn’t nearly seen a thousandth of what i wished i had, yet, it didn’t matter. the insane thought of dying without regrets lasted but a second. i didn’t know where i was headed, but i knew where i was coming from.
i returned home eventually a few days later. just about a couple of months after, i made my first « promo » pictures of a band. i try to figure out where i am now, but it seems to me like a giant absurdity, a heaviness is stuck in me for weeks now, or maybe months, i don’t know for sure, and it just doesn’t make any sense to me. i walk from concerts to appointments to meetings with friends to photo shootings to my editors’ offices and all the way back home, and it still doesn’t make sense, i feel like i don’t know how things work except for cameras, the more i’m able to capture, the less i can decipher, i’m piling unread books on my desk, unheard cds and unseen movies on my shelves, and i always come to notice that the only things that do make a bit of sense are the invisible line between a good and a bad image and the mysterious alchemy of the point where it all began again.
when they ask me how work is, i say fine, then i concede, simply great. i grin. just like my life makes any sense to me. just like this post makes any sense at all.

soundtrack : REM – the outsiders

…like…would you love me better if i…well, no, of course, would you like me better, maybe…would you accept me better if…wouldn’t you ? aww, that’s not true. *shrug* what do you want me to say ? you’re not a fatalist now, are you ? no, that’s right…i mean i don’t have the energy for anything else…so there it is. i just don’t want to go alone…i could a few years ago, now it seems like…i know you’re going to love that. it’s about…i don’t know. adolescence. growing up. like you keep a candle lit at the window and you don’t know what it means. and at the end, it all explodes. always. i don’t know what it means either…so how does it feel ? it just takes so long. so much time. what do you keep in your hands at the end anyway ? i mean at the very end. it’s not that i’m lost. i mean not completely. aww, don’t be silly now. i swear that’s right. i got that sunset you know. i don’t know why…look, it all just seemed to…happen ? something like that. and why not ? but you’ve got time, right ? i don’t know why i didn’t want anything. call it whatever. yes, i do, sometimes…and i still miss that you know…it just would have been a mistake, don’t you like well-done clear mistakes ? maybe senseless, i don’t know. i know i am. are you so blas? about it all ? that’s not the point. it drove me nuts, not surprising if it did to you too. that teaches you humility, i mean you or anyone. do you have any idea how much time it will take ? they always say one at a time, i don’t want that. so ?…i don’t know…the more i want to live, the less i’m able to. what did it do to you ? you’ve changed…i don’t mind, i always end up fucked up anyway. you’ve changed…i mean not completely. so ? i swear that’s right. it just takes so long. i mean at the very end. are you so blas? about it all ? maybe senseless, i don’t know. something like that. it’s not that i’m lost. i could a few years ago, now it seems like…so much time. i don’t know why…that’s not the point. it just would have been a mistake, don’t you like well-done clear mistakes ? aww, don’t be silly now. what do you want me to say ? growing up. i don’t know what it means either. call it whatever. and why not ? i don’t mind, i always end up fucked up anyway. aww, that’s not true. *shrug* so there it is…

et l? tout d’un coup je me suis retrouv?e dans une vieille salle de classe avec plein de potes, d’ex-potes et d’ex-pas-potes du coll?ge et du lyc?e r?unis. on avait cours de maths niveau cp, on avait tous 24 ou 25 ans, on ?tait tous blind?s d’?tudes mais ?a nous paraissait normal de faire des additions au tableau. bref. j’ai racont? ? tous ceux qui avaient fait ing? comment j’avais arr?t? les maths en bts et comment j’?tais pas du tout concern?e par ce cours naze, d’ailleurs je luttais pour arriver ? suivre. mais le truc qui m’a chiffonn?e quand m?me, c’est qu’on avait tous l’air fatigu?, on avait tous l’air d’avoir 45 balais, et que la prof qui nous faisait cours, c’?tait ma prof d’histoire g?o de 4e, et la salope, c’?tait la seule qui avait pas pris un coup de vieux.