joutunu
One morning, or rather one night, a new blog was born in my little family of sites, a messed-up blog, designed to collect spelling mistakes with a ladle.
route
One morning, or rather one night, a new blog was born in my little family of sites, a messed-up blog, designed to collect spelling mistakes with a ladle.
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...
Attempted social evasion | There's no room for social chatter here. Not even on a good morning. And that's just as well.
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...
I am a program. I am a program. This + this + this + this. I don't decide it. I am not the master, just the guidance counselor...
Writing relieves the tension of over-thinking, stops the bleeding, cauterizes the sense, temporarily closes the still moist wound.
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.
The civilization of the individual is a personal act that leads him to question his own situation between savagery and the "product" of culture.
Scrap preparation | Its times of reflection, its moments of creation | Focus on the step by step implementation of a performance.
Learning to vomit into the world's great trough, including the one overflowing with culture, is as vital as developing a love of utopia.