extremes meet in the middle

I take deep breaths and enjoy the silence while the clock ticks and knocks at my thoughts beating against my brain! It's a snake-like thing that drags me down... But no 'nos'! Only 'yes' and steps forward... [...] The pirate inside o' me is already drunk and eager to some more! More & MORE! Life's so great when you get to write it down, when you drag Bad and Evil down with your head held high! I run naked in the forest, looking for the treasure of life. I run and shine like a sun. The moon is jealous of this free state ofmind of mine. I laugh at her. I tell her that we simply look like each other. I run and turn into the sun and she runs after the sun and gets her whiteness from the dim ray of lights she oversees. I cheer up the moon and the moon thanks me. I gave and got the joy of the moon in return. I’m blessed. Lifegoes on for anyone, anything… My clock stopped ticking. Space and timesuddenly froze around me. I touch the sky and kiss the rain. I smilerainbows and keep running. My heart shines like it never did. I am love. I am universal. I stop and sit and contemplate the calm water of a pond. Aleaf flies to the gentle wind and slowly lays on the water creating soft andpeaceful circles. The miracle of life is happening right before my eyes. Mysoul whispers words of truth and I listen to them. I close my eyes and stretch out my arms. I offer myself to the world. My mind, this quiet little place, is ready for the beauty of life. My heart is pure and my heartbeatsgolden. I cling to the grass and feel it. Feel it. It’s fresh and my throat, dry and shy, murmurs that it’d love to kiss the pond and drink it until the very last drop. The water in the air. The water of the grass that I touch. Thewater of the pond. The remedy against water is even more water. So I diveinto the pond. The water below me. The water above me. The water inside me… I am the water. I feel life. I can hear the dim roar of the rays of sun crashing on the surface of water. It is incredible what the mind can experience. The body is getting bored. We go back on the shore and sit up to contemplate this view. My body stands up and it starts dancing. My arms, so soft, so loose and my soul so flexible. I dance. I feel the Earth every time I put one foot on the ground. I feel the speed of the world spinning round. I feel the wind of the universe kissing me on the cheeks. My joy is complete.Extremes meet in the middle.  

shut your whole body down

There is a chill in

the air that

keeps whispering

to me,

petting my hair

gently, running down

my spine to burst in

my pants.

The kind of chill that cools and

shut your whole body down.

It's you facing your own death

and letting go your utopian

connection to the universe.

You are nothing but a tiny bubbling pale spark of light.

Popping your way out in the cosmos,

you find your place in the emptiness of time

and space to settle down

and cry with joy.

Oh victory! Oh glorious day! I made it! I made it OUT!

I have no fear now.

A veil shrouds your eyes,

catching a spell on your consciousness

– no memories left behind.

Pure annihilation that finally out of breath

let it out and

spat it out and

vomited its true wild unfixed uncharged mysteries and

dreams like nightmares and

nightmares like dreams in

daylight bursting into

flames of powerful rage and

a destructive middle finger.

The day Dijon was wiped off the map

Taking shelter on campus

They said the city had to be put in quarantine. The authorities would not let any one in or out. The first week Dijon started to be wiped off the map, everybody called their families to ask them how it was like outside the city and they said that the government decided to build up walls to isolate the area without going into details. Every body was scared. Riots started raging downtown. I lived near Place Darcy, which was inconvenient for most of the population moved up to the heights of Talant to have a clear view of what was going on as well as to avoid the chaos roaring downtown. Some said the scenery looked like one of a science-fiction movie. It was uncanny. The Paris-bound down on the A38 was congested with dump trucks loading huge piles of earth and concrete so that no car could get on or off the highway. They closed all the roads linked to the city as well. People were all over their computers and phones, trying to get some help from the outside. The walls reached such heights that it became harder and harder for people to observe what was happening at the doors of the city. People disappeared. Some said as they came from what they called the “inner wall” that authorities were setting up fires all around the city to persuade the population not to try to get through the barrages. Some others said that those whom nothing could dissuade them never returned. We were trapped and from were I lived I was literally stuck between two threats – riots got even worst downtown and the deranging silence from the A38 highway up to Talant worried people so much that everywhere you could see men, women, old people breaking down in the streets, hysterical, sometimes naked and lost children crying, looking for their families. The population got insane. Dijon turned to a block of despair where chaos ruled over everything leaving nothing in the streets to enjoy but fear. Gangs were squatting strategic points such as the Theater or churches from where they could easily get to the food rationing containers dropped from helicopters every week.

I stayed home for one week with all of the shutters of my apartment closed. I got to hear from a few friends whom we agreed with to meet up on campus where it was said to be safe. I barely slept at nights so I decided to pack and leave my building to find my friends. I had decided to take a long detour to avoid the gangs. It took me an hour and a half to get from Rue Devosge down to Boulevard Strasbourg ; I avoided avenues and preferred narrow streets and made it to Place du 30 Octobre safely. As I walked up the hill on Boulevard Strasbourg, I realized I had to get around the hospital where there would probably be a hypothetical concentration of horror scenes and crazy people trying to steal drugs from the storage. Better be paranoid than in danger. Psychoanalysis is not worth being put away in books. I chose to live it. It was impossible to get any pieces of information from anyone. Most of my friends texted me, telling that they had lost contact with most of our friends and acquaintances. Edouard said he went outside twice the first week they decided to put Dijon in quarantine to get some food and he got into a fight he managed to run away from. I was about to get to his apartment, texted him, asked him if he were still there. No answer. I had to hurry. It was almost sunset. I walked up Rue du Point du Jour, then Rue Henri Joly and all the way up Rue des Planchettes. The scenery was hard to believe. The whole place looked like a ghost town. Down the avenue, ashes were fuming where you would expect to see huge amphitheaters and half of the main building facade fell down on the grass and trees and cars. I could feel my whole body shaking and my blood boiling. What happened there? Who did this? There was no way gangs could have done such a thing. My phone broke the silence. I almost had a heart attack. I answered. 'JM! Run! There are people coming in your direction! RUN!!!' 'Where are you?' 'RUN!!! TO THE GROUND FLOOR!!! NOW!!!' I ran across the avenue as fast as I could and then stopped abruptly. They were here. My friends. Edouard held me in his arms so tight that it hurt. I was speechless. What the hell happened here? Why were they all here? There were chairs and tables everywhere. Some were thrown randomly in front of the doors while others were piled up looking like barricades. Elsa gave me a cup of coffee. Tatiana was sitting on the floor staring at her phone. Florian did not turn his head from his computer. Agathe was fixing a radio. She looked up and smiled. 'We're glad you made it.' 'When did you guys arrive?' I looked around. There were blankets on the floor. Sleeping bags. A kettle. Bowls. Spoons. A knife. A bat. Edouard looked at me and asked me if the group of people he saw followed me. 'I don't think so.' 'How are you?' 'Feeling much better now. I'm glad I can finally see you guys. Downtown, it is so silent that it freaks me out. I don't know where they all left.' 'We heard that they built up more walls to close all the gates around the inner wall. It seems they only left the one located in Lac Kir open.' 'So do you think we're safe here?' 'It's better than downtown and there's a lot of spots where we can hide in case...' He voice shook and he started crying. 'I'm sorry. I haven't slept in days. I can't help it.' 'Don't worry man. We're all here.' 'No we're not,' said Tatiana. Everybody looked at her. Florian stopped typing on his laptop. 'We know Tatiana. But don't worry. I'm sure they're fine.' said Elsa, trying to be as reassuring as possible. 'I meant, at least, we're together.' Edouard put his arm around me and pulled me aside. We went upstairs and sat in an amphitheater.

They have been here for a few days already and Edouard mentioned scary screams that they can hear at night. He barely closed his eyes and spoke quickly. He surely seemed exhausted and stressed out. I asked him if the gangs made it this far for they only have interest in controlling the food rationing. He said that they never showed up here but that we had to leave this place and find a better shelter anyway. They were here two nights ago when the facade of the building fell. He said there was an explosion and that they could hear planes patrolling over the area. They still did not know why they stroke only once but he assumed that the rest of the population outside the walls knew more and disapproved of such a move from the government. He mentioned Tatiana's state of panic and told me what her family said. Apparently, the government justified the quarantine for there were high risks of a rare infectious disease reported by the hospital a few weeks ago. They said people were dying here. They said that the government decided to destroy the whole city. We went back downstairs. Elsa was holding Tatiana in her arms. They were sobbing. I could not believe my eyes. I never would have guessed that such a thing would happen to us. And what was that so-called infectious disease anyway?

It was getting late and Florian and the others already fell asleep. Agathe, Edouard and I decided to stay up all night. 'Do you think it's gonna happen again?' asked Agathe. 'I don't know,' said Edouard 'But we have to be careful. I don't know what this so-called disease is and I don't get it. Why would they keep it secret from the public? Why can't they simply send people to check up on us?' We were tired. Agathe dozed off. Edouard could hardly keep eyes open. It all became so silent when I could hear a crack coming from the end of the hallway. I panicked. I did not want to wake the others. There was another noise coming from the same direction. Was anyone trying to break in? It was pitch dark in here. I decided to go and check this out. The doors were closed but I could feel a cool draft coming from the back. I stopped and looked up and turned around. Suddenly, I could hear someone grunting right behind me. 'JM?' Edouard's voice echoed from the other end of the hallway. 'I'm here!' I turned around and a hand grabbed me, pulling me down. I screamed and all of a sudden, Edouard, Agathe and the others appeared in the hallway pointing their flashlights in my direction. A body was scratching my face and biting my neck. I could hear my friends shout out my name while my vision blurred and my mouth tasted like blood. 

Chapitre Premier

Touch the sun and kiss the rain

It was about midnight when I entered the Sé Bar. As usual I would order a pint of white beer and sit at one end of the counter. I always sat right next to the entrance from where I expected the same young man to spend the night a couple of sits further. The first time I saw him I remembered he was smoking outside. His 'rollies' as he called them made perfect circles as he smoked. I was sitting inside, observing this strange looking guy asking for a cigarette to whoever he was. He entered and ordered a couple of drinks. As the night went on, he kept on drinking cheap rum and started smiling like a child and took a pencil out of his backpack and wrote on a napkin. He stared outside the window pane and contemplated the rain that started pouring on Emile Zola square. That night I waited for him to leave the bar and took the napkin he wrote on after he looked at the rain. This is how I knew who he was. His note said : Touch the sun and kiss the rain. He was alone. I felt funny for a moment because I started smiling the same way the young man did. I kept on seeing him at the Sé Bar and after the departure of the lonely poet, I would take his napkins that he left for dead on the counter. I wondered how he felt when he abandoned those notes. I decided to keep all of them. There was no reason for this young man to write without being read. Reading is a passion. Each word coming out of the unknown is a bracelet one wears in secret. Everybody has a secret. I read the notes that this young man left every night after each rendez-vous. One night, he left a note that said 'Do you like what I write?'. The world started to spin faster and faster. I almost fell from my stool. My soul started to distort itself and my body felt so heavy. I felt guilty but happy at the same time. I hate asking stupid questions to myself. My body speaks for me. I ordered one last drink and walked all night long. I could not help but think about him all the time. It felt like this other guy suddenly attracted me. I looked at my own reflection passing by the shop window of a bakery. Was I smart-looking enough to get to speak to this unknown and strange person? I stopped in the middle of the crossroads in front of the theater and laughed. Who was I to think that his note was addressed to me? The week after, I ordered my third pint feeling my throat twisting inside as if my soul wanted to cry. He was not coming this night. A hand of rain pounded its knuckles hard against the cobblestones of the square. I left the Sé Bar and started walking home. The sky soaked in the Earth which swallowed my soul. I was about to open the front door of my building when I heard 'Hello?' My blood ran once through all my veins. Shaking, I turned around and there he was. 'How are you?' he asked.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Lost in syntax

The sun pierced through the shutters and a thin ray cheered up my face. I opened my eyes cautiously as I remembered what happened the night before. I felt a faint as sat up on my bed. Time froze for a moment and my heart felt like it was about to tear my chest apart and break free. I remembered. A strange 'hello' echoed and I remembered. The Sé Bar. The rain. There was a face. I smiled. Where was the rest of it ? I took a shower and remembered. K. something. We smoked weed all night long and talked. What did we talk about ? I drank my tea and remembered. We had sex. I remembered we talked all night long. I remembered the ecstasy. I was walking home and he was following me. We laughed when he told me he saw me laughing in front of the theater. I felt so stupid and then he kissed me. He said he felt lonely. I said I needed a little company. We had sex.

I left my apartment and on the door there was a note. I started to cry. I felt so terrible for those words were not for me. Could this scattered memory of mine deny the wonderful night we spent. I could not even remember his name. Those words. This unknown handwriting. What did I say or do that could leave such an impression on this stranger's mind ?

I have a smile curled up on my back. I can feel its gentle breathe. It tickles. I tremble with pleasure. I have a smile in my bed. I tornado it in my arms. It happinesses me. I miss it. I love it when its lips break through. It earlobes me and I belly it. We for-some-timed ourselves. I want it eternity. I pagan it . It divines me. I bird it. It flies me. It wings me, I angel it. It smiles to me and I gentle kiss it. I shyly breeze it. It hurricanes me. I miss it. I praise it. It heartbeats me. I heart-attacked it. It mouth-to-mouth me. I kissed him. We fire!

Karl. His name was Karl.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Oh victory !

I spent the morning in my apartment trying to realize what this feeling was. I was jet-lagged with my body and soul. I could not find the balance and could not stand it any longer. So I went outside again. It was sunny and the world seemed at peace. An old lady smiled, walking her dog. The dog smiled to the old lady. I smiled and felt lucky to be such a privileged witness. Life was good outside. I spent most of the afternoon at a café, drinking wine and eating a sandwich for both my lunch and dinner. I read the rage of Arthur's bittersweet poetry. I felt like this day was kind to me. The sun slowly went down and the shadow of François Rude square spread its chilly gentle breeze over the fountain, forcing its statue to sleep. Then came a strange sensation. A smack in the face. A violent outburst. Where should I go then ? I stopped thinking for my feet already knew where to go. I could not keep on hiding inside and the sweetness of this day for sure was foreshadowing the end of it. Karl was waiting for me. On my way to the Sé Bar, I closed my eyes for a little while and tried to picture the best place to be.

My eyes fixed the sky and it felt nice. The dark blue of what is bigger than what a soul could dive in cheered up the wind. My soul so big. My needs so pure. My smile bigger than this universea. Every single invisible footstep I made wondered how it felt like being as high as the clouds and I finally understood. Wisdom and peace of mind were both where extremes meet. In the middle. In between. A perfect harmony balanced between the ground and the sky. I opened my eyes and stared at what was in between. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. No matter how hard the rain might pour. It would never fill up what is in between – the safe zone of the soul. Oh my soul! You are flying where your feet cannot walk. Oh my body! You are resting under a tree, watching bees and butterflies fighting for daisies. Your smile and your existence in between proves once more that even what can fly struggles for freedom. Oh victory! I found it! My peace of mind! Oh victory! My body now gazes at my soul bigger than the sky embracing the Earth, stretching, kissing the sky. Somewhere in Dijon, someone finally felt peaceful. I opened my eyes in front of the Sé Bar and there he was.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Not really, no.”

He smiled and kissed me on the cheek. 'How are you man?' he asked. All my fears vanished. I switched off my emotions, ready to face the stranger named Karl. 'I'm fine. How about you?' And it went on and on for a couple of hours. He told me how handsome I looked and I told him how beautifully he writes. When I asked him 'How do you write?', he simply answered 'Sometimes, I just can't help but express how I feel and shit. I just put it down on paper and let it go.' I remained silent for a short while and then he asked me 'Do you write?'. He ordered two pints of white beers .Me 'Only in my head. I cannot find a way to put down words on the paper.'

'Have you tried?' he asked. Me 'Not really, no.'

'How do you know then?'

'Dunno. I feel like I can't express words properly on the paper.'

'Take this.' He handed a pen he took from his backpack. 'Could we have a napkin please?' he asked to the waitress. 'And there you go! What's in your mind. Be honest like you were yesterday.'

'About that. I'm afraid I passed out the other night. I'm sorry for what I did.'

'You're sorry for what you did, huh?' he looked funny for he smiled but when he answered he was somehow serious. 'Well I guess we smoked way too much. I should be the one to feel sorry. I literally followed you until you were home. In my defense, I was drunk and the waitress told me you were taking my napkins and that you read them. I guess I was curious. That's all. So there's no need for you to apologize or whatever.'

'Ok. I guess you're right.' Then he laughed and went on. 'So. What's on your mind.'

'No don't do that. I don't know how to write.'

'Oh shut up! You know how to write. You just don't know what to write about.'

'That's the problem. What do you want me to write about?'

'Anything. Absolutely anything! One day I wrote about a goldfish that committed suicide.'

'You're kidding!'

'No! Its name was George.'

'George the Goldfish?'

'That's right! Now stop asking questions you already know the answer and tell me what you want to write about.'

'I really don't know. Maybe not tonight. I'm still tired from last night.'

'Yes you are.'

'I'm not joking. I feel more like walking home.'

'Oh I see. I'm sorry if I'm bothering you.'

'No you're not; It's just that I really am tired and I don't feel like being out tonight. I should go home. I spent the whole day at a café.'

'What did you do?'

'I read poetry and then I came here.'

'I see... well do you want me to come over your place? We may talk for a while and then I'll leave you alone.'

'Or we can do that too. I don't feel like sitting here all night.'

'Shall we go ? Beers are on me. I insist. It's my way to apologize for following you last night.' I laughed. He paid and then we went out.

The Great Revelation

Last night I went on campus. I climbed the emergency ladder from outside the tallest building and cling to the very last antenna from the top of which I wish my mind could let go off this past and I prayed in despair and I cried in vain. Some episodes from random patches of memory need to stay in and haunt your soul until the very last drop of blood pulsing and gushing through your entire body is carried away up to your brain, blown across your dried flesh making your eyes burst into flames -- flames of redemption and forgiveness every single one of us would die for to shed some clear liquid light through eyes so dark contemplating over one's own very existence from outside one's own existence. 

"This is the Great Revelation imploding within each and single one of the electric particles that weave the fabric of a small short breaths of life to dive into life itself to explore its mysteries. Once you get you're about to eventually explode into billions of cocoons and galaxies you wait for them to tear themselves from the inside out to crave for even more expansions. Once one tried the experience, one wants some more."

From the miserable suicidal top of the city, observing how quiet and chill my time at the university was. I closed my eyes and wished for the wind to caress my cheek and push hard into oblivion, into the nothingness of an act so demanded and yet out of control. I said "Let go!" and yelled "Touch the sun and kiss the rain!" I mumbled and smiled at me saying "My eyed open wisdom..."

That night I let go off my fears and uncertainty. I shared my secrets with the universe and made myself a promise. "Time to move on. Take the leap and take your own destiny into your hands. Move on!"

So they say...

Eyes tickling, stuck on the window of the bus, he wondered if someone was thinking of him at the very same time he was fascinated by the falling snow, sublimed under the orange light of lampposts. Then in the streets, too clumsy to contemplate the hidden architectural treasures sitting on rooftops, he'd watch his feet passing one ahead of the other all the way to his place where he'd sit for hours on his sad armchair trying not to think how sad it is to fancy intentions on people's many faces. He'd go blind in the dark, realizing the sun was already down and brightened up the room for a second when he lit his cigarette. This day was nothing but a whirling chain of cryptic sensations he could not attribute words to. One more day of nothing in his life of nothingness... "How nothing!" he says to him. "Now let's try get some shit done and read his journals... she might have an idea of how this day should end for the many characters he invented..." ; although he was not sure how to put words he read and words of imagination altogether ; maybe there is no way to write anything based on facts... on history... what if He was right ? His right hand would be tempted to say that eternity and frozen time is bullshit while his left hand argued with it and claimed to remain silent and focus on his reading... "The problem is there's no such thing as reading without associating yourself with them characters and them stories and..."