death

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It is inscribed — 2021/11/20

It inscribes itself in the wet soil the end of another season. Water and death go well together. The cold that sets in is a slow poison that transforms the dream of living things.

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Photons of autumn — 2021/11/07

It is said that death is a fall but that its direction is relative. The soul would be eternal and, to be incarnated in a body, it must accept to die.

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Death, the philosopher, the guru and the doctor — 2021/07/24

Death, a subject or an entity, one cannot say. In many languages, including French, death has a gender, whereas it is an "it" in English. Which one makes more sense? I leave that to others.

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The great river — 2021/05/23

A few weeks ago, I watched the television series 'Emily Dickinson' on Apple+, an amusing and touching retelling of the poet’s early literary years. I only knew her by name. According to my research, the series does not seem to deviate from the truth, even though it had to invent what was never known about the writer’s life.

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The cycle and the year — 2021/03/07

I was recently asked how I perceived a year. It was a game told by a colleague who had entertained her family and friends. There were four or five of us who answered, and the answers were very varied. Some see the year as just boxes in a calendar; others see it as a path, a horizon. My response was honestly circumspect: I don’t see it.

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A stupid death — 2020/08/15

This week I happened to learn of the death of Jóhann Jóhannsson, an influential composer of this so-called modern era. I say "by chance" because his death occurred two years ago. Stupidly, one might say.

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The fear — 2020/03/18

Since Friday, my company’s employees have been assigned to work from home. The subway trains look like hungry snakes; we don’t know if what crawls into their bellies are victims, reckless people, or just ordinary citizens struggling with their lonely destiny

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Stronger than us — 2019/08/31

Within us are the reflections of an ocean that will always submerge us. Everything is stronger than us. When we are born, the cycle of planets will have impregnated its bucket into our DNA.

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The death of the neighbor — 2018/06/09

As is often said, the streets of cities are veins whose rougher or less rough walls shelter the ants that we are. It is also said that the houses of the cities, although concomitant, are closed silos. Neighbors know each other very little, rarely say hello.

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The old man with the missal — 2013/12/15

He must be 80 years old, his spine broken, weakly leaning against the train seat, his belly serving as a table on which he has secured with one hand a used missal, adorned with some paper clips that group pages.

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Of the time we have left — 2012/12/05

Completed the reading of Illness, from Havi Carel. I had heard this woman in a news report on a rare orphan disease. As a young philosophy teacher, she believed she was in perfect health, master of her means, was athletic, and ate well. And then, suddenly, she ran out of breath.

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Asking Germaine — 2012/11/21

Why don't you ask Germaine? — Excuse me? My sister Marie smiled at me. — Yes, ask Germaine!

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Germaine — 2012/07/03

My father just told me the news. His century-old mother died last night at around 2:30. So she didn't want to face the hot summer weather.

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The void — 2012/06/14

My novel is being read by benevolent souls. I'm taking my time to be patient. I have enough to do with a busy job, and I also have some other projects, including making my apartment a pleasant place to live. I'm even reading again. Not content with my reading left out (History of Pi too verbose), I turned to Sophie's World.

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Their Daddy — 2012/03/19

One could easily believe, from reading these "promenades," that my days are an insistent ars moriendi. Yesterday was the second funeral of the year for us, my uncle, Bruno, past away, and there is so much to say.

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Happiness destroyed — 2012/03/17

Hot against cold, spring tends to kill softly winter, morning fog acclimates our eyes as soon as they come out of the dark tunnels of the night. Tomorrow, I'm going to a funeral. One of my mother's brothers died after the inevitable fight against cancer.

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The doctor who played the piano — 2012/02/03

He sits next to me at the choir rehearsal. He's a big guy from Central America, or from the South, I don't know anymore. He smiles at me; I ask him how he is. He takes the time to open his music bag, sighs, says to me in a sad voice as he shakes his head: "I lost a great friend this weekend."

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Yin-yang — 2011/12/16

I swallowed the light. It was so brief, caught up in the clouds. It will come back since everything eventually comes back. In fact, tomorrow, the weather wizards are telling us.

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