Ordinary madnesses
On the chess-board, the insane ones of the King are well wisely aligned. Their only imagination, to move in diagonal, but always on the boxes of their color.
In the province of Dakar, Senegal, one built a village for the insane ones. They live there in family. It is explained there that the madness comprises already its amount of violence, of clearness, and that one cannot, moreover, to separate the insane ones as of theirs. Then, the families or the scraps of what it remains about it, arrive with kitchen ustensils and plaits to sleep. They remain time there that it is necessary so that the insane one "finds its skin".
In Madagascar, all the fifteen or twenty years, one unearths deaths. It is a festival in their honor. One trimbale craniums and other bones from one end to another of the villages, while singing and dancing. One waltz with the tibia of aunt Désirée and one empties glass with the jaw of Pépé Mabou. Then one digs a new hole, any expenses to them, very nine.
One day, I saw this woman who only spoke in the street, extremely and with great gestures which mimaient. It was the principal of my daughter.
Did one day, I intend to say "but not, do not be afraid, one does not die, one goes up to the sky, it is all?" and I was afraid.
One day, I crossed the glance éperdu of a patient after a meeting of electric shocks. Its eyes veiled only one great vacuum. Not a blued, luminous vacuum? Did an empty, metal and rusted vacuum, where the least sound make echo only with itself, ad infinitum?
Once, ten times, hundred times, I looked myself in the mirror, and I did not recognize myself, but then at all, and worst it is than I did not have any judgement on myself. I "was not inspired" not. Then, I remained there, the swinging spirit, as a bubble left my head which would only seek to take again its place?
On the chess-board, the insane ones of the King are well wisely aligned. Their only imagination, to move in diagonal, but always on the boxes of their color.
In the province of Dakar, Senegal, one built a village for the insane ones. They live there in family. It is explained there that the madness comprises already its amount of violence, of clearness, and that one cannot, moreover, to separate the insane ones as of theirs. Then, the families or the scraps of what it remains about it, arrive with kitchen ustensils and plaits to sleep. They remain time there that it is necessary so that the insane one "finds its skin".
In Madagascar, all the fifteen or twenty years, one unearths deaths. It is a festival in their honor. One trimbale craniums and other bones from one end to another of the villages, while singing and dancing. One waltz with the tibia of aunt Désirée and one empties glass with the jaw of Pépé Mabou. Then one digs a new hole, any expenses to them, very nine.
One day, I saw this woman who only spoke in the street, extremely and with great gestures which mimaient. It was the principal of my daughter.
Did one day, I intend to say "but not, do not be afraid, one does not die, one goes up to the sky, it is all?" and I was afraid.
One day, I crossed the glance éperdu of a patient after a meeting of electric shocks. Its eyes veiled only one great vacuum. Not a blued, luminous vacuum? Did an empty, metal and rusted vacuum, where the least sound make echo only with itself, ad infinitum?
Once, ten times, hundred times, I looked myself in the mirror, and I did not recognize myself, but then at all, and worst it is than I did not have any judgement on myself. I "was not inspired" not. Then, I remained there, the swinging spirit, as a bubble left my head which would only seek to take again its place?
posted by Eric at 5:54 PM
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