” Être comédien… Coulisses et loges, costumes extravagants et scènes de ténèbres, maquillages de pantomime, fards et paillettes… Où est le visage ? Sous ce blanc, sous ce rouge, sous ce brillant ? Pourtant, ces yeux, gris et perçants, fendus comme des gouttes de pluie, ces sortes de larmes, ce sont les tiennes ? Et ces autres yex, sur la scène, ce regard vert qui voudrait tant appartenir au monde, au flot du monde, et qui ne sont réservés qu’aux personnages d’emprunts, aux voix, aux déguisements infinis. Inés a le sentiment d’avoir perdu sans avoir vraiment joué. Elle s’imagine sur ce fauteuil de théâtre, un peu râpeux, un peu piquant au dos, comme une grande Inès adulte, avec son armure d’adulte et un sac à la main, une Inès un peu îvre, un peu îvre de tristesse…”
Valérie Valère ‘ Eléonore ‘
![… Prenez garde, l’inanimé vous envahit…
[ongoing image project]](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lxiosl9SHP1qdedrdo1_r1_1280.png)
![“Day dreams of Murdered girls few seconds before”
(and as always, the sound of the sea)
“The rage of craze, the clotted blood shed from the new born baby to the corpse and on the background, the buzzing of the Tv spatters toasts of the ghost of imagination joyfully emptied, benumbing big and small people with its glad old rumour.Carcasses of happiness, musical rituals and dull elegies to the family on which time had frozen, paralyzing them in an afternoon vagary agitating crumbs from a flowered tablecloth, mighty sun beams passing through their perfection, through their tender smile.The monster of Time has become a careerist, the monster of time are selling us what he never dreams of. Family is a concept he thought, and cut this thought right through feeling warm cramps in his stomach.She’s asleep. He feels and grope his burning sex ; across his sport pants, is arising a peninsula of flesh that was turning and turmoiling his blood in brief and worse contractions ; he put his pants down and bend over violently, banging the couch’s armrest with his lighted head. On the floor, he coils up from little fragile jolts, he is there like a foetus who would have liked to erase himself, go back on time when he was just a sperm strolling about the universal genitalia, he pulls his sex and invocates terror : his sex burns unbearably…The blood appears on the tiled floor, its soft traces describing pieces of voracious ellipses that are gently pointing to a inexplicable center ; he sighs frenetically, almost short breathed, coughing from the dusty archives of his belly abstraction, the papers, the life, the women, the bottles, the shit, everything hallowed in a second, sinking silently in the bottomless ground. He clings on his now hardened sex and realizes that a long needle cut through the top of his cock. He starts screaming from anguished terror, sperm mixing up with blood : a sidereal orgasm had come up from his dick to his brain. His pupils are dilating to the point that we only distinguish them, and I imagine that his brain must be now submerged of LIGHT. The LIGHT, the absolute white, a particle so mighty that it plays with and on us, looses us in the blur, leaves us in the embarrass, in the loss. Far under the sky. This is probably what he tells himself.She suddenly moves and in the first moments of her awakening, her gaze tilts onto the ground or along the blur of lethargy, she believes seeing a titanic yellow flower with multiple pistils painted from a vermeil tint, reflecting and shining the moonbeams passing now through the blinds. Opening wide her eyes, she already repents to see him lying down like that, inconscient. However she doesn’t know why he seems dead. She looks at the clock, it is almost 4 in the morning, this man should be home she thinks, he’s really not feeling well….Maybe it is not so bad that this man seems dead, maybe it is even better. I freeze time.]She smokes a cigarette, the volutes arising and entwining, scatters the odorant particles of marching death, scatters humidity. The smoke is arid when it leaks through the throat. She grabs the phone, but rejects it the same moment with horror. He deserves only kicks in his head this lousy piece of shit, she thinks, but all the red from his joy and pain has already leaked on the tiles…
…and once muttered a halo vaccumed the sound of sea that now calls us.
He stands up, his face once pale is now lavished of light, and the shaddow from the hidden sun dig in his skin a terrifying fold arround his mouth. he is smiling.
Her teeth grins from all the sand that she had to swallow. Another man burrowed in the corner of the bunker coldly gaze and calmly rotate the blade of the knife he has in his hands. He finally passes it on to the first one who stands in front of her.
She close her eyes, and gently the yellow flowers she saw on the tiles gush out of the darkness of her sight, invading her lungs, invading her brain…”
February 2011 - Gaelle Largilliere](http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_ljqy1ra7OP1qdedrdo1_400.jpg)
