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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.

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