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Au revoir Monsieur Hulot - Ushuaïa Marque

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Facebook.
Ne trouvant plus grand intérêt à Facebook, on va essayer de se poser des questions les "amis". De créer du sens, légèrement, à notre rythme. 
Je ne cherche pas de réponse, de commentaire ou de long débat ci-dessous mais juste à me questionner sur ce que souligne la démission de Nicolas Hulot

Pour moi ça dit:
"C'est tellement la merde, je me dois de me casser, rien ne change, rien n'est fait en France sur ce sujet, ou du moins pas assez"
Il essaye encore une fois de nous sonner l'alarme, comme si l'on avait déjà trop abusé de la fonction Snooze... 
Que le mec soit bon ou mauvais, ça inquiète sur le sort de l'écologie en France. 
Du coup à nous de réagir, là, à nos niveaux (toi et moi et tous ceux qui le veulent), dans nos achats, nos réflexes de tris, nos réflexions sur notre empreinte, etc.

Je vieillis, les réseaux sociaux vont désormais devenir pour moi un lieu d'expression d'idées, une mini tribune citoyenne. ... Très "mini" je l'admets, mais on donne à Facebook l'utilité qu'on souhaite.
Récemment j'ai réalisé que sur pas mal de sujets qui me concernent (politique, éducation, citoyenneté, écologie) le pouvoir c'est MOI, à mon échelle.
"Moi" ça veut dire mes proches, amis, familles, voisins, avec qui je parle, j'échange... C'est hyper con mais hyper simple et le jeune vieux que je suis réalise ça tardivement. Je vais pas changer le monde mais je commence par voir ce que je peux faire de mon cas et des 20 personnes qui me sont le plus proche.

Je continuerais à poster une chanson que j'aime bien tous les 6 mois. 
Et parfois une photo un peu "cool".

Tu peux avoir la flemme d'écrire un post long pour défendre tes idées, je comprends, c'est pas "cool" d'avoir des idées j'ai l'impression... mais le copier/coller fonctionne aussi si tu partages un sentiment, une émotion, une inquiétude, un coeur.
Amour, parfois.

"Ici j'engage, veux-tu m'épouser ?"
Renaud2

Twitter.  https://twitter.com/Sanvitweet/status/1034497850271584256

@N_Hulot Nicolas Hulot, vous souhaitez "ne plus vous mentir" or si l'on recherche "Ushuaïa Marque" sur Wikipedia, le second paragraphe souligne une mauvaise foi ultime. https://goo.gl/DXDuC1 qu'en penser ? #NicolasHulot #hulot #écologie #macron #France #nature #Ushuaia #santé

 

Comedians in cars getting coffee

I like this show, because I have a fascination for comedy, stand up and the people who make it. 

But this program is frustrating to me. They never go deep in the conversation, each time a good question is asked by Seinfeld, the guest replies with a joke and it’s cut to another scene, shot of the car on the road and on to another question, an easier one. 

I guess it’s how most of them works, a question that is hard to answer, too personal, will be dodged with a joke. 

Great show because of the host and the guests, cars are nice as well, but I don’t really care for cars. 

A big frustration after watching more than 10 episodes, it’s really like a cup of coffee but there is no connection, no deep impact, no digging. It's quick, short and a bit silly, just a catch up.
Maybe Tea would help to settle, meditate and create a conversation, a connection, deeper...  
It’s like Seinfeld is lazy and just wants a nice little chat, no hassle. That’s what we have here, nice little jam sessions with famous funny people, but I miss the juice, the gold, some secrets, confessions, darkness. 

It’s just a stroll in a car… maybe walking would have make people more talkative. 

Try, comedians in parks taking a stroll. 

Dega Nando's

1er octobre 2017.

Je suis allé chez Nando’s, j’ai rencontré Dega, la serveuse, somalienne.

Elle m’a raconté qu’à 12 ans elle est arrivée en France, à Lyon.

Je lui ai demandé combien de temps elle y est restée, elle m’a dit peu de temps, que la France lui a dit, à elle et à sa famille de retourner dans son pays.

Le pays était en guerre, il l’est encore. 

Je lui ai présenté mes excuses pour mon pays, elle m’a souri et m’a dit gentiment qu’elle aimait toujours les français. 

Je lui ai dit au revoir, avec mon sac à la main je suis rentré chez moi, ignorant du sort des autres.
Mon poulet avait le gout de la honte. 

Come on back this way.

J'écoute Jack Ladder - COME ON BACK THIS WAY et là un insecte tombe de mes cheveux sur mon sweatshirt gris, et la musique, le synthé, cette nostalgie me mets au bord des larmes, quand je regarde cet étrange bête qui se ballade sur ma poitrine, sur mon pull gris, et mes yeux humides suivent le chemin simple de cette chose que je ne reconnais pas. C'est un joli moment, moi, triste et qui essaye de ne pas retenir mes larmes, tout en observant cet être inconnu et joli, tombé du ciel, du plafond ou de mes cheveux pour venir danser sur moi et sur cette chanson. 

Demetri Martin, not my kind of guy.

Just saw Demetri Martin's special, Person (2007). 
It's not for me. 
I don't like this "folk-joke" telling with a guitar and an harmonica as a punchline. It's exactly like Steven Wright and I already didn't enjoy A Steven Wright Special.
I respect the writing, the funny ideas, puns and worlds on words, but it doesn't make me laugh, once perhaps the side of my lips twitched, that's about it for a smile. 
Too much poetry, when I want comedy. Nice poetry though...
"I wonder where my jokes goes... (insert guitar, harmonica) after they leave my head, into space..."

quote-i-love-steven-wright-demetri-martin-18-87-11.jpg

I want intimate truth, not your goofy emotional thoughts.
That's cute, don't get me wrong, but I'm not watching comedy for cuteness.
So long Demetri. 

Samuel T. Herring is a beast.

I don't really care that much for Future Islands, I mean by that I am not a huge "hardcore everlasting fan", one or two songs I play on my phone and that's it, because they are easy to like, with a tune that sticks, "catchy" as you'd hate to admit.  They stay there, as a ghost, haunting me when I walk the streets of London, playing the lead role in the movie, but the song is not the reason it holds on, it's the man with the voice inside. 

Samuel T. Herring is the thing that I really look up for, his Live performances with the band. That's a knock out, a sucker punch I received, with the stinging pain that settles in, long after the fight. 

He's a boxer, giving it all, smashing the stage in order to transcend the song he plays. I have an utmost admiration and I stay hypnotised by some of his acts on stage. There is a level of emotion I never reached before, watching a live music show, even in reality, and I only saw him on youtube yet. It still resonates way stronger than all the things I witnessed in the real world, outside. 
It’s hard to express the passion it awakes, like a spark of fire reaching deep. Each time I hear Tin Man or Ran in my earphones, walking in Fuckin'L, I see the Tin Man on stage, this thing screaming his heart out, torn, removing the mask at the end, the sweat, the distortion in the voice. A beautiful monster he is then, this creature holds my hand every time and I never let go.

Just watch this whole performance below and feel the heat:

I have never, in the last years, seen something as strong on a live performance as what Samuel T. Herring delivers. The stronger the lyrics, the deeper the transformation.
His physique makes it more of a treasure, he’s not the fittest, he’s not the best looking guy, but he has a presence, a charisma that makes him the greatest when I see him perform, move and live. It’s like a demonic possession, this body, random, a bit chubby, acting and dancing on stage, exorcism of the story he's telling, expressing the words with his being and more.

I mean just check these lives, the level of sweat and energy he puts in these are really exceptional, just compare this to the clean acts we see on stage all the time.
It all started in 2014 on Letterman where, on their first national TV appearance, Sam's moves brought a lot of attention to the band and since then continued to improve his act. 
On the same level, I laughed at Albert Hammond Jr. Live on Conan recently for the absence of it all.

Mac DeMarco, who's forever in our hearts, finishes his Live naked or with his pants only on but he’s always relaxed, cigarette in the mouth, beer in the hand and I love him for that because he looks like my friend just went on stage for a karaoke session and I have a smile on the whole time, but still, I don't feel as much as I feel Samuel. The reason might be the lyrics, being french, I need an act, a presence to enhance the story.
Sam Herring would crush Mac's beer in his hands and swallow it whole if it ever finds itself there. He just throws himself on stage, in the song, and just for that I am in owe. The acting is fantastic and it’s even more interesting to realize he’s a rapper, his real passion being hip hop and rap.
But in his performances with Future Islands Live he creates this vessel for the songs that I simply adore. Moving strangely, almost inventing his own, as a Ian Curtis once did and is still remembered not only for the songwriting but also for the trance he'd get into. 

Samuel T. Herring is a Live Performance, he acts, moves, dances, sings and we are the audience of something raw and authentic happening, a scene of emotions, feeling it all.  

Watch these videos and then listen to the songs. His face, his moves will haunt you for the following days and never leave you alone with the music. You’ll always have the beast dancing around in your head as Tin Man or Ran plays. A beautiful beast.

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George Carlin is not funny anymore, comedy's ghosts and monsters to come.

Comedy is a beautiful craft, being able to make me laugh with the dark truth of us all, as people and society, its flaws and lows. I love the way comedians make me question us as a whole, human beings, our twisted minds, habits, and laugh at the same time, laying down the pain for everybody to look at and make fun of, sharing.
The worst is still to come though and it might not be that funny at all in the end... at least we'll be real. 
Will the future of comedy be blunt truth, not looking for laughter but just pure honesty, as it is, saying the darkest truth and having the courage of honesty ? Just a thought. 

Louis C.K. was the first to put the light on this craft for me and many aspirant comedians. I deliberately mention him and his recent fall was a big punch in the stomach but not a surprise, weirdly I did not need a lot of convincing to accept it when I learned the truth. Deep down I believe he could do shit like that, how can you make me laugh so much with such dark shit if you are clean ? Do you have to fall low in order to dig up the gold, so low that moral has disappeared? There is some darkness and twisted mind for sure there but that's where I wanna look. 
I have this question in mind:  "Can happiness make us laugh?" I tend to prefer darkness. Comedy is a martial art, turn drama into laughter. 
Latest example of bad comedy was Kevin Hart show on netflix "what now?"... Just the intro made me cringe of sadness and when he started talking about his huge house, long driveway and wealth I did not laugh, nor connected to that. He is wearing a gold chain and trying to make me sympathise with his life and "struggles", him being too successful ? Well it failed, spectacularly, with special effects, fireworks and a whole stadium... That his audience could connect to that and laugh so hard was for me mind blowing, I understood why LeBron James could though.

That's not the point here. George Carlin is. 

It's been 5 years I dig deep into comedy's whole universe, listening to WTF podcast with Marc Maron non stop, diving into the brains of guys like Robin Williams, watching specials and stand up shows, I naturally looked into George Carlin as he was referred and looked up to by many of the funny geniuses I cherished.

I watched 5 of his shows : On location, George Carlin at Phoenix (or George Carlin Again !) 1978, Carlin at Carnegie 1982, Jammin' In New York 1992, Life is worth Loosing 2005 and It's bad for Ya 2008. 
There is still a lot to watch from him but I believe it's enough to start writing about. 

The last one I just watched is On Location: GC at Phoenix (also referred as George Carlin Again !), taped in 1978. 

I DID NOT LAUGHED ONCE. And I can assure you I was on it 100%. I don't do something else, I don't watched my phone all the time (just a bit of Instagram) and I tried to be fully focused, in the present. But it was too much of the past already...
This type of observational comedy doesn't do it for me, at all, or the observations are too dated. I especially didn't like when he observes random life stuff like people asking him :

- "Do you have time ?"
- "Not one me, I don't own time !"

and then proceeds to read funny news headlines : "A 107 year old woman in Florida is reported to be pregnant. Physicians claim that because of her advanced age she will have a grown up." 

or weird stuff he thinks of like: "Do you think directors dreams end with credits ?". It's smart and witty but doesn't make a crowd die of laughter now anymore, but believe me it did back in 1978. People are loving it, he is a real rock star, slick with his blue pants and shirt. Cheers of the crowd are huge. I wanted to be on his side, stylish and smart like he was, but hell I did not enjoy it and I feel terrible for that. 

Surely it was at the time mind blowing but now it's just  "kids play" with words, puns and imagination openly expressed, funny headlines like I can see a thousand on social networks in 2017... Nothing worth a 2 hours special. And I am amazed by that, 40 years later it's becoming real useless and tasteless comedy. No one of my generation would laugh hard to these and I find it fascinating. On a positive note, his energy, anger and denunciation of everyday bullshit, politics, society and flaws is to me truly inspirational, he says it blunt and gives the finger to them all, me first. He is the perfect Conscientious Objector, and for me it's the highest and most respectable thing to be, anytime. 
For that I look up to him. He would hate me and be right to. 

 You're welcome. 

You're welcome. 

On the same period, as a devil's advocate, Richard Pryor's: Live in Concert, 1979 is on my top list of comedy stand up show... The year doesn't explain everything. I remembered being in south of France and watching Live in Concert with my brother and an American guy and I was dying, he was killing me and I loved it, especially thinking of the 40 years gap, the magic still being there and strong. Gold.

At that early age of stand up, puns and observational comedy, "weird shit thought of and said out loud" was the highlight and the material. Nows it's old uncles jokes. Or if you think weird shits, you tweet it, you have to fly real high because everyone is in space now. Being funny and original is not enough anymore, the level is way higher, or way deeper, darker... We dig nowadays, into our brains and minds, our pain, and it doesn't look good, but hell it's funny ! 

I like C.K. and Bill Burr because they show me their darkness, sadness, share it with me, and turn it into gold. That is real. Bill Burr I believe would be a serial killer if not that genius of a comedian. His anger is huge and he turns it into art. That sparks light in me, it's pure beauty.

When I watched Carlin latest shows (Life is worth loosing 2005, It's bad for ya 2008) first I was appalled, "How can this old grumpy man be my heroes' hero ?". These shows are 2 hours of an old 6O yo man's runt : "I don't like that and that" "THIS IS SHIT !"... Wow really.

Times change, and comedy fades away and it made me very sad not being able to appreciate the comedic genius of this man.
I respect him because I understand that at the time it was never seen, never heard and mind blowing. But when I watched these 5 shows I was nodding my head thinking: "This is not possible, I am not laughing once nor smiling AT ALL". And trust me it was not a challenge or forced.

He was a comedic genius that does not make me laugh. I'm sure I would have been a groupie in 1978 though...

I don't think George Carling is funny anymore. Good thing is, I don't matter to him and he will never give a fuck ! For that I love him sincerely and deeply. 

I hereby engage, will you marry me?  

 

 

 

The masterpiece of The art of the steal.

The art of the Steal is a 2009 documentary made by Don Argott and his 9.14 Pictures production company. It portrays the story of Dr Barnes' personal art collection, a breath taking hall of beauty, turned into a big pile of money for some men trying to get a piece of it, not for the art but for the dollar signs they see when staring at masters' pieces. It is a beautiful and moving story. 

I just want to tell you to watch it for it's delicate, true romantic vision of Art.
I won't say much as the movie is deep, intimate and philosophical in it's way, personal as art should be. How this culture around the world should be seen, made and shared to the eyes, I believe it's up to your own interpretation. 
The art of the steal raises amazing questions about the spread of art, shows and exhibitions around the world, not for art itself but for money and power purposes. How greed and men can destroy the vision of artists and lovers of the arts. 

I really found this fascinating here: should the most beautiful collection be kept to a small amount of art lovers, plumbers to students to enjoy, study and inspire or, should it be spread all over the world for the many masses to see, treated as a blockbuster.

Well, there is a little more to this simple equation in this documentary, you'll see that art, even if shown to the masses, which is a good will, can be sadly turned into a mass consumption product cashing up money for people with no sense of beauty, destroying the purity of it all. It's essence.

Deep one.
I hereby engage, will you marry me ? 

Louis and the nazis

 

Here in UK, they love Louis Theroux. He's a national hero. Lots of English friends told me about this guy and his documentaries, gonzo style with a funny twist. This goofy dude asking straight question to dangerous people like they are best friends on a school trip to Disney world, except one his a gangster, the other a nerd, and the bus is stolen. 

I watched two of his documentaries, the first one was “America’s most dangerous pets” and “Louis and the nazis”. I didn’t like the first one I saw months ago, I though it was too much scripted, like a Vice documentary, playing on the edge of reality and fiction. “Oh it’ dangerous but we are filming, the pressure is building but finally nothing happens”. The character was interesting and moving but the format was too trashy.

I listened to the WTF (with Marc Maron, my favorite podcast) episode with Louis Theroux and decided to give it another shot. I just finished the one about the Nazis, I believe it’s one of the most famous. I felt the same, a big sensationalism and emptiness, big talk and words for a dull experience, a love at first sight turning into a one night stand. 

The mother of two is interesting, deep and human, the rest is really superficial and blunt. Tom Metzger bit is worthless, no taste, no investigation, it can be summarised as: Louis goes to his house, hear him curse on blacks and jews, argue softly on races, going to a rally and scream 3 sentences about white revolution to finally get drunk in Mexico. Like a very bad trip with two elderly racist dudes. There is nothing. Nada. Maybe that's the point though.

I see the success of this guy Theroux on his documentaries, he choose a subject, a bit edgy, dangerous or unconventional and goes interview the people, all the entertainment resulting from the clash between this tall goofy-nerdy guy and his interlocutors, dangerous, strange and often criminal people on the opposite spectrum of clean and polite Louis.

As fun and weird it is to watch, once you get the idea, I can’t understand how people could watch more of it. The subject is treated superficially, there is no depth, no information, nothing to get out of it except saying to your friends: 

- Haha you saw when Louis asked the nazis “What if I'd tell you I’m Jew ?"

Well that’s not investigation journalism, it’s just clownery, and people like that. 

 

Quit Tv Shows.

I want to stop watching tv shows. I mean completely stop. But the problem is that the quality of it is amazing, making the addiction so strong. 

6 years ago, binge watching tv was a guilty thing, you'd watch crap like reality shows knowing it was shit and that you don't make yourself any smarter by watching that. But now, when you see the television and show market, the level has never been so high and the quality of the writing, acting and direction are high, real high. 

My problem is this : I go to work, I do what I do for a living, thinking of coming home to the latest show I'm watching ("The Trip" UK, Coogan, Brydon, so good...). My life is around this addiction, this need to watch a good tv show, and when I'm done the next one. And the dealers like Netflix, HBO have lots of good dope to sell. I still find time to read and watch movie, but it takes more time and more motivation out of me. TV show is easy, it's short, it's good and I don't need to engage myself in a 600 pages or 2h30 screening. 

But I also see a pyramid of culture being as follow : 
- first, books. They are the smartest way to learn, feel and dive into a story, full on. You read something that goes inside you, deep. I start a book I have to finish it, good or bad, I tend to read classics so I go through them fully, there's a reason they are classic. I also find I have less time to read so I don't want to risk it on books that are not good, as in known for years to be. 
- second, movies. The crew build a 2 hours story through amazing images, acting and writing. You dive as well, but for a fewer amount of time, two hours, three max in apnea, in a world that the people behind the movie offers you. 
- third, Tv shows. It's easy, you dive in, if you feel suffocating, you dive out. It last 20 to 60 minutes, my attention can wander easily. I am not engaged and I know there is plenty more fishes in the sea. 

There is also something perverse with this addiction of shows, that I believe I share with 80% of people of my generation. Other than the time spent is the "entertainment" part of it all. 

Take shows like Narcos and House of Cards, they show you in an amazing way the truth behind drug dealing between Colombia and the government of the United States of America basically acknowledging the role of US in the cartel as a key player in the existence and strength of it all. Bribes, politics and governments were directly influenced by the cartel of Medellin then Cali. 
House of Cards on the other hand shows you the reality of politics with men and women willing to kill and manipulate masses in order to achieve power. Wow ! That's amazing, these shows show you the hard truth, the reality in every sense of it all. But then what ? Then you watch this and you only think of coming back home to be able to stream the last episode or the new season. 

The perversity is here : it is an entertainment and you watch it like that. If you summarise the truth behind these shows, the citizen should be in the street, questioning their government and making a fucking revolution every week of the year. 

But no, you know it's real and it shows the dark side of it all, but it's too hard and it's easier to keep watching, instead of doing.  Because I feel down by all this and I am too lazy to overtake power. So I'll order my burger and watch my show. 

 

Tarte aux poissons

Après la pire heure passée dans le café Joe and the juice à Stansted pour cause de mauvais goût musical et pauvre audition de la part du staff, je m'installe au Wetherspoon "Le moulin". 

Joe and the juice c'est des jeunes anglais au service qui te mettent une musique atroce de boîte de nuit au même volume que cette dernière. Les mecs sont tatoués et se prennent pour Tom cruise dans Cocktail. Il jongle avec les ingrédients des jus de légumes comme si il allait te faire un cosmopolitain, et que je suis en jupe du samedi soir à le regarder comme s'il était magicien. Non mais vraiment le pire endroit, les mecs doivent être au summum de la bêtise pour pas ressentir que l'intégralité des clients détestent leurs goûts musicaux et plus encore le volume auquel ils passent leurs playlist. 

Je demande à mon voisin si sa tarte aux poissons était bonne, surpris par ce contact humain hors écran, il me répond que oui, "ravi d'avoir pu vous aider" il finit par marmoner, pas vraiment content. 

Je veux passer commande à un serveur qui me dit que je dois faire ça au bar. En y allant, je hais l'angleterre pour ce type qui ne peut pas juste me répondre simplement si sa tarte était bonne, juste un un sourire. Puis je vois tout l'alcool sur les tables des clients, les bières et la boisson qui témoigne de la tristesse d'un pays et de ses habitants. Je commande une San Pe citron et paye pour une tarte en indiquant mon numéro de table. 

En revenant m'asseoir, le type à côté de moi me demande en souriant "did you get it ? the fish pie ?" il me sourit cette fois-ci et je lui réponds que oui tout en lui levant le pouce. 
Je hais un peu moins l'Angleterre. 

 

When We fight.

 

You are not here anymore, it gave me distance. It's 11:42pm, I just saw Anna at the flat, she just came to spend the night I thought. I was wondering why she just doesn’t stay at her boyfriends place. 

I am naive sometimes… or I don't know why things are. 

We were talking, about relations, love and how I treated you. She said I was good to you, I did not agree. 

After some arguments and anecdotes about our dynamic when you were here, she looked down and started to break, her eyes wet and the body trying to repress the emotion. But she has the courage to cry and stare at my face, with strength. The feelings slapped me.

I was stuck. It was your eyes getting wet, I could see it on her face, but I was not the source of it. 

It has been a while since the tears of a woman close to me provoked some compassion and did not put me in a state of rage. Because I remember yours and the madness it opened in me, how these eyes filled with salt would just burn my pain even more. Your tears were just sparking my misery and I would scream it all on you. 

I told her that it was hard to be alone but in a way I feel good to have this trial period, this test of us. Trying to know myself alone again. Awake the pain and the shadow of me, my dear friend, his hand in mine, walking and falling. Feeling the anxiety and the panther on my back, holding the leash and keeping it close to me. 

But I said it was shit to be like this, not knowing how to position ourselves in the months to come. Being together but planning not to be. 

I said it’s an occasion for me to let go of you, to let you grow, without me being a bad influence, a negative energy in your life. As soon as you changed city it seemed to have work for you, I cannot decide if its the country or the man you left behind. 

I don’t want to be the anchor of you. I can destroy myself but as soon as I see that it hurts you I become even crazier, because you are good. Show me a mirror with my dark soul and I'll smile to a friend, but if I realise you are the one holding it to my face with fear, I'll break it into pieces, I'll destroy it and you might be the damages. 

Suddenly Anna started to cry, and it opened something in me. It was good to feel, to stop being numb. Seeing what she experiences with her boyfriend as the way I acted with you. In a different way but in a very similar structure of thoughts in the men we become. Self destruction, conscious and inflicted to our own, but as soon as the pain spreads to you, it becomes unbearable. 

When you started to cry in our fights, it would drive me even crazier. I would get mad at you for dropping the first tear. You couldn’t understand. Your tears would open the flow of darkness in me.  Deep down I knew this anger was for the asshole I am that made you cry. This woman who cares about me more than I do, who love me more than I do.

But I don’t. The fight is unfair, I am good at hating myself. 

 

Clown.

Et pour la première fois, dans leurs rires, il ressentit la tristesse. Il comprit que pour être si drôle, il avait fallut être si triste.

Toute la famille était en larmes, les yeux humides trempés par ce clown, mais dans ceux de sa mère, le sel avait un goût amer. 

I’m on the run.

I went to Morocco recently. I wanted to do surf again. I remembered being a young kid, agile on my board, easy. 

I told the surf teacher, “just give a board and a combi” no need for lesson. Boy did my ego drowned deep this day. It hurts everywhere. I need a good ten seconds to stand on the board and ten second is long. Too long. I felt so many times. I failed so many times. I realised I was old, not in shape and rusty.

Came back to London and started running again. Today is my second run. First one was 20 minutes long, almost felt like puking and dying. 25 minutes today. Feeling better. 

I always need incentives when I start running again for a few months until I fully stop for a year… Well let’s hope not. 

I buy small items and products linked to running in order to force me to go, to use these products while running. 
First it was a running bag and a jumping rope. Then I bought the Sony waterproof headphones with no cable so I could run free and swim free, used it twice maybe. 

The more expensive the better, it shames me and forces me to run. 

Now I just bought a running belt SPI something to store my phone and keys on the job. It’s alright. Not sure it’s a big investment enough to MAKE ME GO. 

Runtastic is also a good system to keep tracks of my activities and have a sports calendar. 

Another trick: Podcast. For me, a proud member of the FOMO generation, I can't go running only, it'll be loosing my so precious time, so I run and I listen to smart people. WTF with Marc Maron is my favorite. Just listening to interviews of comedians and interesting people. Great stuff, DO IT ! 
When I was younger and a sexy teenager, I used to run in the Bois de Boulogne, a parc in Paris, I wanted to seduce, hence I was trying

The worst thing when I run is when I start thinking about the junk food I’ll prefer to be eating right now instead of sweating my ass off and feel like dying. In the marshmallow experience I’ll definitely be the kid eating the marsh straight away not planning to have 2 if I wait 20 minutes. Fuck that I could die suddenly, I’m gonna have the marshmallow and bring it with me to the grave. 

I’m on the run now, until next stop. 

Joe Rogan Podcast

Joe Rogan Podcast avec Joe Diaz, deux idiots américains qui parlent de sushi, d'aller à la guerre pour du sel. Ils en parlent de façon hyper sérieuse comme deux spécialistes de la réfrigération.... Putain c'est nul, y'a pas d'intelligence, pas d'opinion ou de profondeur. Deux gros bétas qui se rappellent comment les radiateurs fonctionnaient à l'époque : "quand un radiateur s'allume et que l'eau s'écoulait, le bruit... ça faisait bang cling cling cling".... Nan sérieux ? 

C'est fascinant de partager vos souvenirs, les mêmes que la majorité d'occidentaux à travers le monde, juste un constat, con. Un gros plein de graisse et un gros plein de muscles, les deux complètement vides. 

Do you really travel ?

It makes me sick. Sad, and sick. 

Doyoutravel is a 26 years old guy, taking pictures with his girlfriend and traveling around the world posting his “art” on Instagram and social networks.

He gets paid by traveling companies and brands to post sponsored content. He is a lifestyle travel blogger, like a fashion blogger but for traveling. His clients are hotels, brands of clothes, backpack and traveling agencies or plane companies. They pay him to write and take nice pictures about their products.
I know about this type of humans as I studied fashion bloggers for my first year thesis in. Things evolved and got worse. Adventure and travel is the new trend. Anywouh. 

Everything that attract people in travelling, say food, relaxing, beach, sea, sex and sun and great landscapes are on their Instagram. This makes me sick, I’ve just been browsing for 10 minutes through the pictures and the Q&A section of his website and I am sad, depressed by the fact that these stupid people take away from me all my will and desire to travel and adventure if this is now significant of this tasteless crap. 
It has not taste, no authenticity, no purpose if not to enjoy your time, get loads of money and likes on social medias. They kiss, eat, chill everywhere with great "light and filters"... I just want to break his nose once again so this little boy with no soul can feel what it's like to be alive, to be hurt, to feel pain, sadness and truth. 

You British fuck, leaving your “carpet cleaning” job to travel one way ticket to Thailand with a saving of 3 000 £ was the best thing you did in your life, and then you met this soulless Australian girl with her whitened teeth and you both live the social media dream in your jungle houses, infinite pools, desert beaches or even kissing in Moroccan desert near a fire and next to your guide with not so ever a minimum of respect for his religion, showing no shame or decency...

Keep drinking milkshake and eating cookies in a "trendy" place in Wellington you fucking english cunt with your truly original sherpa Levi's denim jacket. I'll keep eating shit in not so trendy places just for the sake of it all and I won't trade your dirty luxury trip in Dubai for anything in the world.

Honour is enough.

I'll die sad, but the mirror will still show me a smile before I'll break it.

I here by engage, will you marry me ? 

The waiter waits...

for his life to happen. He works in a place that he likes but it's not what he wants.
So the waiter waits for it's life to come to him. He waits for people to come, for tables to clear, for lives to pass in front of him. 
He waits for the right time, for the good opportunity, for the sign, but nothing comes, only less time goes away. 

He waits for someone to push him, for an event to happen, for his heart to start beating again. 
He waits for the light, the ignition to happen, for the motor to roar. 

He waits until he gets bored of waiting, and then he goes, just to wait somewhere else. 

Except he has to go, really go, and he needs to understand this, until then, the waiter waits.

La panthère Noire

C’est le problème, quand ça va mal, tu peut être sur de sentir que la bête rode. Il y a une odeur remarquable, une présence certaine du monstre. Elle est là, pas de doute, le noir monte. 

Une clope peut faire cet effet, souffler toute la noirceur que tu possède et la contenir dans ta gorge, dans tes poumons pour la souffler sur ta propre face dans la forme d’un fauve. 

Le mieux c’est d’essayer d’embrasser ce mal, de respirer cette fumée. Cours vers la bête et ne cours pas comme un con pour tenter de fuir, elle te rattrapera pour sûr. N’essaye pas de l’éviter à tout prix, à coup de joint, de pilules et d’alcool pour essayer de la contenir, crois moi, ce sera pire, ça va lui donner faim. Alors encaisse, accepte qu’elle te bouffe un peu, qu’elle morde dans ta chair et te laisse quelques cicatrices, c’est à celles-ci qu’elle reconnaîtra que tu sais encaisser. Gagne son respect en prenant sur toi pour souffrir de la façon la plus normale, pleinement, face à la bête, dos au mur. 

Y a pas d'échappatoire à la douleur, juste du temps gagné à coup de pilules, des petites minutes où l’on grappille sur le vide, on s’engage plus profond dans la grotte sans savoir qu’il n’y a pas d’issue. La bête noire, elle, avance doucement, pleine, d’émotions et d'obscurité, mais pleine. Je préfère ce plein de noirceur qu’un immense vide de rien. 

Alors tu fais comment ? Pour le moment tu sondes le vide, la taille du monstre, regarde sa profondeur, jusqu’où tu peux te laisser bouffer et explorer les limites de son appétit pour ton noir épais. 

ça va vraiment mal, mais je commence à gérer et à la connaître cette noirceur, à vivre avec et à ne pas essayer de la dompter comme une bête sauvage, dressée pour divertir les autres, spectacle quotidien. Non, juste marcher avec, l’observer et la décrire. Noter précisément son comportement, sa manière de se déplacer, son regard qui me transperce le bide. Je l’ai crée alors autant la connaître. Je suis immobile, je prends des notes et j’observe comment la bête se déplace, son comportement. Je la laisse à l’état brut, sauvage. Cette noirceur brille dans son élément, en moi, ne la caresse pas, ce n’est pas ton clebs c’est un animal dangereux et sublime, il vivra longtemps à condition de ne pas le tuer.

C’est ce que certains cherchent à faire, mettre fin au règne animal pour prendre le contrôle sur cette nature sauvage et obscure. Tuer le règne de l’animal. Ils consultent, prennent tous les jours la pilule qui va euthanasie gentiment ce beau monstre. Et alors ils deviennent des petites bêtes innocentes et insouciantes, sachant que le loup ne rode plus, l’esprit en paix à paître tranquille. 


Ils ne savent pas ce qu’ils brisent, cet équilibre naturel. La jungle sublime qui rayonne à l’intérieur, un équilibre précaire, un chaos magnifique. La loi de la jungle, leur jungle. 

C’est tout une chaîne qu’ils mettent en péril, car sans danger, ils viennent de se mettre en cage, à l'abri dans un zoo. Ils refusent la vie sauvage, leur état naturel, pour se rassurer dans un environnement qui n’est pas le leur, à l’abri de la bête ou complètement débarrassé de tout danger. 


Mais moi je préfère vivre sans barbelé pour protéger mon troupeau, être au grand air et savoir consciemment que la bête rôde, sentir sa présence et lui faire savoir que je n’ai pas peur, que je la connaît. Elle se nourrit de ma peur et de mes angoisses, elle est cette angoisse. Alors je la regarde dans les yeux, je partage un même territoire et parfois je la laisse rentrer dans ma zone. 

Mais comme c’est bon de savoir que je vis avec ce monstre, que je n’ai pas peur de lui mais s’il me rend misérable. Je suis entier. elle n’a pas eu ma peau.

Les poumons et le coeur

J’ai commencé cette cigarette, celle qui t’arrache les poumons et le coeur avec, celle que tu commences et sur laquelle tu tires comme si la balle était dans le canon, au bout du tunnel. Mais t’as pas le cran, tu peux juste allumer la flamme, c’est un début. 


Alors, pour toutes les autres cigarettes, la première bouffée de fumée siffle et fait venir la noirceur de ton âme.

Commencer à fumer en allant mal, vouloir mourir doucement, accélérer le processus. Prendre le contrôle, un peu. Toujours trouvé ça con de fumer pour les autres, alors j’ai décidé de fumer au pire moment de ma vie, quand ça allait mal, très mal. Idées noires et fumée grise, goût de tabac et tête qui tourne, visions obscure.

Mon vomi

C'est mon vomi, le mien, tu n'y touches pas, tu le laisses là, sur le trottoir, face à sa victoire.

Tout le trajet je l'ai retenu, je me suis battu, à chaque feu je gratte du temps.

Le chauffeur de taxi, à 5 heures du matin semble lui prendre un malin plaisir à accélère d'un coup, à démarrer en trombe au moindre feu passé au vert.

Je lui en veux pas, mais je m'interroge tout de même, le fait-il exprès, une sorte de vengeance pas personnelle. Je crois que je le ferais à leur place, mais il y'a tout de même le risque de salir l'intérieur, ce qui signifie alors la fin du travail. Quand y'a vomis, impossible de reprendre un client…

 

Je crois qu'il ne le faisait pas exprès alors.