Of Grains

Of course there is someone else in there. There is no such thing as duality. Without a terce, there cannot be two sides, only two pieces. I must be the third.

The crack grows and grows and grows because I fail to be one and three.

I am thinking about the lovemaking scene in Lost Highway.
You might ask, 'which one?', but if you really think about it, there is only one. And it does not even last outside the spotlights. But it is one true love scene.

That is what cinema is. Right there, you can experience it. For a few minutes, to the Song of a Siren, you are the light. And when it's all over, when it is truly gone, you realise this: it takes three.

© asd - 2009

L'Escalier

Une, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf, dix, onze, douze, treize, quatorze, quinze, seize, dix-sept, dix-huit, dix-neuf, vingt. Palier. Une, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf, dix, onze, douze, treize, quatorze, quinze, seize, dix-sept, dix-huit, dix-neuf, vingt. Palier. Une, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf, dix, onze, douze, treize, quatorze, quinze, seize, dix-sept, dix-huit, dix-neuf, vingt. Palier. Sept etages.
Apres le troisieme, je descends un escalier invisible. J'essaie pourtant de me concentrer. Pour etre entierement honnete, je n'ai qu'une seule idee en tete, meme si je me joue vainement la comedie du mecanique.
Rez-de-chaussee. Je tourne a peine la tete.
Elle est vide.

Tous les matins me poussent les ailes de l'espoir renouvelle : peut-etre, oui peut-etre, ce matin, enfin, peut-etre y en aura-t-il une ! Et chaque matin, inexorablement, il n'y a que du rien.

Une, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf, dix, onze, douze, treize, quatorze, quinze, seize, dix-sept, dix-huit, dix-neuf, vingt. Palier. Une, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf, dix, onze, douze, treize, quatorze, quinze, seize, dix-sept, dix-huit, dix-neuf, vingt. Palier. Une, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf, dix, onze, douze, treize, quatorze, quinze, seize, dix-sept, dix-huit, dix-neuf, vingt. Palier.
Rez-de-chaussee.

Une, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf, dix, onze, douze, treize, quatorze, quinze, seize, dix-sept, dix-huit, dix-neuf, vingt. Palier. Une, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf, dix, onze, douze, treize, quatorze, quinze, seize, dix-sept, dix-huit, dix-neuf, vingt. Palier. Une, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf, dix, onze, douze, treize, quatorze, quinze, seize, dix-sept, dix-huit, dix-neuf, vingt. Palier.
Rez-de-chaussee.
Je rate la derniere marche...!!! Oh oh oh !!! Mon coeur bat la chamade. Le delicieux pincement que je recherche constamment me taquine l'estomac. La clef dans le creux de ma main tremble. Le gouffre de ma boite aux lettres est obstrue par une grosse enveloppe beige. Hypnotisee, je reste paralysee quelques longues secondes. C'est presque trop beau pour etre vrai. Un paquet dans ma boite aux lettres !

Puis d'un mouvement vif, j'approche la clef de la serrure rouillee. Enfoncer. Ok. Tourner. ... Touner... Tourner... Non !!! La clef ne tourne pas. Pas de panique. On recommence depuis le debut. Je recule de quelques pas pour m'assurer les faveurs de quelque divinite paienne. Enfoncer. Tourner. Tourner... tourner... Toujours rien.
Pas de panique. L'enveloppe depasse confortablement et j'essaie de l'extirper de la fente dans laquelle on l'a forcee.
Rien n'y fait ! Pas moyen de la deloger. Apres cinq minutes d'efforts non recompenses, je fais deux pas en arriere pour contempler l'ironie de ma situation.
"Je vais me mettre en retard..."
L'enveloppe semble me narguer. Elle me regarde effrontement, ses coins aplatis pointes vers le ciel.
Il me la faut. Elle est a moi. Avec le recul, je m'apercois qu'il y a cinq autres boites autour de la mienne. Comment avais-je pu les ignorer auparavant ? Ses cinq soeurs la protegent de tout leur corps : les six boites lettres forment un bloc massif et solidaire, au coeur duquel se love celle qui m'est reservee.
Je ne peux pas forcer la porte de ma boite aux lettres en faisant levier sur les gongs, car ils me sont inacessibles. La clef ne tourne pas. L'enveloppe ne bouge pas.

Je pousse la porte de sortie.

<© asd – 2009>

Coincidence

I used to have a weird belief, a pagan look at the mysterious signs which came my way. They always seemed to come in pairs. I would first hear/see something unusual I had not encountered before. Most of the time, it was trivial: a date, the name of a historical/musical/etc. figure, a song, a poem or even a word. Upon encountering it for the first time, my attention was startled: it is an almost inexpressible feeling. A question mark is what defines it best. The feeling is ephemerous and soon I would lose all consciously-accessible memories of it.
Yet, somehow, there was a second encounter. In a different place, a different setting entirely. The second time round, it was a feast of exclamation marks. But this was no superficial revelation: no meaning erupted from it and I could not say: "now I know the purpose of this!". Something fundamental, extraordinary was happening, but there was no conscious activity. It was completely instinctive and almost primitive. Every time, I was filled with an extreme sense of happiness and excitement. The only certainty I had was, there is something beyond the surface of all things and it is not a product of my doing.
For many years I kept this to myself. It is very hard to phrase (I'm sure you can see that now!). But one day I told my sister. And this was a magical moment: she told me she felt it too. She knew exactly what I meant and she had experienced it too.
I think it may have something to do with Deleuze's ideas of "Difference and Repetition".

It is gone. I have not felt it for a very long time. Something has happened to me and I don't know what. I can feel it within my soul and body: something has changed.

<© asd – 2009>