It snows, it rains, winter does what it can. Environment Canada falls asleep, temperatures come and go, and the sky often remains grey. From last week’s Siberian cold, there’s not much left. The asphalt falls, the flakes lose their whiteness before they even die on the ground.
My place is a big mess. As I had to empty a room for the renovation, the capharnaüm broke into my living room, which was already not in good order given the semi workshop I installed there. I received brand new camera equipment that I can’t even unpack. Everything here shows signs of gestation. I feel like I have to lay several eggs in a row and not all of the same size. At the very least, I try to keep the henhouse clean and wash myself every day (I am a good boy, my parents educated me well).
If we accept the assertion that our external universe reflects our internal landscape, we will be surprised that I can place one sentence in front of the other. It’s moving around me. Here, I like this new verb: gestoir (which is in the process of gestation). I put it in my personal dictionary.
My freedom flees between my fingers, to the benefit of this no less chaotic universe that is the Internet. My dictionary corrects my typing errors for me and insists on underlining gestoir. Never mind.
We are gestoiring.
You are gestoiring.
They are gestoiring.
Gestoiring in me a part of you. That would make a good song title.
I forgot my camera this morning. I felt naked. I would have liked to photograph a man in his bungalow. I will do it tomorrow.
Everything gestoires in me.