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Eels under rocks

Hungry for hidden meanings, my eyes observe coincidences. A young man in a turquoise T-shirt sitting on the same tone of voice, you can’t make that up. There must be a cosmic reason.

What was I thinking at that moment? Nothing very tangible except the certainty that order comes out of chaos when you least expect it.

And we speculate that God was born this way in the minds of our primate ancestors. The sound of thunder in front of a swarm of angry insects choking the air. Anguish arising from a feeling of déjà vu that would have been nothing more than a hasty construction of disparate and incomprehensible elements.

We are constantly looking for order, the piece of string that connects heaven and earth and sometimes hell. How many of our thoughts can only come from this frightened reflex of wanting to understand everything? How many prejudices built on these animal shadows govern as much our moods, our hormones as our atavisms?

These virtual things appear to be real things, real events. The boy with the fitting T-shirt does indeed appear like a BIXI ad… Neptune is indeed the opposite of Kevin Spacey’s native Venus at the time of the scandal…

What would be the existence if there were not all these eels under the rocks? How could we survive if we could only search and never find? I don’t care if we hallucinate bananas, the Blessed Virgin at Fatima or Mohammed in the desert, as long as they remain republics of hypotheses, as long as we don’t use them to play at war.

It’s easy to believe and simplify and adventurous to navigate the ocean of questioning… If only these were just mind games that would not be used to cut through human flesh. If at least our dreams had the wisdom to remain poems.

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