Modifié le : 2016/09/03

I would like to engrave my steps in a benev­o­lent ground that would show future gen­er­a­tions that I have been there, that my soul, dressed in its ances­tor’s body, has bent over the foot­steps of oth­ers, will have breathed an air that had already made thir­ty bil­lion songs (I have count­ed them all), that there were, above these foot­steps, dreams that were only wandering.

I would like to have this claim of eter­ni­ty, that there will remain some­thing of myself as there has remained some­thing of all those for­got­ten who, like quan­tum sed­i­ments, have shaped the clay on which I am walk­ing right now.

I would like to be able to come back one day, in the form of a cere­bral dol­phin, a uni­ver­si­ty octo­pus, and to be able to exam­ine the dust left here dur­ing my life.

I would like to write here that Men, Women, Trans­gen­der peo­ple, and Trans­gen­ics make it very dif­fi­cult for them­selves not to pur­sue hap­pi­ness, that they are wired to vio­lence, indif­fer­ence, Face­book, LinkedIn, and Netflix.

I would like to be able to leave protest fur­rows against those priests of all cul­tures who beat women in small dos­es, who slow­ly crush the poor, who bathe in the blood of chil­dren just because they are so afraid of death and cling to Mahomets, Jesus, Bud­dhas, shiv­as of lies.

I would like my step on this soft ground to be well bal­anced, inef­fec­tive and fair, that it does not crush any ants, sor­ry for the bac­te­ria, I do what I can.

I would like not to have to kill to feed myself, not to hurt to defend myself, to sur­vive. I would like to be able to find a man, my mir­ror, who thinks the same thing, or my oppo­site who will take plea­sure in con­tra­dict­ing me and laugh­ing at me, who will kill him­self to make me smile, who I will caress to make him for­get his fini­tude. I would like to live with an artist or a work­er, the most impor­tant thing being that he does in a bed what vol­ca­noes do to peo­ple. I would like to be rich and futile, deep and drunk.

I live, I see. I am so hap­py to be both sad and com­pli­cat­ed, like this writ­ing jet, writ­ten in just ten min­utes, in a sin­gle step.

I would like to be remem­bered because I will not be able to remem­ber anything.