From my window, I sometimes when the sound of a scooter that goes at night, I'm all sweaty anguish, an anguish that has not real name, something that I myself could not name, categorize.
is certainly due to the fact that noise is for me what best embodies the loneliness. The loneliness of it on his two wheels that fit neither early nor late after a night neither made nor to do, and that of the one who reaches the warm sound of this life.
is not solitude as I like it nasty loneliness that permeates everything everywhere and attack and isolate those who have already lost his footing.
I do not often that noise when it happens maybe 20 times in one evening. That's why when I hear it, I said.
I do not know, I feel it let me down. I lean over my balcony to see the guy leave, I expect it arrives and we talk all of that, but, she knows, if I attached importance to the noise, s it spoke to me, is that it is not there, we do not talk together. She, she would say "sine qua non" and "A + B" in a somewhat peremptory tone, to make me Gamberg. Yeah, it's temperament.
back to my door
moijetetrouvepas
malpeignée
tulesaistoiqueyapasdamoursmortes
ninonplusdamoursvivantes
taspaslegoutdumalheurdutout
ilsontriencompris
cestpastoilagarcecestnous
moiaussijailesyeuxcernes
tespaslemiroirdeceuxquiontbesoindetreaiméspourvivre
puisquetuvistoietquetuaimesmêmeceuxquineveulentpasdetoi
accrochetoiàmeshanchesauprintemps
pourquonrouledesmecaniquesensemble
silteplaitreviensdevantmaporte
faismoidesnuitsblanchessoismonplusbeaucollieretmonombre
cestmoiquimecoucheàtesgenoux
silteplaitreviensdevantmaporte
etmemededansmatête
Il n’y a qu’un seul nom commun pour parler de ça et pour l’illustrer, pourtant, deux adjectifs que, en vérité, tout oppose.
Il y a les gens «seuls», et il y a les «solitaires».
The first people to envy every second that, themselves, feel a sort of contemptuous compassion for others, and consider them, obviously.
Masters of their isolation, and above all happy about this isolation, they do not admit that some victims are similar. They see these victims a natural stupidity, lack of curiosity and an affront to the loneliness, they feel like the eternal mistress to seduce the elusive love that teaches them so much. Who teaches them time, too.
I myself find it difficult to understand those who are desperate to be surrounded, accompanied, and leaking I would not be afraid to consider as the key. What? In all, at least.
I see people surprised that I take pleasure to stay at home, in a stunning semi-darkness, for ... some say daydreaming, or simply being there, aware of my body, me, me in my body and all this mess in the apartment, this apartment in this city, this city in this country, this oh-so practical reality that a plan broad sweep and reduced the size of a fly in the midst of other flies. Being there, being aware All these insects swarming with thoughts, lying in their bed, dreaming the same thing, motivated by the same desire to live in large because in connection with everybody and owing nothing to anyone. Because I've never been so shrouded that when I'm alone and I touch something that is beyond me, I often afraid to cut my walls with those of my bars and my love to those of my associates.
It is likely that this will finally be understood only by those who already share my view, this is a bit sad if you think about it. So, well, not thinking.
I miss. I miss my solitude
.
The TV tells me to me, frankly, unhurriedly, tu me it sometimes because she understands what I need as a shampoo. I turn off the sound and I along with the laptop. I guess what everyone says, them in the post, you on my answering machine. And always, there's a move that takes hold of me: a hand that hides in one ear and another that hides one eye, while I cut the sound and I do not see me. My action has evidently decided that I needed to know me better-center. Not "con" center like I was stupid, I'm brilliant, but con "center" as if I had to get back to a sort of core and gasoline, yeah, no less. Not me, it's my actions. (Send them your letters to the editor, if you like)
Maybe I am wrong but I associate it with my balance, the essence of what I am and for that reason, away from me overnight. At night I get tired of being away. I lose myself. We can not do without his shadow, his right hand, an accomplice. If I lose, while on the lam. Everything. There's more good season, my lady.
Sometimes, new encounters associated with a spring suitable for appointment to the terrace make me fill out my calendar of aperitifs and marriages and cinemas and birthdays and dinners and coffees and ...
" I know you want to go to floral park but you want to go home before brunch? "
" you brunch? you want to, I'll join you in Floral Park for concerts earlier? " " Where are you? 're in Floral Park? I have a dinner with friends after you come with me? "
" it's cool your lunch? what do you do next? I have a party, you try it? "
" I wake you? I'll pick you up in an hour and we will make the sales? "
" you did the sales? haaaaan, I arrived with a bottle and you show me your dresses, I after a concert of guy who will celebrate over a nice dinner later, and they have a plan after party "
... and 3 days have passed, the time has flown into conversations that I am unable to remember, already feeling buried under too much vodka in avortées thinking too fast. My loneliness
attending to operations, initially amused, then quickly jealous, anxious and, finally, finally, offended, she slams the door. And when I realize it is gone, it's already too late and I'm alone, but only as the guy on his scooter. Not alone as I have always loved to be like that I've always liked and used.
Yet it home, and nowhere else that happens. She knows everything because with it, everything is possible, everything is brutally honest and devoid of artifice, it is raw and bleeding, she is frank, it makes me naked, but she really wants of life. I like you better when I see you soon, I can not move on, you're not cigarettes, I absolutely want to be with you when I'm facing you, and I absolutely want to be me. You do not love me anymore either, otherwise, anyway. It is my cam, but my secret beauty recipe and my grandmother.
There's something sacred in solitude, in respect of solitude. And something also highly caloric. We want everything right away, hungry, because we know that anything is possible, we have a thousand things to say and not enough time.
I never wrote otherwise than jet that jet, that instinct and now that I'm away from her, I see it comes less than ... it's not that I'm less on edge, myself, my skin is too moist cream of various brands, things are more hidden, I have less of elk, I gotta get out of life back to me and it ruins the truth than what beautiful hair.
Not too intellectualized.
Do not think too hard on the obvious. But let
invade our drawers filled with principles and knowledge, to compete and ultimately live.
Because it is stronger than us.
With it, our concerns rise. A little bit, so little. Girls
change priority, varnish and blow-drying wait tomorrow. The men finally affect the serenity of not having to completely seduce, and always secure.
is the warrior's rest, yet it's war, too, that loneliness. But war with itself, which, if not the only one that matters, is perhaps the hardest, most fundamentally stripped and therefore categorical, uncompromising. It forgives nothing. It has no mercy.
Because we are not faced with forgiving yourself, you leave it to others, say those who love us. We
, we condemn, we judge, agree, we fix some reprieve, but above all, we know a little more. So even without having to study psychology, sociology, love or even peace, I say that knowing how to be alone, we offer a chance to life and opens the door to any and all world. There's nothing
really scary when you know if the fear, rightly, get lost. It
y 'the sound of scooter, and then, just now, there was the sound of my heels on the asphalt.
I wondered if anyone heard from her windows open on this diva was endless more to be desired, if we thought "how sad, a girl in heels alone at this hour in the street." There are streets so narrow that they return the sound of our footsteps, making us believe that a girl walking at that pace, and my first, I imagine a lonely soul who would have preferred to go along, and accelerate the march for fear of being forsaken by alpaguer who have lost their soul. And assume that you mimic oral sex with their tongues stuck to whiskey they could get their fill. End.
Here, we would feel pretty "one-to-hell-world-of-shit" and we would have to smile, too.
But these are my steps, my echo, my heels. I wanted to be alone. I imagine that somewhere, someone complained to me yet, that's it I'm in me and I finally on my head, the sidewalks of the city and show people. Gratos. I meet real people only, really only because when they die - which, given their condition, do not delay - nobody will notice. And then there are those believe to be both. They hold hands to prove it. They are silent when I because it exceeds the above, Specifically, and I remind them that when they prayed to not be like me, only with the echo of heels while I pray to never be like them, with only the echo of loneliness on the other.
There are those who tell me, in a more or less elegant.
- A girl like you alone at this hour?
I hear a little later, because I was already in my head with ideas to the conversation far more exciting, I turn around and mouse anyway, evasively. They do not respond because they thought turn to a sad woman impatient company and, suddenly, they saw that one, I was not in the least. Neither sad nor alone. That in any case, I was much less than they reduced to challenge any bandwidth to share anything.
A scooter moves me, you call out my heels, questioning your feeds me. The circle of life. Not without laughter, seriously. When I
"appointment", as they say, I go only rarely. Bah, I'm meeting you, right? Otherwise, when "we", a group of people, is scheduled to meet in a bar, so I always arrive after, always, because I love this time, latent, floating where I know I will soon talk with people I love, touch, laugh with a little luck, but I'm in no hurry. And needles of the dial really have the fire in the ass. I did not realize the time has already passed. I have plenty of time.
That's all I have, over time.
Ca, and loneliness.
time and solitude are ageless, they live forever, that's all the interest, perhaps the only one. Like they are my companions, bloodless, heartless, breathing, anatomy is too low, I answer their Bible and their commands because they serve it to me. Others believe in a god. Either. Personally, I defer, and submit myself to this uncertainty and the power of nothingness, emptiness, all of our calm before storms.
I'm obviously reduced to about that. What everyone spoken before me, better, worse, whatever happens, I am reduced to clichés, I was already so small.
is loneliness I want to talk yet. And I do not know how.
This one scares even three quarters of the population, fauna, flora, all these people former having a slight tendency for clusters, and the nearby neighborhoods. I see that around, it wants to be with others. I can see it's difficult to refuse an appointment for no particular reason. It must a reason. It should, not go to dinner, be argued to have yet another dinner planned. We want a reason. It seems impossible to postpone an appointment with the gallant mere pretext not to crave. It is undeniable Assisi at a sidewalk cafe, others feel they can approach us because for them, we do not like, being alone, if not for meeting people. It seems reasonable to them. Their answer?
Must say, too, there are so many women who believe that being alone means being without a man. They give false hope those here. To others, and to them. I sometimes regret that philosophy because these are the very ones who, alone in their rooms imagined the most beautiful story amouuuuuur today and lose their imagination when they lose the assurance of sleep in the arms and anxiety makes them ... cowards. Has it even
who write songs about it, I mean, songs that sell, securities that are within the top 50.
Women who receive at most profound for themselves only when they are afraid we do affects more people who do not want to be touched because that they are doing very well all alone, who are dying of old, hoping that their little girl to visit them at least once before, and those who like to be alone so that these behaviors, among others, naturally exclude the masquerade .
But that's where I'm talking about. And I do not know how. Talking about the person you love forever, admit that it's not convenient. And we do not say "I love you" his solitude allowed to settle, he made room, and it maintains the place. It's so much more grueling than the rest, that relationship. So much more severe.
never been created without being alone, never been loved, never have been invented and imagined and everything you want, without being alone. Lucky Luke is how he is back on the bottom of sunset? With its economy and all these fellows might be?
Sometimes I think that if everyone saw loneliness as a friend, I would have much more, friends. And truths. Not those who call because, back home, it is imperative that they stand out. I would like that name is because we want to see me. Not because we refuse to look, so, in the face. I do not like, finally, give me an appointment to pass the time. In addition, time does not pass, we look to develop tricks to fill it, and then he left. It is we who trépassons his eyes amused.
I think I stopped loving a boy for that. He knew not to be alone.
be always more, it would be like putting layers upon layers of life to survive on layers of experience without ever live, and prevent it from out the old box of letters, moved by cutting the laptop and read it again. If one does not, so why keep them? Why even write?
The other night, that's what I decided to do.
I opened the box and immediately I felt a kind of exclusive wellness, reserved for me and I only just because I left the place and time to emotions without consequences, without immediate results. One Saturday night at midnight, there is finally only a few people sitting cross-legged in their room to reread old letters placed in the wrong envelopes. It was luxury for me, a moment, away from the bustle that I often mixes with gusto. I reread, therefore, and not too me back in memories, I felt the importance, urgency to think of all those who wrote letters, I read those and others, those who remained at the bottom of drawers and those torn by anger, I was in the strength of emotions but without action. The emotions that are not from an act, a gesture which does not derive directly from the attitude of someone there, in front, but born of the consciousness that people live, me environment, away, alone in my room. Like never more so than the people those moments.
There was a letter, an old letter, which ended with the famous sweet it is to do nothing when everything around you shakes. " And the sender had crossed the "soft" and replace it with "rude" and then he had crossed "rude" and replace it with "indispensable". I eventually replaced all others by him, so, obviously. And I was reminded of the incredible symbiosis that had lived, every 2, yet / just lovers of solitude.
Maybe because I'm an only child, perhaps because of that I've developed an ability to create me conversations, friends, imaginary situations. Even today, when I managed to be completely alone for about 3 days it's always like this, I touch the divine and therefore childhood. I listen to music, I dance, it makes me want to do my makeup in a way that I consider unacceptable to see people in real life I do hairstyles, and, here, hair cell, I 10 years in my adult consciousness and that, brace yourself for me to budge from the idea that this is not the future and the best anti wrinkle.
Then, a moth has seen fit to invite to my lonely party. Perhaps he sought the company. The company of the lamp. Not be alone, what, why and how, idiot, not even he knew.
Panic.
It is so little, despite our principles and our beautiful grand theories, there is so little that want to not much more, all this on a rickety wire taut as a dental thing, ready to help but also to break.
friends in my head I do not fileront hand, suddenly there's more people, it's pretty, well. I cursed my desire to be with no one then, because I could no longer rely on myself to get by me and, unable to do so, I was nothing more than a anxious, a wimp ready to call anyone, a man abandoned on a dock 4 years ago, why not just let him come to me today, if no one else responded to come get rid of it. I told myself, of course, I could not ask for a drunken friend and buried in a basement of Pigalle to help me, of course, I could not. But then who? And that is what I was not alone as the guy on his scooter suddenly? This idea appalled me
to the point that ... How a butterfly could land and question everything, what right, but not. So I caught me and I pulled out the vacuum cleaner.
I must be clear on this point: In general, I am against the death penalty. Overall, I am for night owls. But moths, it comes without a brothel spunk name in all my principles. I panic, I'm not myself, I could really eh, I could kill someone who likes to ask me a hair. (Okay, "pose a moth in the hair of someone" is not a routine activity, but do you imagine the phobia demented stuff.)
spiders, for example, I no, but I hold a glass on them, a paper underneath, and I turns over the balcony from my 6th floor. They get by, do not worry. But moths ...
They are like the noise of scooters, all things considered. They play their heels on my walls, but I have no desire to take her in my arms, all his shit. Only they are not lonely at all costs accruing after a company that does not want them.
Their existence is so empty they look for contact and stick to it and lights burning until the next morning, on the day their prohibiting any activity, they go to sleep, punctured, damaged, waiting to get back to recover. They are crazy. They lose the pedals, we fit in, have no respect for priorities and in addition, they make a racket when they bump yucky all around. Class, they know not. Not to mention they are ugly. Furry and discolored as compared with their colleagues in the day, including pigments and drawing on their wings deserve respect ad vitam. Ca and the fact that they, they we not pump air.
They are pathetic, moths. I do not want them with me. If the guy on the scooter forced the door of my hall to join me in space restricted to the elevator, I do not think so less. I do not want him either. I would help them. I'd fire shots to screaming and throwing a bag.
they leave us alone with their problem of loneliness.
is why I get out the vacuum cleaner.
But the sound of his wings in the bag is insurmountable.
It is not dead, the guy he fights in the dust. This is perhaps the worst noise I've been forced to hear. With the little bits of flesh of the bull, which fall in the arena, the applause of an audience that soft does not care, actually. The sadness of their
loneliness, SOLITUDE their loneliness is so light in the fullness of mine ... Maybe I should thank them, eventually. Then they make me want to complain.
He had to do something to get out was for him to silent the sound of his refusal to be me who was going to die as long as dying. So good.
I have developed quite a trick, something I should not tell you if I wanted to do not consider myself crazy, something I'll say this, though:
So, I opened the vacuum cleaner, made a big hole in the bag and stirred the kit while ensuring to keep the lid closed enough to not take me Calimero in the face and then I put the camera on the balcony, open the lid and be sure to have cleared the way for quick, fast, go away and close the window and then waited. He put a good 5 minutes but it came out.
And there, all he found to do it was to rush to another apartment on, the poor fool. "I should have let him die, like" I told myself. "Not even fucking draw a moral experience, this con" . Other
pay for it.
After the scooter and the moth has the cat in heat.
Ca because it requires two days to get fucked, the poor woman. She groans and screams, shameless, only anxious to alert a male in the corner and have her sex at the right time in the month and then give birth to minus tomcats who will die drowned in a bathtub.
This cat, I love him very hard. That's what I think when they heard I can not help but love him very hard. And yet his vocalizations are nothing but nice, BUT it is only to die, screaming, to spread your legs, it illustrates my point perfectly and it does so on time, synchronized it is, the cat as something reduced the need of her ovaries. That is precisely where it touches the heart of the matter. Only as all that help Solitaires better yet see that Solitude is good for them. She found her mate, she will reach and the year after that she will give it. All this in a loop, until his death.
I've to do some of the people I love are animals and do not want to be alone and stick to the lamps and meow for having children.
People only howl at the mouth of the world, so that saves them; the lonely moo within themselves because they know that nobody save anyone, not even themselves.
But, being alone, really alone, here and now, it's not really possible. It would lead to madness because that's not made for this life. Throw his phone cut off his internet connection and no longer answer the intercom ... must, must already be half crazy, right?
We should all do it, just as we decided that everyone should travel, try drugs, to make the plunge or I do not know what bullshit, we should all really, really for real, try to be alone.
But you bet how much that eventually it we would be criticized, it would even be punished for that?
Because it will be always a small abandoned legislator to decree that has been guilty of indecent assault and failure to assist the life course, life-threatening.
Want to bet?
There's no way to be quiet, someone always has to be addressed when it is not ourselves.
-maispastrop-
