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Of the cicada and the ant

Modifié le : 2019/08/04

I spent part of the after­noon singing, try­ing, at least, to sing. I feel like I’m mov­ing for­ward as much as I’m mov­ing back. Some­times the high notes seem to me to be well placed, some­times they sound like whale song moan­ing. As for the low notes, I seem to lose them sud­den­ly. And if my teacher were at my side, he would prob­a­bly only see sounds and no music.

This ten­sion on my shoul­ders… para­dox­i­cal­ly, I stiff­en my arms to undo the knots that block I don’t know which ver­te­brae where I have skin prob­lems ! (my skin is very dry and poor­ly irri­gat­ed). This unlearn­ing work is dif­fi­cult, but it seems healthy even if I look like a Pinoc­chio with too short back strings.

I have noth­ing more beau­ti­ful to do, the work will not resume for a few days. I’m start­ing to like this hol­i­day, which will, unfor­tu­nate­ly, be only too short (where­as just two days ago, I was com­plain­ing that I no longer have a future…)

I also received a note from this pub­lish­er who showed an inter­est in Les Mailles san­guines. He urges me to be patient, because, he says, beyond the qual­i­ty of the work, there are oth­er real­i­ties to con­sid­er. A mys­te­ri­ous sen­tence, which gives as much hope as a ruler blow on the fin­gers. In short, as with singing, I move for­ward and back­ward, then for­ward and back again.

With­in a month, I should be fixed. By then, I’ll fake the cica­da. In an hour, I’m tak­ing the sub­way to go… to sing !

I wish I weren’t an ant anymore.

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