Egg and horse

Modifié le : 2019/07/26

A friend recently pointed out to me that I haven’t written much for a long time and was quick to wonder if I wasn’t out of inspiration.

Although this question implies that this friend appreciates what I am writing and looks forward to reading more, it is above all an indication of the thirst we all have for water, for satisfying ourselves with whatever contentment and, often, at someone else’s fountain.

Indeed, I don’t write much. There are many reasons for this. The constant work, the choir activities, the people, the age, the need to avoid unnecessary gestures. They’ll tell me I’m getting older. The old people would understand that right away. There is, of course, some truth. The days seem less numerous on the horizon.

I could mention all this and more, but it is only external elements, projections, objectivations that materialize this emanation that serves as my soul. In short, I think, I listen to my thoughts, I try to know where I stand. I feel my body, I try to analyze what I am no longer.

Just yesterday, I was listening with my friends, and in gusts, to the latest episodes of the insipid True Blood series. The images in front of me may have distracted me, the text sometimes entertained me, the bodies often titillated my desire, but the fact remains that I was deeply bored. It is a series like many have been done for years: an agreed scenario, feelings explored in the pure tradition of Good and Evil with the supposed originality of mixing both good and bad actions. Bad guys get good, good guys slip into perversity. We swim in the middle of a mixture of genres without renewing anything. This is the hallmark of decadence.

I am certainly thirsty for novelty. I am currently reading about Neitzsche’s thoughts, and as I have just finished reading Hermann Hesse’s Glass Bead Game, I hear the call of great imaginary journeys, I feel this desire to become a superman, to surpass myself.

I don’t want to repeat a story of good and evil. I don’t want to mix Red and Black. I want a story as grey as it is flaming, about our quantum existence. But for that to happen, it takes a little time, and also action. I’m thinking, I’m trying the possibilities.

There you go. I have no lack of imagination. I sat on it to lay either an egg or a horse.