The Continental

- Excuse me, sir?
- Yes, how may I help you?
- Well hum, I just purchased this book, "There is one born every minute" from that very store, and as I opened it, it appears that, well huh, that all the pages are blank.
- Except for the last one which mentions "No return, no refund" in the footer.
- Right. But back to my point, I was wondering: there is one what born every minute?
- ...
- ...
- Exactly!

Twitter

During a class on how to develop iPhone apps, the lecturer defines twitter as "reverse stalking".

So far he is the only guy who seems to have understood the application's real concept.

Prison

It shames me to admit it but I have absolutely no idea where the word "Prison" comes from. I thought about it and I can't come up with any etymological origin that would actually make sense.

Could it come from "to pry" and "Son". I don't see the link between a place where you lock people up and peeping on your son. Although I could see the former being the result of the latter.

I guess I could look it up on the interweb thing but I have to do other things that don't involve looking up the origin of the word "Prison" on the interweb, so... I will just file this case as unsolved.

Mystery unsolved.

Whistle or blow

You know how the saying goes: "Sometimes you blow the whistle. Sometimes the whistle blows you."

So... Like I always say, you better turn your tongue twice in your mouth before you whistle. Or blow.

Give a man a fish...

Give a man a fish and he will eat for a day.

If he is a small eater that is.

Or the fish is really big. But then you end up having fish for breakfast, lunch and dinner, which is really not a balanced diet. Fish, as good and healthy as it may be, is still lacking the nutrients of the other 3 food groups.

So please, don't just give a man a fish. Give him also a fruit or a vegetable, some fiber and some dairy product.

Or a coupon to the Olive Garden is always thoughtful.

Resolution

Dans un elan de spontaneite, et decide a enfin appliquer une des resolutions qu'il a prises le premier Janvier, Edouard se devetit, plia proprement ses vetements avant de les empiler soigneusement a ses pieds. Il se mit ensuite a courir en hurlant "We're going streaking!" dans un anglais phonetique.

Ce n'est que dans le fourgon de police qu'il reprit pleinement ses esprits, et pris alors la sage decision de ne plus baser ses resolutions du nouvel an sur des citations de Will Ferrell.

Oval Office

I was reading a transcript of the Letterman Show where he makes fun of George W. Bush. He ridicules the former president by comparing Obama's achievements in the first 100 days of his presidency, with how Bush spent his first 100 days looking for a corner in the oval office.
But he totally misses the point. The real ground breaking news here, is that Bush actually thought he did find a corner in the oval office.

Because this man was not afraid to think outside the box.

High Throne

- Sure you are successful and a lot of people envy you. But there is one thing they fail to realize. The one thing that always plagues successful people sitting on their high throne. You know what happens when you sit all the way up there right...
- People look like ants.
- What? No...
- They look really small and busy.
- No...
- I can see your scalp.
- Not the...
- I can spit on your head
- Absolutely not the point...
- I can moon you better.
- What does that even mean...
- I can block your sun.
- Stop it! Stop it! Stop it. This is not what I meant at all. Everybody knows that it is very lonely at the top. Loneliness is what I was going for... You are lonely.
- As in not surrounded by people like you?
- Exactly.
- Hum.
- What?
- I fail to see how that is a bad thing.
- Hum.

Loop

The most depressing thing in life is that I feel that any idea I come up with as already been experienced by someone else at some point in time. Throwing me in the endless pit of common-ness and striping me of my sense of being an individual. A unique individual. Even my DNA doesn't have a 100% chance of being unique.
But that is pointless because I know somebody already wrote those exact same words in that very combination.
And those.
And this.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Reflection

Miroir oh mon beau Miroir
Que ne puis-je voir
Autre reflet argente
Que celui de ma stupidite

Calle a Hambourg

- Plomberie Zinguerie Mouchalotte bonjour.
- Bonjour Madame. Vous avez un plombier?
- Heu oui bien sur, mais de quoi s'agit-il exactement?
- C'est a dire que mon plan A a comme qui dirait, heu, comme qui dirait vulgairement, heu si je puis me permettre, heu, enfin mon plan A a foire quoi, pour appeler un chat un chat.
- Ah oui, c'est regrettable, mais je ne vois pas en quoi je peux vous etre utile exactement Monsieur. Monsieur?
- Monsieur Dujon. Comme la moutarde mais avec un U au lieu du I quoi. Ben si parce que comme je vous disais mon plan A, kaput quoi, donc voila pourquoi, heu comment dirais-je l'objet de mon appel, quoi, en gros.
- Je m'excuse Monsieur Dijon...
- Dujon
- Monsieur Dujon, mais je ne vois pas ce que je peux faire si votre plan A n'a pas marche.
- Ben vous pouvez m'envoyer un plombier pardi. C'est ca que je m'emploies a vous expliquer. Quand le plan A marche pas on passe au plombier.
- ...
- Allo?
- *tonalite*
- Allo?

The Bush Casino

Ladies and Gentlemen, the Bush Casino is very happy to welcome you to the opening of its new downtown Manhattan location.
Spend without limits, our friendly and sexy staff will attend to all your wacky desires. Bet more money than you actually had and lost it all? Don't worry about your kneecaps, the Bush Casino goes where no other Casino went before: we will give you all your money back and more so you can keep playing like the bald fat hairy drunk bastard you are until you lose it all again.

*The Bush Casino is not responsible for the impact of its stupid policies.*

Paul Arbour

The Prime Minister of Canada called for early elections in October. The candidates signs have flourished along the road, and I am ready to go see Paul Arbour's meeting. He is an NDP candidate. Here are some of the subjects I plan to discuss publicly with him:
- Hey Paul Arbour, you suck and Michael Bay and Ben Affleck should be beaten to death by 4 year olds armed with katanas (they would be instructed to use the flat side of the blade, to beat those wanckers and not slice them).
- Hey Paul Arbour, I thought you were living in infamy? Go back to your country (infamy).
- Hey Paul Arbour, I thought you were destroyed on December 7, 1941?

I am very serious when it comes to politics.

Tu Quoque

Sometimes I wonder if The Edge, the famous guitarist of U2, got this moniker because he is always on himself.
Then I get distracted and wonder if the movie "Over the edge" is a movie about people trying to get over him, or pass him over. And then I look at the bright number on the alarm clock displaying 3:43 AM and I cry silently myself to sleep.

Genetics Journal

A famous british professor in genetics from Bath has apparently decided to tackle a new challenge after successfully cloning a pigeon with a duck head.

"One day I noticed that apple trees, although very beautiful in spring, don't add any value to the apple. On the contrary, you have to pick the apples and then put them in a bowl." said the professor. It is then that he decided his next assignment. He would modify a bowl genetic structure to incorporate it with the one of the apple tree. He aims at isolating the code that makes the apple tree grow apples, and integrate it with the bowl genetic code.

"I decided to follow a logical and rigourous process, and therefore started by identifying the part of the genetic code of the tree that grows the apple. This task turned out to be easier than expected, and after an hour I had successfully discovered that the apple fruit comes from the branch of the tree. I am now working on decoding the DNA of the bowl, and that task on the other hand is more challenging than expected."

Fellow scientist, Dr Greud, Head of the Psychiatry Ward, commented his colleague work: "The poor fellow is completely out to lunch, he's lost it with no hope of remission. He's officially mad." he said, showing me the certificate of madness he issued for his patient.

Lost invention

By the beginning of 1953, the cold war had created a bit of a tense atmosphere in the Eastern part of Germany, a country now wounded and divided for no reasonable reason.

It is during that year, that Dr Einzweidrei came up with a contraption that would revolutionize dentistry in his country. Under the cold glove of repression, very few people dared opening their mouth, which proved a daily challenged for the country's dentists. It is Dr Einzweidrei genius that allowed the dentists to maintain the oral hygiene of the country under control during those trouble times. His contraption allowed to remove people teeth without opening their mouth.

I will leave to your vivid imagination the task of picturing how the contraption might have worked, but it was abandoned immediately after the end of the cold war. The procedure was reported as being painful, although necessary.

There are few reports of pocketed communities who keep using it (the biggest one I believe is in San Francisco), without pulling any teeth. They described it as not necessary but delightful.

On Purpose

- I didn't do it on purpose.
- It's ok, don't worry about it. Those things happen to the best of us. Take me, for instance, last week-end, I promised my daughter I would take her to her horse-ridding class and I did. What I didn't do on purpose though was to have her wait for me to pick her up for two hours after her class. Time just flies at the Wide Back Door club, I'll tell you.
- That's a beautiful story, but I am afraid we are misunderstanding each other. I meant I didn't do it on purpose.
- I know. And neither did I. Believe me, I didn't stay at the club looking at my watch to make sure I was two hours late. I was deeply covered in
- I'm gonna have to cut you right there. I didn't do it. On purpose. My purpose was not to do it. In your story my purpose was to look at my watch for two hours to make sure I would be late.
- Well let me tell you that it is a mistake on your part. That club is the best in town and you can't purposely pass on a two-hour of gay
- That's it for me. I'm gonna go now.
[He leaves]
- I will never understand how people cannot be into woodworking. It is a beautiful craft, and that club particularly has allowed me to manufacture many beautiful back doors, in a very joyful atmosphere. He would probably change is mind if he experienced the dazzling smell of the chopped wood covering the blouse.

The other left

- Look at your left and you will see what I am talking about. ... The other left.
- Oh right. It is confusing I have to say.
- What is confusing
- The fact that there are two lefts. If there is the left and another left, they you have to admit that it is quite confusing to figure out which left you are referring to. Wouldn't you agree?
- ...
- How about instead of saying left and other left we say one side is left, and then name the other side something completely different?
- Right?
- We just need to come up with a name for the other left and that problem will be solved.
- Right?
- I'm glad you agree and appreciate my idea. Now how could we label the other left?
- We should call it right.
- Yeah I agree we need to find the right name for it, something that will stick, and be easy to remember. May be something like polunyx. Left and polunyx. Hum.
- How about we call it right, cause that sounds right, right?
- You mean it would be left and right. That does sound right, you're right.
- So now I can tell you to look to your right and you'll know where to look this time.
- Right.
- The other right you moron!
- Wait what?

Interactive story

Yesterday, as I was gazing lovingly at my progeniture quietly abandonned into Morphee's arms and those of her beautiful mother, a bird entered the picture.

His motivation, either dark or friendly will never be known, and it is with great force and velocity that he violently slammed in our bow-window. We startled in horror, and I ran to the window to look for the bird. As I couldn't see it, I ventured outside to further explore. And I found him laying flat on his stomach panting heavily.

[This interactive story has 2 endings to choose from]:

A - I rushed inside panicked and asked my wife what to do. I returned to the wounded bird with a shoe box filled with newspaper. I picked up the victim with shaky hands, fearing any sudden move on his part. I crawled him in my hand, pat him lovingly and laid him in the box, while keeping to warmly pet and comfort him. At which point he sighed a last long breath and died. With tears in my eyes, I looked for the shovel and for a nice spot in the backyard, where I buried him with a few last words, and the feeling that at least he died being loved and cared for by a friendly hand.

Godspeed little bird.

B - The flying rat probably hemoraged to death. I hope I didn't get any disease touching the damn thing.

Reverse

[From our correspondent in Mexico City]

Mike the numbers don't lie. Statistico Mexico has registered a steep drop in the number of people illegally leaving the country for what used to be the eldorado. From an average crossing of 15,000 a month until last month, they are now only recording a mere 5. And Mike, 4 of those 5 emigrants were deaf and blind, therefore unaware of the economical catastrophe happening across the border. The fifth one was Alberto Gonzales, the former Attorney General, who tried to foul the Mexican authorities in passing for a mexican, but was arrested and escorted back to the border.

US officials have even received orders to dismantle the fence they were building, to allow the illegal immigrants to flee faster back home. Number that has amazingly raised from 1 a month to 20,000.

The mexican officials are considering buying the fence from the US to prevent americans to enter illegally the country.

Now if that's not ironic, I don't know what is.

Back to you Mike.

Women and children first

Safety is no laughing matter and every safety rule has a sound and grounded reason.

Take "Women and children first" for instance. Your boat is sinking, you need to jump in the water to escape the doom destiny of the sinking ship. Yet you need to make sure you're not leaving a perilous situation for a deadly one.

Thus, you use the women and children as bait, to make sure the waters are clear of sharks.
The sooner you throw them overboard, the more time you have to confirm the safety of your escape route. Common logic.

As the wind blows

The ancient civilization of the little island of Serifos (Greece) believed that the wind was the invisible hand of Astraeus, the God of the four winds.

It is for that very reason that you won't see a single wind turbine on the island of Serifos.
They believe the blades would hurt the hand of Astraeus.

Ahahahah those people are so retarded.

Mauvaises manieres

Peu importe sous quel angle on aborde le probleme, il n'y a pas de situation appropriee qui tolere qu'une personne urine en public.
Sauf le 30 Fevrier, jour de la reconstitution de la scene du Mannekenpis, ou tous les bruxellois urinent alors frenetiquement dans les rues de la ville.
Il est formellement interdit de consommer des asperges lors de la semaine qui precede.

Zebra Gone

If a zebra lines up with a black picket fence on a snowy day, does he feel like he just disappeared?
I think he does. Research has proven zebras are pretty dumb.

Is that proper conversation?

"Sometimes I think that God invented the japanese so that the other people would have fun. But then I remember that God doesn't exist. And I wonder why the japanese? Why?"

It's just common sense

"I think that if you're a native american it's not a good idea to call yourself 'man who barks under the moonlight' because then if one day you don't do it someone could come and wake you up and ask you to do it.
And then it might be very difficult to go back to sleep."

It's just common sense

"I think that if you're a surgeon whose patient just died on the operating table, you can't brake the news to the family wearing a clown suit.
Even on comic relief day.
Because they would think it's a bad joke, but still laugh out of respect for you and the whole thing would just be embarrassing."

Am I dreaming

Sometimes I picture myself in a black suit, a rose in one hand, a tear going down my cheek and reaching my mouth, hum salty.

"Rene was more than a colleague to me, he was a friend."

Then I drop the rose on the casket walk away and fall in an other grave being digged. I shout very loud but the digger burries me as if I wasn't here.
Then I wake up and I see it's raining outside.
Damn. I hate the rain.

Ecology

- Don’t waste water like that! If everybody was behaving like you do this country would look like Saudi Arabia by now.
- I really don’t think that wasting water would change the population of this country into Arabs. Arabs don’t enjoy leaving in countries deprived of water you know.
- No, I…
- It’s not like they’re travelling all over the world looking for the driest places on earth!
- ...

Good ol' times

The scene takes place in the middle of nowhere. Although hard to imagine nowadays, this expression did make sense at the begining of human history. So in the frame we see nothing but a bush with a caveman standing in front of it.
The man is puzzled. Suddenly he shouts:
- Bruce! Bruce come overhere will you!
Bruce, a caveman as well but made of a willing to please nature comes in the frame. The first caveman then tells him:
- Bruce you have to taste this it's absolutely delicious.
- You're sure. Cause it doesn't look like it.
- I'm telling you Bruce, it is one of the greatest culinary experience I have had so far.
- Alright then.
And Bruce eats the berry. He makes a weird face.
- Woaw, you were right. It's bitter first but then it delivers a sweet flavour that floats in the mouth like a cloud and then pours...
- Ok ok Bruce. That will do. Thanks.
Black fade out.
The next day.
Black fade in.
The frame shows the same caveman standing in front of another bush.
- Bruce! Bruce come here!
Complying Bruce runs to the scene, excited about another culinary discovery to be made.
- What new flavourful marvel did you extricate out of nature's safe today.
- Today Bruce I found this fruity berry that delivers another bitter-sweet combination similar but not completely to the one you seemed to enjoy so much yesterday.
Bruce eats the berry and collapses immediately to the ground.
- Mental note, do not it the yellow and red berry. Hum.
- Oh and other mental note, find a way to not rely only on mental notes, a way to mark permanentaly the note in a safe place.
Camera pans out, the caveman walks to the next bush.
- Brian! Brian come here!
Another caveman comes into frame.
- This is absolutely delicious, you've got to try this.
Brian eats the new berry.
- It's not too bad. But it's not great either. It leaves a weird taste in the mouth. I'm not sure I like it.
- What do you know stupid caveman! Let me see. Hum. My, you're right. Ha I guess not all the berry can't be delicious, at least this one did not kill me.
Black fade out.
Black fade in.
The first cave man is walking, the camera follows him, he meets other cavemen and asks them if they've seen Brian.
Then he stops and yells:
- Brian! Brian come here I made another discovery.
Another man comes into frame:
- I'm afraid Brian just collapsed. He said he had a weight on his belly and died. Bam just like that. Boy that makes you think. One second you're here and everything kindda cool and the next bam you're deade like a stone. Wow. Are you ok man, you look pale.
White fade out.

My life as a banker

Exactly two years ago, the peregrinations of my dismantled life style had led me to being a banker. White collar, dark suit, italian shoes and short hair in the back of the head. I had it all. I was a success.

The power was exhilerating. All those little nobodies struggling through life, begging for mortgages. I had the power to make their dreams come true. I had the power to destroy them. Little puppets. Dance, obey my voice. Listen to your master. It was good.

The good looking ones were lucky. All they had to do was to sex me up and bam, here's the money. Life was easy.

Today sometimes my cellmate forces me to put lipstick on before he abuses me.

I guess it is one of life twists we like to call irony.

Quantity versus quality

Someone whose name is not worth appearing in these columns pointed out that he had twice more blogs than I did. At first I ignored his uninteresting remark. But it started to eat me, slowly but surely. And I embarked upon one of these ethical journey where I question the quality of productions versus the quantity.

So here I was, wondering if I was compensating my lack of production by an above average quality. As obvious as the answer was, it took me quite a while to figure it out. See I am a modest character. But why is it that I can't extend this high quality writing to a higher rate of production. Do I have intellectual limitations (please... But my integrity forces me to consider each and every possibility), does the craziness of my professional life overwhelm my creativity (I sell and buy green curry for major financial institutions and volunteer as a fire-fighter on my free time), is that bug the government implanted in me diminishing my faculties, or is it because of all the time that I spend having rough sex with hot top models?

As Fox Mulder puts it, maybe the answer is somewhere else. In the vicinity of the Centaur or Taurus probably. Who cares really. Not me.

This was just about getting one step closer to the same number of blogs than the anonymous competitor.

Damn it. He did get to me.

A la recherche de Marjorie Ashley

**les noms ont ete modifies a la demande des services secrets francais qui se melent de ce qui ne les regardent pas**

Quand on a 5 ans on croit encore que la vie est belle et que les gens sont gentils. Les enfants sont betes et d'une naivete qui depasse l'entendement. Et apres on s'etonne de voir autant de vieux cons. Pourquoi cela s'arrangerait-il en veillissant? Mais je m'enerve et c'est mauvais pour mon transit. Apres j'ai mal au duodenum et ca derange mon monodenum qui est tres tatillon avec son voisinage passe 22 heures.
Ce que je voulais dire je crois, c'est qu'alors qu'on est encore enfant, chaque moment de la vie est une experience extraordinaire qui doit etre bue jusqu'a la lie parce qu'on sait que bientot on va avoir 15 ans et qu'alors on sera tres vieux et con, comme cet abruti de grand frere qui pour une raison inconnue retire un immense plaisir a m'infliger une douleur a intensite variable, par l'intermediaire d'un petit variateur et de 2 pinces crocodiles accrochees a mes tetons. Mais je ne sais plus de quoi je parlais, c'est malin.
Pour une raison inconnue, aujourd'hui je me suis rappele Marjorie Ashley. Nous etions dans la meme classe a l'ecole primaire. Elle etait belle comme la future femme de nos enfants, son rire s'elevait plus haut que celui des autres, plus leger il tourbillonait aleatoirement au gre des vents. Ses yeux verts etaient chauds comme le pantalon de velours de mon grand pere. Lorsqu'elle me parlait mon coeur battait la chamade, et alors que sa douce voix me faisait l'honneur de couler dans mes oreilles, moi je n'entendait que les battements de mon coeur qui resonnait comme un gong frappe dans les gorges de l'Ardeche. Elle a probablement pense que j'etais lobotomise. Cependant ce que je ne comprends pas, c'est pourquoi dans ma memoire Marjorie a toujours etait une femme et jamais une enfant. Etait-ce que tout petit deja j'avais inconsciemment conscience (je trouve que les oxymores ca fait tres joli et statistiquement ca double les chances de passer un jour chez Pivot) de l'amoralite des relations charnelles avec les petites filles. Je ne crois pas. Mais alors quid? Comment ce fait-ce? Par quelle manipulation chimico-neuronales cela est il possible.
Je pense qu'en fait on ne change jamais. Toute notre vie nous nous trainons cette meme tronche au vent mauvais. Mais parce qu'on est un enfant les gens ne nous voit pas tel que nous sommes mais nous idealisent en petits lutins malicieux et plein de vie. De la meme facon alors que la pendule au salon qui dit oui qui non commence a se transformer en un compte a rebours, les gens nous voient tels qu'ils nous imaginent, sans vie, fatigues et uses.
La seule conclusion qui s'impose naturellement a cette brillante demonstration scientifique est que les gens sont cons.
A commencer par le chauffeur de taxi qui crache la haine de sa vie miserable sur des gens qu'il ne connaitra jamais, et donc qui se trompe de colere comme disait quelqu'un de connu qui m'echappe. A continuer par le chauffeur de camion qui pense que les lois de la physique ne s'appliquent qu'aux homosexuels et qui donc applatit gaillardement et avec entrain les petits vieux de ces villages/autoroutes emiettes le long de notre magnifique reseau routier que le monde entier nous envie. Petit vieux qui tentait de traverser pour aller chercher sa demi-baguette demi-sel, et qui s'accrochait a la vie par habitude parce qu'on lui a bourre le mou avec des principes idiots selon lesquels il vaut mieux se faire chier jusqu'a la moelle que d'etre maitre de son destin. Heureusement il y a Lagaffe a la tele, ca lui permet (permettait pardon, maintenant qu'il a ete reincarne en pneu thermo-gomme Michelin) de donner un sens a sa vie, et de profiter pleinement de ses soirees en sirotant du jus de carottes parce que le docteur l'a convaincu que l'alcool etait dangereux pour sa sante. Pas autant que de veillir certes mais on est jamais trop prudent.
Ah Marjorie que ne t'ai-je imagine courant vers moi sur des plages de sable blanc. Toutes ces nuits froides d'hiver sous ma couette, tu etais volupteuse et sensuelle, j'etais dans mon pyjama de superman qui me donnait l'assurance necessaire. Notre amour etait pur et nos corps s'enflammaient au contact l'un de l'autre.Et inexorablement, a chaque fois, ce con de chauffeur de camion t'ecrasais. Nuit apres nuit j'avais beau rajouter toujours plus de panneau de signalisation, toujours tu finissais sous les roues de la remorque. J'ai essaye les panneaux lumineux, des qui clignottent, des qui flashouillent, rien n'y faisait.
Quand je disais que les gens sont cons.

Narcisse was a fool who had it coming.

Sometimes it's just a smell. Well I guess it depends. It can also be a sound. A song maybe. Rarely an image. Images give deja-vu illusions but they usually don't revive old burried anecdotic memories. Odeurs do. Sounds do. But sometimes images can do that in their own way. They do not respect the convention. The smell or the sound envelop you. They penetrate you, slowly taking control of the central system. They take you by the hand and ride your memory with you, gently until the whole sensation comes back, the environment, the feelings. Almost overwhelming but controlable. Images slap you in the face. Electrochoc.

I just saw an image of someone driving a car and shot from just behind his left shoulder. The car frame, half the driver's head and wheel are in the screen. Rain falls on the windshield. The driver exhales condensation.

Such a live sensation. Rewind. You're sixteen again. It's a cold early morning of december. The muffler of the car exhausts a white heavy smoke in the street light. The instructor opens the door, greets you ("Bonjour mon garcon, comment ca va ce matin? Fait frais hein?"), and invites you to seat in the car. No, young man, in the passenger seat today. He seems like a nice guy. You enter the car and the first thing you notice is the smell. The new car smell.

And you remember how excited you were when your parents came home with the first new car.

You close the door, a coton sound, like muttered, almost as if the door was caughing when you closed it, to cover the slamming noise. From that moment on you now you'll remember that sound for ever. It's your first driving lesson.

Looking in a mirror. What is the reflexion of a reflexion. I am an image of an image of an image. The memory of my life clones me. Every memories I have are souvenirs of things lived by an image of me. A copy made at a instant t. This is such a french expression. I like to translate french expression in english but this is not the subject and I said I wouldn't digress anymore.

Sometimes I like to think that my images now have a life of their own. And as time goes by I'm multiplying myself, exponentially. Maybe that way I'll have the time to live life to its fullest before that night of december 2016. I don't know if it will be because of the cold and foggy weather or because of a lack of reflexes due to a narcoleptic crisis, but I sure will look like a deer when this truck will catch me first in his headlights and finally on its bumper.

Paroles et musique

En cette saison, les soirees sont encore agreables a Vancouver. Les terrasses equipees de ces lampadaires chauffants accueillent encore quelques courageux (ou frimeurs) qui font comme s'il faisait encore jour et encore beau. C'est amusant.
- Oui c'est vrai que c'est amusant ca.
- Ah non pas vous. Je vous avez deja dis de pas m'interrompre dans...
- Hihihihihihhihihihihihi
- Quoi encore?
- Vous avez dis interrompre. Hihihihihi.
- Securite!
Je m'excuse pour cette interruption (*rire de l'intrus evacue par la securite suivi d'un coup de feu et d'un lourd silence*). Tiens pendant que j'y pense, comment un silence peut-il etre lourd. Le silence est la version la plus pure de l'air. Celle qui n'est chargee d'aucune onde sonore. Je crois que l'utilisation distordue d'image dans notre language est tout simplement un fait avec lequel il faut vivre car je ne me sens pas la force de partir en croisade pour remplacer "lourd silence" par "silence pur" et de toute facon je m'egare, si si, ne me dites pas le contraire je le vois bien.

Ainsi donc par une soiree automnale je me suis rendu a un petit concert dans un cafe. Et alors que la pianiste nous chantait un air melodieux, je me suis interroge sur le poids des paroles dans une chanson. Jusqu'a quel niveau portons nous attention au contenu de ces textes. Combien de rangaines denuees de sens reprenons nous en choeur gaillardement sans preter aucune attention a l'ineptie qui se tisse en direct.

Une etude sociologique dirait probablement que le comportement social autorise un decoupage binaire. Le premier groupe constitue des non-intellectuels, non-eduques, non-pensants, evidemment le plus grand groupe, qui chante le plus fort des textes auxquels il n'a jamais imagine que l'on pouvait donner un sens. Le deuxieme groupe qui sent le patchouli, et qui se trouve dans le coin gauche est compose des intellectuels, des penseurs et des enculeurs de mouche.

Le premier groupe donc, brutal, instinctif et denue d'intelligence ne repond qu'a des stimuli. Ainsi de la musique par exemple va le faire reagir. Le choc de l'onde sur son squelette entraine une reaction. De plaisir ou de haine ( oui ce sont les deux seuls etats que les membres primitifs du premier groupe peuvent atteindre).
Le second groupe, denue d'emotion et de recepteur sensoriel ne peut qu'effectuer une autopsie complexe des informations qu'il recoit. Ainsi les suites de notes doivent repondre a un enchainement precis et ordonne pour obtenir leur approbation. Si les notes pouvaient s'assembler afin de former une suite de Fibonacci alors peut etre que les membres du second groupe pourrait enfin connaitre l'orgasme. De la meme facon les mots doivent s'assembler et donner un sens merveilleux. Le plus l'assemblage est complexe et inepte, le plus le sens cache est merveilleux. C'est la regle.

On peut donc facilement tirer ici deux conclusions.
- Ahahahahah, vous avez dis conclusion, ahahahahah
- Ben je croyais qu'ils vous avez ab... enfin mis hors d'etat de nuire?
- Non ca va je suis juste blesse a la tete.
- Ah oui quand meme. Je serais vous j'irai montrer ca a un chirurgien quand meme.
Donc disais-je, deux conclusions se profilent. La premiere, les paroles ont s'en fout de toutes facons dans les concerts on crie juste des onomatopees. La seconde, les etudes sociologiques c'est vraiment comme peter dans une tornade.

Le concert etait tres bien, le premier groupe (Great Aunt Ida) est de Vancouver et fait de la jolie musique tranquille. Le second (Fond of tigers) etait bruillant mais interessant, il n'y avait pas de chanteur.
Lorsque je suis rentre, les terrasses etaient vides. Cette fois ca y est, je crois que l'ete est fini. Pour de bon. Les cons sont a l'interieur.

Memoires d'enfant

Le sang coule. Encore. Ce gout de cuivre. Tous les matins c'est la meme chose. J'ai longtemps cru que c'etait normal. Je pensais sincerement que tout le monde crachait du sang au reveil. Le docteur de la mine lui m'a dit que non. Que ca n'etait pas normal. Bon. Moi j'ai demande si c'etait genant. Il m'a dit que pas pour la mine. Bon.

Je m'y suis habitue en fait. Peut etre que pour moi ce qui ne serait pas normal ca serait de ne plus avoir ce gout de cuivre dans ma bouche le matin. Je crois que je l'aime bien maintenant le gout du cuivre. On s'habitue a tout peut etre. C'est comme la corne de brume. Au debut elle me faisait peur. Un cri lugubre dans l'obscurite de la nuit. Les oiseaux ils ne l'aimaient pas non plus, mais eux ils ne se sont pas habitues. Ils ne sont plus la. C'est dommage moi j'aimais bien les oiseaux.

La toux aussi je m'y suis habitue. La toux le medecin m'a dit que c'etait normal. Que c'est a cause du charbon qu'on respire. Celui qui s'est pas habitue au charbon c'est Emile, le cheval. Je l'aimais bien Emile. C'est dommage qu'il avait tout le temps l'air triste. Peut etre c'est parce que lui il remontait jamais a la surface. Je lui ai demande au docteur si c'etait a cause de jamais voir la lumiere du soleil qu'il etait triste Emile. Il ne m'a pas repondu. De toute facon ca doit pas etre ca, parce que le docteur lui il la voit tout le temps la lumiere du soleil et il est triste quand meme. C'est dommage parce que je l'aimais bien le docteur. J'espere que maintenant il n'est plus triste. Je regrette qu'il soit pas revenu pour ma surprise quand meme. Il m'avait dit qu'il allait tout arranger, que la misere et la mine c'etait fini et tout, je me souviens plus exactement et j'avais pas tout compris a ce qu'il disait de toutes facons. Il parlait tres vite et il souriait beaucoup en me carressant les cheveux. C'etait chouette de voir le docteur sourire. Moi j'avais juste compris que j'allais avoir une surprise alors j'etait excite aussi. Peut etre qu'il a du aller soigner des gens ailleurs le docteur.
C'est dommage parce que moi je l'aimais bien ce docteur.

Et puis j'aurais bien aime avoir ma surprise.

Nutcracker

What is it with cocaine addicts? oh, listen to me, ooooh feedback, it sounds like this stand-up comedian "what's with airline food huh?", god here I am copycating some random guy because we've been forced fed with his productions for too many years, anyways, where was I? oh yes, cocaine addicts, what's with them? god I'm doing it again, I have to find another expression, something more personal or at least something less Seinfeldish, something, something... hum something more personnal, yes that's it something more personal, hey it's like this guy from the shop I work in, is all, gosh how can I put it, is all hum like you know all... and I'm like whatever dude, you know, all cool and stuff and he is just like going away without even looking at me, even though it makes sense cause to go away and look at me he would have to go backwards and that's just stupid, he would look like a crab, right? right! but nevermind this guy, so, what's with, oups, did you notice how... no not good either, Seinfeld's done it as well, blast! I can't find a proper non Seinfeldnoid expression, it's almost like this guy sucked my brains out implented a chip with his language on it and then stuffed it back in my skull, right? right! but the point is that those cocaine addicts they're weird aren't they, they're like talking non stop, non stop, never noticed it? no? boy you can't catch a break with those nuts, and the sniffing you know, the constant sniffing it's almost like you're talking to a dolphin you know, cause the dolphin blows through his hole like all the time you know, just like a cocaine addict, right? right, imagine a dolphin on coke, ah! well the good thing is he wouldn't have to wipe his nose, right? right! and how they don't make sense you know, jumping from one thing to another, it's like impossible to have a... a conversation with this nutcases you know, and... ah! imagine a dolphin with the straw up his nostrils and holding his credit card with his fins ah! boy I'm thirsty!

Comme une odeur d'esturgeon mort.

Un jour gris de Novembre, il a pris sa decision. Oh bien sur inconsciemment il avait deja decide il y a longtemps. On croit que l'on reflechit alors qu'en realite il nous faut juste un peu de temps pour nous convaincre de la decision que nous avons prise dans la seconde. Ainsi donc, ce jour gris de Novembre il s'est convaincu. Comme si un scorpion venait de tomber dans sa culotte, il s'est leve d'un coup, a fini son verre, pose la monnaie sur la table et s'est dirige d'un pas sur vers la sortie.
"...sieme jour de l'offensive allemande, la ville de Volgograd compte desormais..." Il n'entend pas les informations que le poste de radio gresille aux clients acoudes au comptoir. Alors qu'il atteint la porte, un vieux tasse sous un beret trop lourd lui lance "bon courage Nikolai" sans meme lever les yeux de son journal. Et Nikolai ne l'entend pas non plus. Tout comme il ne sent pas le froid tranchant s'engouffrer dans son vetement use.
C'etait il y a trois jours seulement, et pourtant Nikolai a l'impression que c'etait il y des annees. Ces trois derniers jours, apres avoir traverse la mer Caspienne, il a recu un fusil et s'est jete dans la boue. Il a rampe quelques dizaines de metres puis s'est arrete petrifie. La premiere journee il est reste fige parmi les cadavres. La deuxieme journee au moment ou il s'est dit qu'il ne pouvait pas mourir en lache un obus a cisaille un jeune qui courait vers l'ennemi. Nikolai pense que c'etait un jeune de son village. Des centaines de cadavres jonchaient le sol sur lequel il etait vautre depuis deux jours, mais celui la c'etait different. Parce que peut etre il le connaissait, la mort est devenue encore plus degeulasse. Alors il est reste dans la boue. Il ne sait meme plus ce qu'il attend ou ce qui l'attend. Il commence a delirer.
Probablement qu'il mourra de froid la nuit prochaine, ou peut etre que la folie aura raison de lui et qu'il va enfin se jeter dans la bataille et se faire tuer comme tous les autres. Ou alors un obus. Apres tout quand on est allonge dans la boue, on n'est pas a l'abris des obus.
Et alors qu'il n'arrive pas a se convaincre du choix qu'il a deja fait (il va rester couche dans la boue en esperant mourir de froid dans la nuit) il repense a Agata. Agata danse le soir dans un bar de Baku. Il aime ce bar, le sol est boueux mais l'ambiance est chaleureuse. Parce que l'alcool est pas cher et qu' Agata danse comme si la fievre allait l'emporter. Ca le rechauffe de penser a Agata.
Et puis il se dit qu'Agata n'aurait pas aime qu'il soit lache. Alors comme si un scorpion venait de lui remonter le long de la jambe, il s'est leve d'un coup d'un seul, ses yeux se sont enflammes et alors qu'il allait crier toute sa haine de l'ennemi invisible, il a juste pousse un petit son rauque, celui que fait l'air quand les poumons se vident une bonne fois pour toute. Et puis il est retombe dans la boue, son corps troue par la mitrailleuse ennemi.
Parce que dans les vraies histoires on a peur et on meurt. Mais aussi parce que dans la vraie histoire Agata sera triste quand meme.

Evolution

A une heure ou les plus decerebres d'entre nous pensent que l'on peut serieusement enseigner a un enfant que nous pouvons etre non pas le fruit d'une longue, penible et complexe evolution, mais simplement le resultat du melange de poudre de perlin-pinpin et de volonte divine, il m'apparait urgent de lever le voile sur une verite trop longtemps cachee. Je le dois a mon education scientifique sans laquelle je ne serais pas l'athe desabuse que je suis aujourd'hui Dieu m'en soit temoin.
Ainsi donc, sachez-le, le poeme "L'albatros" du celebre junkie Baudelaire ne saurait constituer une analyse zoologique pertinente. Voila c'est dit. Le pave est dans la mare et je ne me soucis guere des consequences, j'ai porte ce lourd secret trop longtemps.
Je me sens leger. Soulage aussi. Vous les professeurs de college qui enseignez sans passion la poesie a des enfants sans experience, devriez avoir honte. La dissection systematique, chirurgicale et mecanique des poemes est-elle vraiment la raison pour laquelle la poesie existe. Ou est la beaute, ou l'horreur, dans le decompte des syllabes, dans la rime croisee abba. Elle est absente parce qu'elle etait demandee ailleurs. Oh pas tres loin. Juste du cote de l'image cree par les mots, ou bien encore elle joue la funambulle, en equilibre sur un assemblage de mots qui a l'air fragile. Seulement elle a le vilain defaut d'etre difficile a voir. Il faut y etre initie par quelqu'un qui sait. Non pas qui sait qu'un alexendrin porte malheur, mais qui sait ou et a quelle heure generalement la magie opere. Mais ce n'est pas une science exacte. Cette personne est comme un guide de haute montagne, elle vous montre le chemin, mais seuls vos yeux peuvent voir la marmotte.
C'est triste de voir que les professeurs de francais, qui se plaignent tellement de la predominence des sciences dans nos etudes, appliquent les memes methodes que leurs confreres matheux pour aborder de l'art. Et encore, j'ai connu des professeurs de maths qui savait rendre la matiere artistique.
Pour en revenir a l'albatros, j'espere qu'on a les noms des marins qui ont maltraite le pauvre oiseau, et que Charles Baudelaire a ete incarcere pour complicite et non assistance. Pour finir sur la poesie et son enseignement, j'ai dit des choses dans l'excitation, je me suis emporte, mais je ne regrette rien. De toutes facons, la poesie je m'en fous, c'est de l'huile de cervelle malade pour bourgeois inculte qui s'en oint pour mieux briller en societe.
PS: L'illustration ci-dessus, represente des pelicans photographies non loin de Sydney en Australie. Que ceux qui pensaient qu'il s'agissait d'albatros se giflent violemment, ou pas, je m'en fous.

La flamme brule

Les doigts s'agitent, les cordes vibrent sous les ongles, les notes s'arrachent d'abord, s'envolent ensuite. La scene est eclairee et pourtant elle parait obscure. Toute la lumiere est aspiree en son centre.
Ses bras ondulent d'abord comme des roseaux qui subiraient la brise du matin. Les doigts du guitariste pianotent des petites notes decrochees d'abord. Puis sa main gratte les cordes. Ses bras a elle se trouvent alors portes par un vent qui forcit. Ses poignets se cassent, ses doigts se crispent, grimacent avec grace. Et puis c'est tout son corps qui s'anime. Ses jambes s'arquent, ses talons frappent le plancher, comme au theatre, lentement d'abord, stacatto ensuite. Ses jambes sont maintenant aeriennes, elles donnent vie aux froufrous de sa robe, qui ondule en rythme.
Etincelles. C'est comme si ces talons etaient en souffre. Les claquettes ont fini par mettre le feu a son corps, elle danse le flamenco, son dos se cambre, sa posture est stricte, son regard noir, la lumiere y plonge indefiniement pour ne plus rapparaitre. Elle aspire tout ce qui l'entoure, aucun regard ne peut l'ignorer, le tonnerre se dechaine, son corps a elle ne lui appartient plus, il a pris feu et ondule comme une flamme. Et c'est beau une flamme qui danse dans l'obscurite.
Et puis la musique ralentit, la danseuse semble comme reprendre ses esprits. Les bras deviennent lourds, les mouvements plus doux, le corps se rend, le feu est domine, un claquement sec de talon annonce la remission. Les yeux se rallument, la scene reapparait d'abord, les musiciens et les autres spectateurs ensuite. Elle, radieuse, sourit, savoure l'instant.
Et puis l'artiste salue l'instant qui s'en va.

Why god? Why?

It struck me like the lightning ball that struck crazy naked Joe while he was running in the meadow. How do you recognize a blind person? Not because of the cane, it only covers the outdoor blinds. Not because of the dog. Blind people do develop their other senses. And no super sensitive smeller would want to serve dog food. So there you are. The answer was the sunglasses. We were looking for "the sunglasses". Better luck next time.
And I started wondering. I mean actor studio kind of wondering. Become the character. Feel his life. Sense his feelings. Wear his shoes, well no actually. I couldn't wear used shoes. But as I was living the life of a blind person, and while my roommate was yelling about me urinating on the toilet seat, I started to think about the sunglasses again. I don't have any perception of my external appearance and yet I am supposed to be wearing sunglasses. It doesn't make sense. The only purpose of sunglasses is to protect my eyes from the light. And I'm blind. How worse can it get for my eyes? So the answer must be somewhere else.
First of all, if you were born blind the whole concept of sunglasses makes as much sense to you as the concept of sky to a mole. So it cannot be a naturally blind person who came up with that. Maybe someone who became blind. Someone who thought that he would look cool with sunglasses. But then again, that person would know that if you wear sunglasses inside, you don't look cool. You look more like a pervert who found a way of checking women out without being spotted. And that's just sad.
So there it is. It had to be the work of an outsider. A non-blind person. But what on earth could motivate such a person to make a blind fellow wear sunglasses. A practical joke perhaps. I felt I was getting closer, but this solution wasn't good enough. Mankind is cruel. Practical jokes are not enough. No it was something else. The discomfort! The wandering eyes of a blind person can make people uneasy. So there it was. Let's hide what we cannot stand. Let's chase the sick out of town and fold the eyes of the blind.
Another mistery solved, and another step deeper into mankind's hideous nature. Sometimes I just hope we would all be erased of the surface of the globe. But then again, who would feed the cat.

I used the word "but" five times in this blog. Which is one more time than what my doctor recommands. But I don't care what he says. I'm not sick.

La deshydratation temporelle

Non ce n'est pas un oubli. Je vous entends deja claironner "il doit vouloir dire 'deshydratation spatio-temporelle'". Non je ne veux pas dire spatio-temporelle. Mais merci quand meme. Le sujet de la deshydratation spatio-temporelle a ete couvert en long en large et en profond. Seulement dans l'analyse globale qui a ete faite, personne n'a jamais considere la deshydratation temporelle, qui evidemment est un cas particulier de la deshydratation spation-temporelle (il suffit de figer la variable de deplacement, ou autrement dit d'annuler sa derivee).

L'etude de Klein-Guildenstern de 1979 met en avant l'improbabilite de tout voyage spatio-temporel suite a des plaintes deposees par les differents syndicats du rail, lesquels anticipaient une lourde surcharge de travail pour les employes des compagnies de transport. L'etude prouvait entre autre chose que la surcharge de travail chez un employe du rail (passage de 21 a 42h hebdomadaires) d'un age moyen de 40 ans (donc ayant une cirrhose en phase 4) debouchait inexorablement sur la deshydratation du sujet. La tres controversee these de "deshydratation spatio-temporelle" etait nee.

Aujourd'hui, je vous propose de reprendre le sujet sous un angle different. La partie spatiale du deplacement est extremement couteuse en energie. Elle absorbe a elle seule 83% du travail. La partie temporelle elle, ne necessite que 10% du travail global. Si l'on considere le deplacement uniquement par rapport au temps, on realise donc une economie de travail de 79%. C'est enorme et ca devrait suffir a rabattre le caquet a ces #&%? de $%*^ de syndicalistes.

Aussi probable etait la deshydratation spatio-temporelle donc, aussi inepte est la deshydratation temporelle. C'est un mythe, une legende urbaine entretenue par les masses proletaires paresseuses et sans ambition qui n'ont qu'un objectif quotidien, celui de se lever pour aller travailler en attendant Lagaffe le soir a la tele.

Je propose donc que sans plus attendre nous commencions a voyager dans le temps sur place. Tiens, j'espere que mon bureau n'est pas innonde dans le futur, mes chaussures sont en cuir.

PS: N'essayez pas de trouver de coherence dans les calculs de pourcentages, la distortion temporelle annule la linearite du systeme euclidien.

Man at work

This man is a serious worker. An efficient piece of the beautiful corporate machinerie. He commits himself at 200% to the job. He doesn't see problems. He foresees solutions. One step ahead of everything. Always. His motto could actually be "One step ahead of everything". I kidd you not. Pipe, backlog, delivery, ressources, J2EE, Websphere 5, deployment, clusters, monkey balls, none of these words scare him except one.

Now let us take a closer look at this beautiful specimen. He sits straights, cause he read the pamphlet the doctor gave him at the yearly corporate medical visit. He looks straight not at but into the screen. His hands are balanced, one on the mouse, the other on the keyboard (except when his has to push his glasses back up his nose). His head is exactly at the bottom of the poster on the wall. This is not really relevant, but I like to outline the quality of my framing job.

I don't know that man, and yet I feel like I know him. Isn't it strange? May be he is just a superhero I created in my mind. I hope he exists somewhere. I hope he wears the burden of a corporate organisation somewhere. Not by being a CEO. No. He's to much a class act for that. He works at the base, with the little people, the ones that really get the job done. He works super-efficiently to protect all the slackers that feed on this silly system. He never judges people.

Laugh all you want, you probably would mock him at the coffee machine would he be one of your colleagues. Not knowing who he really is. He doesn't care. He's above all that.

My hero.

My super-developer.

La fille sur le pont

J'avais 23 ans ou peut etre 24. Je vivais pour ces heures perdues dans une salle obscure ou une raie de lumiere anime un ecran blanc. Parce que c'est ca la magie. Ce n'est pas seulement un lapin qui sort d'un chapeau transperce de 8 lames tranchantes. A la reflexion c'est une sensation personnelle la magie. Pour moi donc, c'est lorsque cet ecran blanc prend vie. Quoi de plus inerte et neutre qu'une toile blanche. Quoi de plus envoutant alors que de la voir se metamorphoser en une raconteuse d'histoires, une impression de vos reves et de ceux d'autres reveurs. Bien sur il faut des yeux d'enfants pour voir cela. Si par malheur vous avez change vos yeux d'enfants pour un cristallin d'adulte, alors peut etre ne voyez vous qu'un ecran de tele geant ou apres une reclame pour les cones Miko, une autre reclame de deux heures vous fait croire qu'un americain vaut cinq vietnamiens ou qu'une blanche vaut deux noires. Je ne sais pas je n'ai jamais fait l'echange.

C'est ainsi donc qu'un jour j'avais vu une histoire sur l'amour la chance et le desespoir. La solitude surtout peut etre. Je ne sais pas, je n'aime pas dissequer. Je trouve qu'un cheval est plus gracieux lorsqu'il galope que lorsqu'il est ouvert en deux sur une table en aluminium. Encore qu'un bon steak de cheval... mais je m'egare.
C'est ainsi donc disais-je avant de m'auto-interrompre que j'avais voyage une heure et demi durant avec Adele et Gabor. J'avais apprecie que du desespoir naisse une aussi belle histoire. Parce que le noir et blanc exacerbe les extremes, la misere est plus dur, le bonheur plus grand. L'image plus belle aussi. Comme vingt-quatre oeuvres d'art a la seconde.
Et puis depuis, j'avais vecu avec ce souvenir chaud capture dans une cellule visqueuse de mon cerveau. De temps en temps j'aimais a me rappeler Adele et Gabor, meme si bien vite je ne me rappelais plus leurs noms. Mais leurs visages, tristes, perdus, mouilles, souriants me revenaient de temps a autres. De facon de moins en moins nette certes.

Alors hier soir j'ai replonge. Je suis remonte sur le pont. Adele etait la, troublante. Perdue dans une vie trop grande pour elle. Gentille dans une vie trop cruelle pour elle.

Et puis Gabor est arrive.

Et puis la magie a recommence.

Illusions

"A false idea or belief. A deceptive appearance or impression" {definition found in a dictionnary that doesn't deserve advertising in these pages}

But what's an idea. Or a belief for that matter. I would say a personal conception built on various experiences, and reflexions. An idea can feed itself on other ideas. My point being that, say the "water boils at 100 degres celsius at sea level" concept is not an idea. It's a fact. Me saying that I have an idea to solve the radioactive waste problem is as said 11 words behind, an idea. But can it be false? It can be inadequate, stupid, irresponsible, even say dangerous, but certainly not false.

The binary flagging system of false or true can only apply to concepts sustaining a demonstration. I believe it is not the definition of an idea, nor a belief.

I believe the word they were looking for was "wrong" instead of "false". And when wrong becomes false, fascism is never far away, you can even usually hear him chuckle behind the corner.

Wrong being itself an illusion. What's wrong for me may be right for you, bla bla bla. I'm not talking political mumbo jumbo. All I'm saying is that it's all only personal perceptions. And I'm not talking "The Matrix" kinda shit. Illusions are all we have. Illusions are what we use to build reality. When I see colors, I take them for granted and true, but they are only what my optical system and my brains want them to be. Sure we all see almost the same colors. But the fact that people don't cannot only be flagged as a disease can it?

I have the personal impression that this blog really sucks.

May be it's just an illusion.

La chance

Comme le desespoir dans le regard d'une jolie femme. Elle vous enveloppe par surprise, de facon presque agressive. On titube d'abord, sous l'effet de la surprise. Couard des fois, on essaie de l'ignorer. Peine perdue. Ensorcelleuse. Captivante.

On titube ensuite sous l'effet grisant. Ennivrant. On ne lui fait pas confiance et pourtant on ne sait pas lui resister. Lui opposer un simple non requiert une force peu commune. On plonge d'abord, avec l'assurance de l'immortel. Une carapace invincible nous enveloppe. C'est chaud comme un duvet de plumes d'oie, le sang bouillonne, le coeur palpite. La pupille elle, se dilate. La chute est vertigineuse. L'adrenaline afflue.

On titube enfin, sonne comme un boxeur use, lors de la 9eme reprise. Il se disait que cette fois c'etait la derniere. Une derniere victoire et puis un depart triomphant. Le brouahah resonne au ralenti, et incredule, il cherche une echapatoire. Cela ne devait pas se passer ainsi. Il doit y avoir une solution. Forcement. Le triomphe. Il ne comprend pas. Il lutte. Il ordonne. Il ordonne a son corps de ne pas abandonner. Il se parle comme s'il etait un autre. Impuissant il jure. Que cette fois-ci c'est promis ce sera la derniere. Mais il doit vaincre. Il tente de passer un marche avec ses muscles. La gravite le tire lourdement vers le sol, il se crispe. Son corps tout entier se contracte, pour mieux absorber le choc sur le plancher du ring. Et ce jour-la, peut etre, il se relevera et triomphera. Peut-etre. Si c'est le cas il se dira qu'il a eu de la chance. Et que comme il se l'etait promis il arreterait en pleine gloire.
Mais pas maintenant que la chance est avec lui.
Pas maintenant qu'il est invincible.

Et puis elle vous quitte comme elle vous a trouve. Un soir de pluie peut etre, ou un matin de soleil simplement, elle s'en va. Reviens alors cette image de la premiere fois, ses grands yeux humides qui vous ont fait sombrer. Certains disent chavirer. Je prefere sombrer. Parce que le resultat est la. Vous etes seul au fond. Vous la regardez s'eloigner incredule. Retourne-toi. Elle a ete tellement bonne avec vous. Retourne-toi! Vous ne vous etiez jamais senti aussi fort. Retourne-toi!! Et aussi fragile a la fois. Retourne-toi... Maintenant c'est le vide. L'apprehension, l'angoisse. Elle ne se retournera pas et vous le savez au fond de vous meme. Comme vous saviez des le debut que ca ne durerai pas. Mais vous ne vous ecoutez plus.

Elle est loin maintenant, elle marche lentement et d'un pas sur vers un autre horizon. Dans sa petite valise de cuir noir elle emporte ma serenite.

Article : Cessna 185 [ref# CS-7788555174]

Today's great deal is a used but shiny new Cessna 185. It's white color reminds me of nothing in particular but it's a pretty nice white anyways. The red stripe on white on the contrary does remind me of The White Stripes but I feel like I'm digressing and I hate it when I do that. It's like when I have to clean something I didn't soil. I hate it. It's the person who soiled it who should be cleaning don't you thing? Otherwise it's our whole society that's going down the drain. The basis of our communities stumbling to wrecks. I'm right or what.
Stay with me here for one second. Cause it starts with not cleaning your own mess, and then, bam!, next thing you know you come home from a hard day of work and the neighbour is in your wife. And is not gonna clean before he lives. I think you get the big picture.
So a Cessna 185 with wings and a propeller and all the other stuff you need to fly it, for the ridiculous price of 57,000 CAD. It's a great deal and believe I know about great deals, I just got a coffee and a muffin for a dollar and a quarter on my way to work this morning. I tell you what, you look like a nice person, I'll throw the 6 skydivers in for free. They're a bit noisy but they never stay long.

Identity

I think it was raining. There were clouds that's for sure. But I think it was raining. I don't know, I'm not sure of anything. May be I imagined the whole thing. It's fuzzy. Blurred visual memories. It smelled like rain though. That dewy meadowy smell. Charged with copper fragrances. Or may be it's just my brains playing tricks on me. Damn booze! Gets me every time. My life is a sequence of ethered pictures, foggy images, muffled voices. The smells. The smells only make pretty accurate memories.

I defenitely remember the wet smell of the alley. The copper sents as well. What does that mean. Blood? Damn booze! Gets me every time. A sequence of sequences. I'm a wreck. Pull yourself together Jack. The rain. Focus. The copper smell. Focus.

The powder does smell. But not when it rains. The rain drains the powder fumes to the ground and the sewers. Still this distinctive copper fragrance. Focus. A back alley. Focus. A pipe may be. A pipe made of copper? But they stopped using copper for pipes in 1958. The city updated most of the pipe network in the late 80's. Or did they? Another money laundry scam maybe? You're onto something Jack. Focus. That rain will never stop. The noise of the drops crashing on the ground cracks my brains.

Never trusted that republican mayor. How big a scam is that pipe business? You have your story Jack. It's gonna be big. The rain will stop, out of the tunnel now. It's your big break Jack. Pull yourself together and nail that bastard's ass for once and for good. Save this city. Make a name for yourself. Focus. Your dignity Jack. You owe it to yourself.

One last wiskey. One last wiskey and I'm on it.

One last wiskey.

Garcon!

The air-swimming-pool project

It's very similar to a pool. But it's not filled with water. People go in and pretend swimming. They "air-swim".

It's the size of a pool. Any pool. It can be as big as an olympic one. Or as small as the cheap plastic one you buy for kids in the summer.
Say it's a regular one, 25x12.5m.
You dig a hole.
"With a shovel?"
No not with a shovel. You need a machine to do it. It's a big hole.
"But if I have plenty of free time, I could dig it with a shovel"
Yes, if you had plenty of free time but it's not the point, the point is... the point is... who are you anyway, how did you get in?
"The door was open"
Oh.
So once your pool is digged, it is very important you remember not to fill it with water. It may seem obvious, but most of the people, once they're done with digging, they just rush for the hose and fill the pool like there's no tomorrow. Believe me. You see crazy things in this business. Anyway, you take a deep breath, control yourself, and watch the empty hole.
It's now time to cushion the bottom and the sides of the pool. I recomment 12" coconut fiber futons for the cushioning.
Once the volume is carefully cushioned, you are ready for some good air-swimming time. Jump in you air-swim-suit and enjoy.

We also have an air-scuba-diving and an air-snorkeling project on their way. They should be released next month. We have to do a few more tests to meet the European Commission Recreation and Safety Board requirements.
We are also currently working on a 3 meter air-diving prototype. So far we have lost 1 test diver and injured 4. As of today we can't say we will be able to solve all the remaining problems in a close futur.

Just when you thought it was over. At that precise finger snap moment. You didn't even have time to close your eyes. Like a deer caught in the lights of a truck, you didn't move. It's false what they say about your life flashing in front of you.
The choc was great and painfull.
I hope I died a little.
Exit. Through the little door. And don't slam it please.