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PARKS - INSTRUCTIONS FOR USE - part 2
What I'm looking for, the real energy of things; it's in me; not elsewhere. It starts here.
An introductory paragraph to the 'La Toison dort' project, written for the programme of my first solo performance of JaZon at La Guillotine and dated 22 May 2007, began as follows
It begins with a single man, prepared since childhood to conquer power and to walk out to meet the "greatest number". We'll call him Jason. The era of human cowardice in the face of one man's determination thus begins.
What is important today, on D-28 of this quest, is what I feel here. It is not a fleeting exhilaration. It is not an exaltation at all. It's not related to the past. It's not a projection into the future. It is a sum of decisions as well thought out as I am able and finally made. Finally, writing serves a purpose for me.
Decisions taken; answers partly found on the place of "being". Only partly, because in this matter, you will have to be there and they too, my partners. I will be opposite, elsewhere; in any case, not mixed up. Not entangled. Just in my place, at a distance to operate properly. I am far from being a distant being, but that's where I am, at a distance because that's where I've been put and I don't have the choice of anything else. So there's no need to exhaust yourself waving your arms in panic like the lost and frightened little man in my blazon. I now hold this place. It is a stronghold, as they say of a strategic and well-defended place.
One of the goals is accomplished. I am master of my life. Alone. Alone in control of my life, for a few hours at least.
Rid of the smell of the past, of grandpa and of avant-garde theatre… The 100 skies of a liveable world 1
Whatever it cost me, it was the right thing to do. The last efforts are in sight, like the jagged shores of an Eldo-radeau that would be nothing other than life in itself, for itself and no longer for others. I lose my last ducats in the final strokes of the oars that bring my boat to the shore and finally allow me to set foot on it.
End of my life, end of a life. And also this. I love it.
2 phases for the second group of dates. The first of these:
21 April : THE HUNDRED SKIES OF A LIVEABLE WORLD 1
I have indicated on the site:
Game of the goose - Bridge, well, prison pseudo solo by David Noir & CoAlone or almost alone, I breathe in the depths of my limbo, free from any face to face. Look at me from a distance or follow me if you want.Continuation, continuation and end of the quest for my individuality.
Ordered to pay costs? Don't care about death! Finally thrown of his own accord into the dungeon of the goodness of being himself. What more could one ask for to feel available to life?
In the experiment, I am my own guinea pig. You are free to choose a similar place. All are possible. Aztec goddess or laboratory animal, my existence will be that which I offer myself to the exclusion of all external view. Perched in my shuttle, calfed in my golden burrow... all capsules suit me as long as I escape your judgment. I no longer represent myself to you.
The piano is a control tower with all the instruments on board, from near and far. Christophe Imbs makes the link, prevents the boat from capsizing, guides the manoeuvre, avoids or rushes through the incoherence of the reefs. I am on my island. Robinson doesn't call for help; he doesn't ask to be saved; he is already happy, free of others, their worlds, their rules and their laws.
It is better to live free in the zoo, in full view of everyone, with the thinness of the glass, the bar, sometimes the width of the gap, that separates us, than in a sham freedom.
Voluntary confinement, constituted prisoner; I have my pass, I have my double and every night I go out. One escapes your judgments royally, confined in the shelter of oneself. For as far as the judgement is concerned, it is final and has long been pronounced. What can you say to that? Nothing, except to laugh at the stupidity of the judges and the cowardice of the witnesses. I am happy; my body relaxes; my muscles relax at the thought of the promising horizon of enjoying my truth without having to account for it to anyone. Only the real prisoners are allowed to join me! Only the madmen and madwomen who do not compromise. It is enough to climb the steps and rungs to the top of the rock of the monkeys, pyramid and mastaba. Do we have secret treasures to exchange? We will be each other's Monte Cristo/Abbe Faria. Come, I invite you to my castle of If you please.
To finance my revenge, as Edmond Dantes would do, I will perhaps be satisfied with the fruits of the quest, for we each have our own, carried out by Amish warriors - a path between you and me. Spinning like Zebulons on a bandstand, stars changing with the revolutions, these are the actors. Here they are, singing, haranguing and waving their bells like a polite army, saluting as they pass. Their empathetic allure urges one to join their joyful ranks, but beware: The New Testisgospel singing the praises of a sacred gonad, is their missal containing some sentences to the Mein Camphor. Between them and me, make your choice. All bets are off; nothing goes. Nothing more.
The religious takes precedence; the festival has changed in content and colour. In any case, on this Sunday, our Fates seem to have been emptied of their primary attraction. It is a day off for the movement of bodies. The families are back in force. It's a pity, my roller coasters only offer each one an individual place.
We'll have to come back on Monday to immerse ourselves in the boiling sauna of bodies opening up, chasing other wandering solitudes.
For the time being, we have to make do with the rides. Fast, lively, cheeky or the other way round, they are the only ones of my rides that are in operation today. Go ahead, get your ticketsIt's free for the bold volunteers. Switch on the safety devices and let's go for a ride. Let's go, let's go.
Grab the tail of the Mickey!
to be continued...
How I would have loved to have participated in this moment of truth. I would have seized the opportunity to find my own, a little selfishly I admit.
In fact, I have the impression that you are setting up an event that makes you discover yourself by using guinea pigs who will accompany you in this adventure.
The voyeurs, exhibitionists and meditators will have had a good time.
Those who will be in action risk discovering a world, "THEIR" lost world that they have been searching for since they were conscious of being.
Some will be there because you are a kind of "Guru", a madman who shows them the way.
To those, brainwash them, they could become puppets with whom it could be pleasant to have fun, to have a good time.
Surely I need you as a human being as you need me for the same reason,
this mutual support is the best part of your offer.
I hope that your adventure will be as naked as possible, otherwise it's just theatre for a pseudo-intellectual audience.
I understand that you want a place of creation that I hope will lead to self-discovery and answer the questions, "why am I? and what to do with what I am?
From the depths of my campaign, I will be with you all in spirit.
Indeed, you are right. I have always used creation to go towards me; to meet me. The stage with all its fakeness is a good place for that; to bring out a bit of truth from the set and the artifices. The deal is clear. To take a role is to enlist, like a crew on a ship. I set the course as a good captain, to go and collect the treasure; but it's clear that each of us, when we embark, is going to look for his or her own; his or her share of the booty. I like these stakes and this atmosphere. "Two years of holidays in the space of a few days. It's both an ultra selfish endeavour and just the opposite. Because we can only benefit from each other's progress. At least that's what I want to believe, even though we know that there are many downsides to discovery. I like to think of it as a 19th century scientific expedition to the far north, led by pirates or privateers. Peter Pan syndrome for real. Thank you for confessing that you would have liked to have been part of it. Welcome aboard!