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After the party

Fri­day evening was the com­pa­ny’s Christ­mas par­ty. As every year, the cel­e­bra­tion was gen­er­ous. Cock­tail din­ner and plen­ty of alco­hol. Laugh­ter is not just easy like that, the hap­pi­ness of work­ing togeth­er real­ly exists, I think, with­in Spiria.

Beyond the par­ty, what I love above all, and even with a cer­tain regret that I will describe lat­er, is the dia­logue, inti­ma­cy or con­fi­den­tial­i­ty that, as you can guess, takes place after soak­ing your lips even briefly in a glass.

In a very short time, com­plete parts of a life can be revealed to you can­did­ly, and it is per­haps because I am told that my heart is in the right place that peo­ple do not hes­i­tate to talk to me. That Fri­day, then, this guy have told me this, that oth­er that. I can’t, I don’t want to reveal any­thing. They were not such great secrets, either, and if they had to be repeat­ed in oth­er cir­cum­stances, they would seem to be only man­i­fes­ta­tions of ordi­nary life. The inter­est is else­where, for me. It resides in col­lu­sion. In the noise of a drunk­en evening, some­one talks about their life. Will he remem­ber what was entrust­ed ? Maybe not.

I do, though.

Some­times I think I would have liked to be a priest, a psy­chol­o­gist, to hear peo­ple’s lives. As a writer, I already open my ears wide. I observe in the shad­ows. I don’t say much about myself. At least, I say less. I think I’ve learned to keep my mouth shut.

Would I real­ly have liked to be a priest for that ? Or a psy­chol­o­gist ? Hon­est­ly, no. There is a regret or rather a con­cern, yes. Have I learned to keep qui­et because I have noth­ing more to say about myself ? Nor do I write “real” books, “real stories”.

Isn’t a per­son who lis­tens a lit­tle shy ? That Fri­day, I did not this one that when he spoke to me, I had a deep desire to stick to him, not for ephemer­al sex­u­al plea­sure, but only to taste his exis­tence. I did­n’t tell that oth­er one how sweet I thought she was either. Why don’t we say these things ? Because they’re ridicu­lous or because they’re too precious ?

I saw oth­er employ­ees dur­ing this par­ty who also seemed to be talk­ing about con­fi­dences. Was I dream­ing ? I saw the sad look on one of them’s faces. Seen with all the noise and the silent dis­tance that sep­a­rat­ed us, that she was cry­ing inside. Maybe I just invent­ed it the way I like to do it. I have seen oth­ers touch each oth­er with the plea­sure of being well togeth­er, danc­ing and for­get­ting each oth­er a lit­tle, soaked in wine or scotch. I know that peo­ple are hap­py to work for this com­pa­ny and the alco­hol offered is not the cause. They are peo­ple who sim­ply know how to dance.

On my side, I don’t dance any­more. I can under­stand those who walk through bars in search of car­ni­val and the­atri­cal drugs of truth untied from rea­son. In 1982, I wrote in cafés, look­ing at peo­ple, because I felt the pain of love, you know, that kind of wound that res­onates for a long time, because it is the first and it traces the shad­ow of hap­pi­ness to follow.

So I like these occa­sions too infre­quent for me, which, apart from the writ­ing I share here, allows me to draw the pas­sion that dri­ves us all to live. Or is it real­ly life for every­one ? So many ques­tions that arise try­ing to answer only one !

The next day, and even the day after that, with­out my hang­over, I had in my mind the bit­ter taste that silence had returned. I have looked, as I do dai­ly, at the InstaEmp­ty por­traits, cry­ing out in masked sin­cer­i­ty, of peo­ple who depict their eth­yl life or the hum­ble life they cher­ish and share can­did­ly as algo­rithms decide what the next adver­tise­ment will be before their eyes.

No, it’s not just alco­hol that cre­ates this drift. The mind is well able to get drunk alone hop­ing for hope and sur­vive to the end of the world.

In fact, today, Sun­day after­noon, I baked my bread, I told that to the whole plan­et Inter­net who sent me his likes. I saw the face of a hand­some man. I told him the light looked good on him. I also saw that my sis­ters were chat­ting in a pri­vate chan­nel, show­ing what they were plan­ning for the hol­i­days. Christ­mas din­ner is dif­fi­cult to pre­pare these days with all these aller­gies that have appeared from nowhere !

Where are we going, my God, you my silent vir­tu­al neigh­bour, do you want to tell me ?

Here, I’ll call my par­ents. I will always need their kind­ness and truths. And I did­n’t take a drop of alco­hol to say that.

Comments

  • Seb

    Seb 2018/12/16 18:47 0

    Dude! every time I ready your stuff it touches my soul. Tes mots sont bien choisi et peser. si seulement je pouvais mettre en mot comme toi tous ce que les gens me confis! A la fins de la journee c notre secret proessionnel ce qui me fais apprecie plus le monde qui nous entour.

    Merci Guy

    Seb

  • Normand Sénéchal

    Normand Sénéchal 2018/12/16 21:59 0

    Cher Guy, il y avait longtemps que je ne t'avais lu...et chaque fois cette sincère interrogation de la vie...
    cette touchante sensibilité avec laquelle tu abordes les choses est vraiment un don, car les questions sont mieux que des réponses, elles ouvrent la voie...et sans s'en rendre compte, elles tracent un chemin

    Merci Guy

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