Life.
Do you realize how shitty this is to begin a postblog with "life." ? In fact, to begin anythning, any essay, movie, novel or drawing, with life. You just don't begin with life...
But then, how to begin?
Have you ever looked at the stars with an intense feeling of peacefulness? Is that better? No, I don't think so. Let's try again.
Try. This is what I'm doing right now, with this post. I'm definitely not trying to be tortured. I'm not. I just have these intuitions of feeling something exciting, something new, a piece of life I want to write about. As you probably noticed, I wanted to do it in english. I sometimes think in english, and then I want to put my thoughts on the paper, and the blond part of myself starts to make fun of me. And every time I begin a sentence, got this impression of trying to grab a piece of truth with too simple words, in a language I don't master, and making it vanish in the hated dimension of non-tellable truths. But today I wanted to try.
What it this blog? A kind of a draft. I'm a kind of draft, tout en puissance. Et je repousse le jour où je laisserai mon orgueil au vestiaire et cesserai de me réfugier derrière cet argument ultime, le brouillon. On peut pardonner un brouillon. On peut lui pardonner de n'être pas parfait. Il est encore plein de promesses. That's what Montaigne's doing with his essays, right? They aren't really an essay, more something like a try.
Who I am talking to ?
I guess I'm scared to allow anybody to criticize seriously what I've done with my heart, my brain. Too scared to let anybody destroy a piece of me. There's too much seriousness in there and I'm trying to get control back by desintegrating it with jokes and self-derision. Except when I manage to be proud of myself. Then I'm insensitive to criticisms, it just sweep over my bubble of self-estime.
***
Have you ever brushed your teeth with a sensation of being useless? And then you brush the other side of your mouth, the left-teethed side, and you realize that this is you in the mirror, and that this is you in your head, watching yourself in the mirror. And you and yourself both smile at each other.
Ca vous traverse vous aussi, ces furtives sensations de paix intérieure, de complétude avec vous même? Laissez tomber les étoiles. Imaginez plutôt la route qui défile, les arbres dorés, l’automne qui a un goût de paradis, de la musique dans les oreilles. Déjà vu ? Trop de clichés ? Alors oubliez, oubliez la route.
Suddenly, brushing your teeth in front of yourself, you feel like everything is an evidence. You feel deeply and completely lucid about you – which is rare. Les doutes s’effacent d’un coup de brosse à dent, et vous voilà, l’avenir dans une main, le dentifrice dans l’autre. This is so simple.
***
Ca vous arrive parfois de penser dans tous les sens, et beaucoup trop rapidement pour vous coordonner avec la temporalité objective ? Ca rend dingue. On essaye d’écrire, de bien développer, ne rien laisser échapper. Mais c’est trop tard, la pensée s’effiloche, se disperse, volatile. Ne restent que les posts sur les blogs, et quelques images. C’est extrêmement frustant, comme sensation.
Sometimes I would like to ask : what the hell I am doing here ?
But now I don’t want to. I don’t need to.
I know.
