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    I'm afraid one day I will forget daylight,
    I won't realise there is light falling on every millimeter of the surface around me.
    Houses on each side of streets will start to dance mad, mad and uncontrollable,
    or will stand straight, much too straight, scarily solid and concrete, as cold as proved facts. Both cases will make me feel I cannot wake up from a spreading nightmare, and even more the space in between those two visions.
     
    I won't observe the soft lines and curves of my lover's face because he won't be sleeping next to me anymore,
    his muscles twitching like cats do when they dream, the secret network I draw between his eyelids, the commissure of his lips, asleep, his nose and cheek bones he would feel my face with, the flawless eyebrows, the out of focus chin and hair line.
    I'll stare at the emptiness at night, my mouth and eyes full of cold sand.
    I'll look sad and depressed, if anyone would care to qualify the state I'd be fast drowning in. But inside there would be no sadness, not at all, there would be something beyond loneliness and mere regrets, there would be a whole world of shadows and nothingness no word can be put on.
    There would be nihility.

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  • JLH

    "One nite i's laying down,
     I heard mam'n' papa talk,
     I heard pap tellin' mama, " Let that boy boogie woogie ,
     'cause it's in him, and it's gotta come out "...  "


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  • Just had the parents,Fan,Vincent and girlfriend Sunday meal, including the traditional do's and don'ts, the exploding words well contained behind full mouths, the mimics of the mother, the mumblings of dad,
    steam on the kitchen's windows and 20 years of wonder and resignation condensed in the cat's eyes.
     
    Add the sounds of plates in the distant kitchen going back to their places and a radio receiving only half the signal of an 80's & 90's most-rubbish-songs-ever show and tadam! : you've got the perfect picture of how cool it can be at home.
    (...)It's half past three and anyone who hasn't spend a Sunday afternoon in my home town, Winter or Summer, doesn't fully know what the words hole, melancholy, boredom, apathy, and lassitude mean.
    Only old people with coats of disillusion and desolate, angry young adults who didn't lose their hopes 'cause it seems they never had any. I wish I could say something different about the children, but to me they sound more cruel here than elsewhere. <script></script>
    The only thing we have here is really good bread and croissants (the flour is made around here), and a train station linked to Lille (which saved my life). (...)

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  • Le père - "Putain merde faut qu'jaille a carrefour 'chier"
    Fan - "Ah ? Encore...? Pourquoi ?"
    Le père - "Pour positiver..."


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  •  The first two pictures are from a day trip to Bournemouth, another city of the south coast of England a couple of months ago. I was exhausted from my essay work and needed some fresh air.
    It was a wonderful day, the kind that are so good that you don't even realise you'll remember them as being important moments.


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