Modifié le : 2019/08/06

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.

I’m gestoir­ing.
You’re gestoir­ing.
He’s gestoir­ing.
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.