Moorings cast off | End of an Epic

Getting out of the human, finally.

© David NOIR

Being dead is my second chance; I can't miss it.

…

And save your sensitivity for later!

That day, happy in my train, I would die lightly, carelessly from so many simple emotions, by cutting a hole in my new pants made of elegant tweed,

Scratching my thigh with my laughing key punctured the artery of my sighs...

And then simply drained of my blood, through this hole in my pocket and my caressing finger...

I could come

This is what happens to me: a groin abrasion, birth of the pelvis where my parchment skin, still as fragile as ever, is like a relic still splitting from a burning vein, running to my ancient and childlike heart, still conceals in it the divine tremors of prehistoric times.

But it is not enough to enjoy; it is also necessary to wake up - to experience the harshness of others and the grain of their tanned skins - I had from then on no other desire than to lay my body against intact childhood. I had no other desire than to lay my body against childhood intact. To seek its love there, to cross the world again and leave on the wave, protected - blessed in the hollow of its boat - to enjoy the decontamination of the others that the withdrawal into oneself offers.

Soi m'aime à jamais - Alone with this piece of love so pure, embedded in the meat like the broken tip of a javelin - I had thought I would die while she embodied life. This break came up from deep inside me like a splinter that the body remembers - it was crying out for the graft of this incomparable love to be sucked up to the surface of my skin. I knew then that I had made a mistake; I was in pain by mistake. Suffering and horror took no part in the radiance of that love. Its crystal is always in me; sometimes I look at it - discreetly - in the palm of my hand. It ruins a delicate peace. Its modest reflection offers me a spectacle at its zenith when sometimes - in the rays of the sun - I open my whole palm. And in my marvellous solitude, I give myself as a gift all the light of the sky - this is the greatest kindness I can do to myself,

This is what the remains of a sheep squared on its branch whispered to me in silence.

Like a Peking duck that a fallen dragon's head sprayed with gold, she said to me:

The skin, believe me, it's enough!

The rest of it's just to be thrown away.

The Fleece sleeps / episode 9 - David Noir © 2008