The Amusement Parks | Day 1

Childhood, it is well known, can be confiscated with the best intentions in the world and most often with no intention at all. A good reason to get some of it back.

Yes, you don't need to have been hiding for ten years between two molecules of the foam of a shrink's couch to suspect what is most common in these dear homes and among the traumas of our little childhoods. There is no plan, no vision of what a parental mission - we dare not say pedagogical - of accompaniment should be in the Lambda family, especially when it thinks it is Alpha! We make kids and that's it. Oh, come on! It's nature, isn't it, the divine plan ... or whatever; one has to put words to vanity and weakness to justify the inconsistency of one's life in the name of the sacred union of the so-called home.

In short, we're not going to rewrite the story, his story, especially since I've already rehashed it, played it out, written it, mixed it up in length, width and breadth.

So why approach these shores again? Not out of regret, but to build up what remains to be said once we have completed the observation and let in: the unexpected. This is where it concerns you, perhaps.

To visit the room of childhood as a devastated country, still in the resonance of chaos; to survey its Pompeian streets to see what remains.

Let's make a common cataclysm, let's cross our wanderings; that will always serve us as an archaeology of civilizations, just to say that we will have made a segment of the road together during a beautiful exodus.

Are we predestined for inner solitude? A great field of personal experimentation for everyone; there is plenty of room to wander around and catch a glimpse of yourself.