Did you know that, brother?

Modifié le : 2019/07/23

I don’t regret any­thing, says the famous song. I don’t know if this applies to me, because to regret, you have to remem­ber, you have to be able to feel the still red marks of spe­cif­ic times. I don’t remem­ber any­thing, bare­ly that’s a lit­er­ary lie.

By rein­vent­ing the fam­i­ly web­site (, I reviewed some of my past actions with­out real­ly grasp­ing that it was my soul. These pic­tures, how­ev­er, I often see them. They are the ones who forged the idea of child­hood, of hap­pi­ness too.

I can’t find any of that right now. My life is not here. It floats in an elu­sive present, with­ers, and sinks into the neck of an hour­glass. I can­not regret the present, because it is still there. I can’t remem­ber it since it’s alive, fluc­tu­at­ing and mys­te­ri­ous. It escapes all com­pre­hen­sion, quick­ly becomes a past that I can cat­a­log, arrange over the oth­er images while the present moment, the now of the Eng­lish, grabs as soon as pos­si­ble the pos­si­bil­i­ty of the future with a large excla­ma­tion point.

How­ev­er, I regret wast­ing this time, this water that slips through my fin­gers before I have had the reflex to put it in my mouth and drink it like an orgas­mic liquor.

I want to pray, kneel down, stretch like idle cats, like sati­at­ed lions. Sleep inno­cent­ly in the present. I want to live. Is this a pious wish ? I think too much ? Am I not ani­mal enough ?

Because my mind feeds on insom­nia, furi­ous, eager to build again and again, anx­ious to cat­a­log every­thing, because it is Cas­sander, and no one, not even I, real­ly lis­tens to it. There are peo­ple who live with­out think­ing, espe­cial­ly the unfor­tu­nate ones who strug­gle to calm their hunger or pain. I don’t know what I’m com­plain­ing about.

I can hear that scream any­way. I am here to say and, tomor­row, although my writ­ings remain, I will bump my head on oth­er flavors.

I remem­ber, says the Province mot­to. What ? I won­der. I still don’t regret any­thing, the song says again. It does­n’t mat­ter, I think, because in any case, our mem­o­ries, our pho­tos, the harm we have done, the harm we have caused, the good we have eat­en, the good we have giv­en, is for the mem­o­ry of oth­ers. We will soon be dead, did you know that, brother ?



  • nikos

    nikos 2019/07/23 23:15 0

    Toujours cette plume... Moi, mon enfance me berce, si dur, elle a été, pourtant.. L'innocence, loin de la duretés des Hommes... Je n'ai rien oublié! Je sais mon frère!... Mon seul frère!