memory cage
I insist here on the value that I attach to arbitrariness as the salvation of poorly fruitful creative situations offered by apparent logic.
Even and especially when it is touched by love, the couple is a matter of non-desire. This love becomes a repulsive thing.
To remain silent would be a decent way of stifling thought, which will always be the painful expression of an order given to oneself by one's own mental bourgeoisie.
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.
Work isn't interesting. It's being inspired that is. To be inspired is to be called to something more challenging than what was intended.
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...
Start by undermining the basis of my nature. Set the moral high ground and wait for the... cement to set... the wide asses of the cows that live here...
Artists die like so many other endangered species. Their territories are restricted, their voices are discreetly silenced.
Suzanne's dead. We watched over Suzanne's body in the cold and darkness of the room of the "reanimation" service of the Oncopole of Toulouse.
I am thinking this morning of André Lazare, of his beautiful wife Patricia, of some of the members of the small team he had gathered around him.
