Shelf Life.

•May 15, 2014 • Leave a Comment

I have quite a large bookcase at home. And well, since my late childhood I’ve got this weird habit of naming the shelves.

Thus, I have a Jules (Verne) shelf, a Milan (Kundera) shelf, as well as André, Alessandro, Ernest, Anaïs, Philip, Hermann, Roald, Mircea, Jorge shelves… and so on for a total of 24.

However, one of them is always empty. I call it Dobby.

Because, yes, Dobby is a free (sh)elf.


Communicating vessels.

•June 15, 2013 • Leave a Comment

-I sink therefore I was.



•April 30, 2013 • Leave a Comment

In the end, what kills us?

Pollution? Cyanide? Asteroids? Volcanoes? Bioterrorism?
Global warming? Nuclear mushrooms? Gamma rays?

Simple: breathing kills us, little by little.
Elementary: oxygen oxidizes our organisms.
Ironic: our vital element is our lethal element.

Through the tips of our nails, through the stubs of our hair, through our open pores, with every breath, with each feeling, with any thought, life leaves us, using us, slowly but surely, like it would use history supplies.

History \ˈhis-t(ə-)rē\, n pl -ries • A huge cosmic machine which functions entirely ecologically, based on biomass.

For history, our bones are coal, our blood is oil, our lives are fossil fuel, keeping in motion the cosmic mill. The mill grinds beings, sensations and ideas on the stone of time, and what results, opposing all deceit, is but dust in the sidereal wind, which may subcutaneously instill some uncertain thrill in us, as the night of our fleeting peace falls.

Breathe, now.

Hoc este corpus meum, Noli me tangere.

•June 26, 2012 • Leave a Comment

I was lying on a flat surface. It was dark and cold. In fact, I had no idea where and when I was. That uncertainty lasted for a few breaths, then my neural circuits switched on. I was in my bedroom, it was 11 pm, the window was open and the air was fresh and clean.

I had a warm hand, the one that remained under the quilt, and a cold hand, the one that embraced the pillow while asleep. Lying there horizontally, I couln’t stop thinking that it was indeed a very special occurence to be able to hold my own hand, right after waking up, and to be so tangibly different for my own self.

I got up, I opened the door and it was suddenly morning.

In silence.

•June 11, 2012 • Leave a Comment

There are silences that weigh as much as an initiation rite.

Sensitive souls may experience burdensome silences. But what is weighing on them, in fact, if not the very profound realization, the avant-goût of the ultimate sin of knowledge, the revelation brought reflexively at an arm’s length?

Knowledge that permeates through silence is poignant and fierce. For it is from within the silence gaps that figures grow, signs emerge, and meanings crystallize into shadows of being, ectoplasms of knowledge.

The anxiety of potential knowledge may weigh on sensitive souls. It may burden them, for they are sensitive souls, not consciences.

Zee Sirens.

•May 7, 2012 • Leave a Comment

Every first Wednesday of each month, at precisely 12.00pm, sirens resound throughout Paris, catching by surprise the unsuspecting visitor with their terrible, unnerving noise.

Apparently, it’s a celebratory gesture, dedicated to the memory of the victims of the Second World War.

…Which does not prevent the sirens from sounding exactly, but exactly like the siren in the “Silent Hill” series, pour les connaisseurs of the horror/gore genre.

At first, it was about protection. But today…

“Protection from what? Zee Germans?”

No, Turkish, Zee Zombies.

Dangerous Liaisons.

•March 25, 2012 • 2 Comments

We wear different layers and we use different bodies to eventually find ourselves, in joy as in sorrow, in truth as in deceit, in light as in darkness, in past as in future. We are so accustomed to our impressive wardrobe of masks and costumes that the quest for the right disguise, simulation and deception slowly becomes our second nature. A nature against nature. A defiance towards humanity, an alienation of the genuine, a plunge into the abyss of the burlesque theater of social comedy.