On Acne and other soul pains

Modifié le : 2016/09/18

Another season again. Already half a year accumulated behind the tie. Spring has finally delivered us summer and things are going well for me. Intensely so too. I had contradictory emotions in my heart as if happiness was the result of a series of interchangeable thoughts and actions. Met my editor on the street. She confirms to me that the novel will be released this fall, but that she is late. She was accompanied by my future press officer and shared with me the praiseworthy reactions of an intern who would have really liked what I had written. So everything is going well on this side. How long it takes, all the same… Already in the summer and not a first-class event on hand. Besides, it’ll be the chaotic weather of the holidays. Will there be time to go to print for the fall?

I must quickly drive these questions out of my mind, leave them to be forgotten.

On the work side, everything is going just as smoothly. I, who doubted my abilities, obtained a great deal of recognition from the employer, which resulted in a generous salary increase. Oh! I won’t be rich yet, the financial clouds are still hanging over the horizon. But still, a new breath is confirmed. This year will be beautiful…

I can’t wait for autumn to come, live summer silently, fingers are fidgeting with impatience.

On the heart side, well, it’s complicated, it’s beautiful, it’s deep, and it’s totally unavowable or, at the very least, it’s difficult to be reasonable. To explain? What if I made a beautiful novel out of it? Mon Chair Ami (My Flesh/Dear Friend) would be the title. Not really translatable in English.

Some people already know this story, others probably live similar ones, these loves that do not fit into the norms, this intoxicating poison of being a prisoner, dedicated to the flesh and soul of another. I use big words to talk about a commonplace love triangle that has been going on for six years, a story that I don’t tell much because they, outside of my private world, will say I’m wrong, a story that sometimes chokes me, I confess to it, because I’m ultimately a free man. The end of the Les Mailles sanguines is the ultimate explanation. This love that I do not yet want to tell resembles me, is both the demonstration that I am not made for ordinary life and, at the same time, made to merge into the ordinary soil of love. It’s bourgeois. Françoise Sagan and I, a little bit the same fight.

A few weeks ago, I tried to experience something else. I quickly realized that, no, I wasn’t ready to start all over again on that matter. It’s not easy to love, it’s not so easy to fuck. We do not abandon a being we love under the pretext that others could love you, and in a more open way. We must live what we want to live, establish the share of things and make fun of the rest.

I am throwing sentences here, but I readily admit that everything is confusing without my wanting, for the moment, to clarify things.

Again, I made a major shift last fall. It is a slow tectonic movement, unconsciously measured. In a year or two, the great Neptune will become a major force in my sky. Neptune represents the unclear, the spiritually grandiose or the alcoholically dangerous. That is to say, all my willingness to commune with life…

Ah! ah! You have to laugh about it! Communicate! Life! Yet I find it so difficult to remain tangible and embodied. These weeks, I spend my weekends staying in bed, playing Scrabble, making up stories in Spain, sleeping badly too. The night is still a bad dream.

At last. It’s hot today. It is 4:50PM. I went to see the Fabergé exhibition with this flesh friend, then bought some short pants. At Simons, we weren’t the only small male couple to shop… On our return, a beautiful Andalusian asked us for directions. I would have followed him as well. Then I slept, remained naked in my bed,  played Machinarium, kicked my ass to write this post, I also have to practice my singing, ah! my singing! Another great adventure…

Curious all the same, this richness in me and also this sour sweetness of anxiety. Fascinating and tireless energy of my brain that keeps burning my stomach, causing acne, psoriasis and even hemorrhoids. This is me, the sublime and down-to-earth. I dream of being unfathomable and my ass still hurts.

Let us go in the shower, keep a little silence, listen to life, or its absence, let us listen to this background noise which is none other than the Absurdity of all this.