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renesense

La folie d'ours, Grizzly Man.

19 oct. 2016
Un dément, un fou qui veut devenir un ours parce que la société ne lui convient pas. Soit. 
Son choix est respectable, mais sur sa mort, je préfère le silence du pilote d'avion aux pleurs de ses amis. Un voyage dans la nature sauvage d'un homme, dérangé. Passionnante exploration des ressorts psychologiques de celui qui s'échappe de la société pour se trouver une autre mission, dénuée de tout sens mais auquel il s'accroche par besoin de survie.
Ce n'est pas les grizzlys qu'il cherche à sauver, mais son âme, en se donnant une raison de vivre, n'importe laquelle, à savoir sauver la peau de l'ours. 

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C'est un documentaire de Werner herzog sur un illuminé, un gentil qui s'auto proclame gardien des grizzlis, protection dont n'ont nul besoin ces colosses à en écouter un expert sur place.

Non, pris d'une mission divine, Timothy Treadwell, en sait plus que tous, puisqu'il est sur le chemin de devenir cet animal qu'il chérie.
Ces petits moments devant la caméra où il replace ses cheveux au dessus de ses lunettes pour sa 4ème prise révèlent le désespoir d'un homme qui cherche à plaire, à trouver sa place, à se filmer pour se montrer en héros, en sauveur d'un peuple qui ne peut pas lui dire d'aller se faire foutre, à par grogner, voir finalement le manger.
En effet je peux aussi devenir le protecteur des manchots du monde entier, être le porte parole de ceux qui n'ont pas de voix, mais peut être que s'il pouvaient parler, ils me diraient que je suis un con et que ma place n'est pas sur la glace...

Car elle est peut être là l’explication de sa fin, un ours qui en a eu marre d'entendre cette voix nasillarde sur son territoire et a juste répondu présent à l'appel de la nature, ce simple besoin de nourriture, qu'elle soit à tête blonde ou à écailles.

En vain, il va terminer dans le ventre d'un grizzly affamé. Quête et succès ultime pour ce doux timbré et sa voie d'enfant innocent. Oh pauvre idiot, tu auras vécu heureux sans antidépresseurs.
A entendre l'enregistrement audio de ta mort, ça a du piquer de se faire croquer par la bête, mais tes cris resteront à jamais dans ma mémoire comme la voix d'un homme qu'on libère.
Entre les cris d’horreur et la jouissance d'accomplir ce pourquoi il a vécu.
Mais il y'a aussi là les animaux eux mêmes et leur indifférence vis à vis de cet homme dont ils n'avaient nullement besoin, cet imbécile heureux qu'ils ont accueillit assez longtemps sur leur territoire pour finalement s'en nourrir.

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Herzog de conclure : "…dans leurs visages, il n'y a pas de reconnaissance, de lien ou de compréhension. Aucune pitié."
Pas de pitié pour cet humain présent sur la chaîne alimentaire empruntée par le grizzly l'ayant dévoré. Lui qui voyait en l’ours le salut, n'était pour eux qu'un simple morceaux de viande blonde.
Mourir et renaître en ours, Avoir vécu heureux et imbécile. 

Au revoir Monsieur Hulot - Ushuaïa Marque

Post sur Facebook, puis petit message "Avocat du Diable" sur Twitter :

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..."

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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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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 ? 

Sebastian Maniscalco, comedy's blacksmith.

Aren't you Embarrassed ? To like this type of comedy ? I could be... The guy is far from what I normally seek. 

At first I was sceptic, never heard of the guy and I am really looking, searching, into comedy, stand up and all, trying to watch as many specials as possible because I love the art and I often need the laugh. Sadness a blessing. 

Just received an email update from Conan youtube channel, a bit of interview with the guy, saying his on the Forbes list of top earning comedians, I’m like “what ?!”... First time I ever see the guy's face. 
Then I do some basic google, read the Forbes articles, “from waiter to Forbes” and the guy seems authentic, a real working man, been a waiter for years to keep his passion going, doing as many shows and open mics as possible, everywhere touring, in between shifts at the four seasons Beverly Hills if necessary. Here I kneel, I respect the love and dedication this dude shows toward his craft. Knew no one in LA, never had a tv show or a movie to shine the lights on him, just been standing up in front of people for years, enduring, performing, improving. For that I start looking into him. 

I watch the first 15 minutes of his only show on Netflix “aren’t you embarrassed ?” And at the beginning my scepticism hits back, he’s a doing the “Italian American Chicago” stereotype, the accent, the look, the hair, the tan, the muscles, the clothes, etc. Almost too much for me and I am ready to hate this act. He's playing on this line and I don't like clowns comedians. Usually the more you're doing the less you're saying to me. If you put on an "act" so much, it means to me you are not true and I want authenticity in comedy, realness and emotion to bring me the laughter. 

 Sebastian Maniscalco

Sebastian Maniscalco

 Tony Danza,  Who’s the Boss.

Tony Danza, Who’s the Boss.

But that’s where the magic operates, once I tell myself: “Ok ! So he is indeed an act and he’s doing loads to prove he’s this Italo-Chicago character”, but it’s show-business, and it’s a reality. You have to differentiate yourself and this role he’s doing comes from his life, he’s from an immigrant Italian-sicilian family (here he scores to my heart), so he’s no fraud. He just chose a role close to him and developed it to perfection.

So I just accept the act and the "over-doing" in character of this Italian Chicago Americano Macho type of dude and I keep watching for the sake of it

And that’s where the epiphany stroke, once you put aside this character, the guy is a pure comedy gold, the way he speaks, moves, describes and analyse the situations shows years of improving this craft, finding his voice, his moves and his style. Just assuming what he is, probably less in reality, but still, deep down it’s him. This traditional upbringing, old education, tough, but fair with strong work ethic and values. Sharing about this strange vision of things this gave him.

Great comedian ! I really liked his style and act, the way I never seen a comedian like that, the body, the face and all the moves along with his jokes. There is a big part of femininity during the show, when he's shocked, surprised or mad, it's assumed and goes perfectly in balance with the appearance of the Italian male type he "looks" like. There is intelligence and art in this alone. It's been long time I haven't really laughed by myself like that watching a special.

I think I got used to the comedians like C.K., just standing up and delivering the material, so much that it’s been great to see something different and in another comedic style. Opens new dimensions to the craft I didn't thought I'd be interested in. Really appreciated this one, I see the stand up “purists” saying that he’s doing too much of a clown, that it's too simple, but for the clown I hated Jimmy Carr the English but I loved Sebastian, because he's real despite the make up.

Keep laughin’. 

Marc Maron - Thinky Pain, good podcast doesn't stand up.

It’s been 5 years now I’ve been listening to Marc Maron’s podcast, WTF. I remember discovering stand up with Louis CK and thinking this guy was a pure genius and wanting to know more about this craft, this art of talking shit while making people think deep and laugh hard. 

I listened to as much WTF episodes as I could, wanting to know more about the psyche of comedians, the behind, and that's when WTF became my source of knowledge. 
I would go running with music when I was younger, I’d put some motivational tunes in my ears and I’d be really tired because I’d get pumped up on the rhythm and the sound, picturing myself as a good looking young dude running in slow motion in a movie, with rap music playing in the background. The reality was that after one lap around the small lake, I’d be willing to die and wanting to kill every single runner that would pass me, especially the 50 year old ones. That was when I started listening to podcasts for my run: it was a great thing, walking fast like an old man but at my own pace, not overdoing it, just listening to people talk, slowly. Now I do two laps. 
I continued listening to the podcast on any given occasion, painting the family home or riding the lawn mower.

I realised the success this podcast had when a few years ago Obama went in Maron’s garage to record one episode. It opened my eyes on the number of listeners that Marc had and the quality of his show. The way he doesn't like to prepare too much and just goes on with a fascinating talk.  Another big step between WTF and I was when Robin Williams killed himself in 2014. This guy was the clown of my youth, the funny guy, Jumanji, no the "Kurt Cobain kill yourself" man, no, not Jack. And so I realised the darkness that even (or especially ?),  a comedic genius like him had, the struggles, the addictions and the pain. And this tragedy made me feel good, just to know that Williams was also subject to this pit of despair, this black panther that you need to get tame. That it strikes everyone, everywhere and that you are not alone, especially when your idols share your struggles. 

That’s why after numerous WTF episodes, I started to watch one of Marc Maron's stand up on Netflix. I have to admit something first: I tend to not listen to the preliminary rants of Maron before and after his radio shows. He usually speaks for 10 minutes about his life, his fears, what happened this week, etc… and I have to say that I fast-forward this part of the podcast most of the time. I just go straight to the talk because I want Marc to speak with someone I am interested in. I am used to the way he talks about his problems and I am not a fan of this, don’t know why. I know it’s a big part of comedy and Louis does the same but I appreciate Louis' vision and twist where I just see anger in most of Marc’s, even if the guy has a real skills for analysing himself, people and his demons. He is definitely a self aware man and knows how he works, or how he doesn't, but maybe that’s this perfection about knowing yourself too well that I don’t like. When the analysis is too clear and you still play on the edge without the danger of the fall. 

I then saw Thinky Pain, the 2013 special and I didn’t like it, I was not surprised, after 15min I was already annoyed, but I wanted to see all of it to be sure. Very quickly I noticed the “you know" being repeated every 5 minutes, when Marc, unsure of the laughing matter of his show, knowing that his podcast/stand up audience should already know his life and all, and then be ready to laugh because they do “know”. 
The whole audience is his audience, 80% of it I'm sure are WTF listeners. It’s already a win, but it’s not. Here transpires the subjectivity of a podcast groupies listening to the voice they are used to. And I am too, but I can be critical. I had the same problem with Maron, his tv show, I felt after 2 episodes I knew already everything, because I listened to the podcast and already heard the anecdotes behind the scenes of each episode. 

Even the way he sits on the stool annoyed me, like an old grumpy man not even able to stand correctly, sitting on the edge, not fully on, like his show, not stable, unsure. 
As he does for WTF, it’s almost like he didn't prepare too much his stand up routine and that works great for the talks, not so much for a show. 
To me, he makes one hell of a podcast but a mediocre stand up. 

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. 

 

The worm.

Early bird catches the worm, 
But i can't leave this bed, 
Lying here all my life, 
Hardest thing, having no appetite for the days to come. 
Early bird catches the worm, 
The ones from my dead body. 
 

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. 

 

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. 

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.

Stansted experience.

Waking up, early in the morning, in the middle of the night. Sitting in the bus to the airport, the lights flashing through your eyes closed. This one hour coach as a one hour sleep. And the 5 am cigarette, the one you ask yourself why. 

The fog in your eyes that wouldn't go, the one you hold on to until you're back to bed. 

This guy is on the phone giving the gate number to his friend late to embark, saying he'll hold the gate for him like a subway train closing it's doors. Only two hours sleep, the one that gives you the shits and makes you feel dead already. And the gate to Venicio has closed and these people are red, late and crying for a christmas plane they've missed. As if the holdiays and christmas are not emotional already. 

 

There is this guy, with a 6 year old kid and a 1 year old. His wife exhausted and red, they just missed the gate to venise, he holds his head in his hands and decompresses, the level of stress he must have been since waking up, knowing already they were fucked and trying to run against the clock with two kids and a fat wife slowing him down. If alone, he would have made it easily, he wouldn't even be there already. Now it's just regrets as he looks at his youngest, his tiny hand on the window outside the gate to the airplane, looking at the one he won't embark on.

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.