Songe is a shadow
calling for reverie
It lives in space. Takes a walk. Dozes
Vibration. Agitation. Softness
- What time is it?
- I don't know
- What year is this?
- Who cares? Listen. Watch. Feel.
- So nothing .
It is smooth. A curve, another and it rolls
- Emptiness fills me with anguish.
- For me it's the stillness. The halt. The nothingness. When there is emptiness there is a space to delimit it. A body to make it live.
Stagnation is the end of everything. The absence of life. It is the long pause of a mute. The long silence of the deaf. And the patience of an old man.
- And you ... What are you waiting for?
Pulsating, bubbling, wrinkling.
- Did you hear that?
Quaking, crackling, whistling
- It must feel in the womb of your mother
I mean. Safe. Peaceful.
- Probably. I don't remember.
- Well let's change?
- Why not?
- Yes yes my turn.
Static, excitement, nervousness
Ah yes. I feel good here. I forget everything. I'm far from everything. Nothing moves. Time doesn't run. Nothing wriggles. No one bothers me.
I'm naked and I am not ashamed. I stripped and I feel good.
My frailty rushes to an absolute calm. eternal.
Velvety, fine, delicate
Increasingly small. Increasingly far.
And then nothing.