13.2.1

"Si tu sens le processus de consommation de l'être, cela doit signifier que tu existes. Et que tu te sens exister dans la lutte." Gmail, 21 février 2012

I was walking in the dark. And it was truly like that: dark. In my soul and in the room. In the eyes of the people I didn't know. We had nothing to say to each other, nothing to do, no reason to be in this dark room rather than in the streets or in a club. I could feel the people, I knew we didn't relate, nothing in common except perhaps that kind of hatred you feel in your bones for the things you don't understand. I was starting to think it was worse than that. Not only were these unknown people as far from who I am as the pleasure of a silent Sunday is far from a hectic life filled with incredible events but I felt as if all those things in me that make me who I am were moving just under my skin, obvious. I knew they could see my flesh reacting to their silly moves. I couldn't hide. As if we were allergic to each other. I was starting to realize I wasn't in a dark room filled with young drunkards but in a terrible graveyard that would at the same time be a cardboard movie set. A location that did its best to look like life but that was colder than the coldest winter, dry, trying to suck my blood, flesh and bones. I couldn’t speak French and there was no way I'd speak English, mother tongue. I can't relate. I was falling and I could see I was falling even though the ground was still under my feet in their reality. I was never going to smile again and I knew it I could die it was vain I had nothing to say and no words left to say it anyways. I wasn't sad. See, that's the key, it's not sadness. Sadness is a game people play, a mask they like to wear when they're bored. I wasn't sad I was just facing the truth.

And what happened after. The incredible joy. Its strength. It doesn't mean I was wrong. It doesn't make all the things I knew go away. It replaces them in some aspects of this thing that is my life. It doesn't prevent anything from happening. The worm. The fruit. Irrepressible.