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.
precariousness
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.
Sorry, coming through! You have no right to stop me from passing! I have nothing to reproach myself for. I've always been in order with the administration. I'm sorry!
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.
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?
Artists die like so many other endangered species. Their territories are restricted, their voices are discreetly silenced.
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.
Love is like an enriched ore. In its pure state, it destroys the inner self. To keep it at a distance is not selfishness, quite the contrary.
First sleepless night. I have become accustomed to seeing my nights as a succession of hours and not as a whole stretch that opposes the day.
Between denial and rewards, the ordinary little fascism of parental education could be seen in the expressions on my father's face.