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We don't listen to you, poet

Modifié le : 2019/07/21

See, poet ? It seems to have been qui­et around you. Not to hear from you, but because we pre­fer to ignore you. Your words may be right, but they are also too vague, they do not bring any­thing to the vision of their eyes. You wear a horse’s head and all they see is a mask or some­thing fun­ny. But you, the poet, have in your head the feel­ing of hav­ing a mane, hit­ting the ground with your four hooves and run­ning, the wind feed­ing your nostrils.

Some­times we agree to lis­ten to you, to look at you. To do this, you usu­al­ly have to fol­low the beat­en track, give your­self known airs, do in the clas­sic of speech, the sobri­ety of the ges­ture. But, of course, you are not giv­en much time. You seem to exist only to soft­en morals when they are already drunk, to burst the abscess when it is so puru­lent that the skin detach­es itself. The smell is strong, so are you allowed to do the­atre with the tragedy that over­whelms the sick ?

Don’t kid your­self, poet. These nau­seous peo­ple are often right more than you think. You are the mad­man here, the exper­i­men­tal thought. You can’t put but­ter on your bread. You can’t feed the soul, because it is anorex­ic. It swal­lows every­thing it can and then goes to make itself puke. It thinks it is so beau­ti­ful, proud and violent.

But go, poet, go on your way, stay what you are. You’re part of the exper­i­ment, you weren’t invent­ed for noth­ing, it seems.

You still feel so alone. You have these anten­nas that every­one would like to have. Maybe it’s because your truth can’t be heard. I sus­pect it’s not a truth, it’s just a crazy, eques­tri­an, bur­lesque race. What is it for ? I wonder.

I guess it is quan­tum, woven into one of those dimen­sions that nei­ther space nor time can grasp. You pos­sess your hap­pi­ness, my dear poet, and it will die with you. Any­way, our life dies with us. Per­haps, I mean, when we die, we too receive a horse’s head for eternity.

Maybe.

I like that expres­sion. It looks like a penknife capa­ble of scratch­ing the most stub­born of surfaces.

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