I'm going in the direction where nothing makes sense

In the sense that "wanting to say" seems to me the most insignificant thing there is

We have built a world of tastes and colours, opinions and points of view. We are sometimes proud of this. Personally, I don't hold any of our supposedly appreciative qualities to be truly profound values. Rather, they seem to me to be symptoms of the panic of our brains, anxious to find reflections, unable to respond to the apparent incoherence of the images they keep knitting together night and day from a jumble of perceptions accumulated since childhood.

The machine always seems to be ready to run away and we know we are being guided by a blind pilot.

In the sense that meaning can only be found once the desire to give meaning has been overcome

This is an opportunity for me to reiterate some precepts from my research on SCRAPThis performance was created at the Générateur in 2014 with Christophe Imbs, and still presides over my vision of the performance today. Here are a few extracts from my dossier at the time, in the line of which I still wish to inscribe myself. It is indeed a path that cannot be turned back.

Following its nuances and twists and turns has led me through a portal that opens only in the direction of the entrance to the vast, free and vague zones that constitute the world of performance; in contrast to the theatre, which will forever, like a mechanical toy in front of a wall, continue to stumble until its spring is exhausted on what it illusively takes to be its modernity, without being able to free itself from it. This is normal; this is how it is; because the theatre has allowed itself to be stuffed with mortifying dogmas that give the appearance of joy. Jubilation as they say. It's worth its weight in Living Together in the shadow of the Great Bullshit.