Read more about the article Carte de Corps | Rectal

Carte de Corps | rectal © David Noir

Body Map | Rectal

Map of Ile de Corps | Côté Rectal | The underside of Ile de Corps features the Roche de Seau d'Eau Mis, accessible from Baie d'Aisance.

Read more about the article Carte de Corps | Verseau

Body map | Aquarius © David Noir

Body Map | Aquarius

Map of the island of Corps | Aquarius side | Bathed by the La Pudeur Sea, the island of Corps culminates at the Mont des Origines where the La Toison lighthouse stands.

Are you playing naked?

A new free and raw blog, as a necessary refuge for the written word. A little secret but not stuttering and spontaneously readable for anyone who would like to come there.

Read more about the article On appelle ça la relation

Relationship leaves me out in the cold | Squash mask © David Noir

It's called the relationship

My great adaptability is an absolute violence to me. I hate any relationship that forces me to do so. Rare is the one that goes the way I want it to.

Read more about the article Les vrais artistes ne parlent pas au monde

True artists work in the void © David Noir

Real artists don't talk to the world

Artists, the real ones who would have something to say, hate the world and won't say anything to it, right? And it's much better that way, isn't it?

Read more about the article Chambre d’isolement consenti

Isolation room | Building under construction near the Oncopole of Toulouse | Photo © David Noir

Consensual isolation room

The true individual venturing out of his isolation room, faints on contact with the air. He refuses to be legibly embodied in his words and deeds...

The bus where the adventure and life of Christopher McCandless ended in solitude in 1992, brought to the screen in the film "Into the wild".

Journal des Parques J-24

It is human and tribal to have to be constantly reassured about one's membership in a community and the relative state of one's loneliness

Read more about the article Journal des Parques J-30

Diary of the Parks J-30

It is, when all that remains to my senses is the fleeting and deep trace like a gash, what I retain of a spectacle... or of a man: the preserved void.