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.
poetry unsuspected
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.
I will always try to legitimately welcome the confusion of girls who would put their index finger in contact with mine to make light.
I would have exchanged my whole being, my dark skin and my brown hair for an ounce of the bewitching and diabolical charm of little Martin Stephens
"I don't want to be reduced to that," she will say. "It only shows one side of me," he'll counter. "Pretending to be something other than an ass" I'll say.
Conceited euphoria, foolish carelessness or the will to harm lead to the same result: the endangerment of a fragile tension like the tenuous thread of life.
In April 2013 at the Générateur, I invite you to discover this universe, to come and play and to evolve without any limit between being a spectator or an actor.
As a wish, we might wish that we could, from time to time, have the ability to step into each other's shoes for a few minutes.
Everything that happens at the Generator "becomes" the Generator. The infinite permissiveness that resides in it allows us to feel inhabited by a grandiose freedom.
Ever since I became aware of the actual time of my life, I have been constantly amazed at the inefficiency of the education I received.
What is my intelligence today? How is it modified, shaped daily, stimulated by my time?