07-30-2006
La nuit je mens...
I awake in the black night and I am born to rise, I think of full with different things, I try to avoid the negative thoughts as when I took drugs, that I was more fragile, that one nothing carried me in torrents of sadness, that one did not have especially to think of morbid tricks. Maintaining that is better. I do not take drugs any more. I wonder less what I well will be able to make of my life. I intend to fall the rain, I think that if I slept I would have liked that the air is refreshed, I think should see the spheres of Coronelli exposed to the BNF, I think that hardly arrived, it was put at knees in front of me, it peeled off my jean, lowered my pants, I slipped my Tee-shirt around his eyes, and after one moment, I put it at four legs with same the parquet floor, the bandaged eyes, and I jumped it like a bitch in heat, without me to trouble about his rails, and after I passed the evening to ask to him whether he to give pleasure, if he had liked. I smelled well that I should not have troubled me about that, that I kissed it for my pleasure with me, that it his should not import me. But it was stronger than me, I needed to know if he had liked. In the content, it is by self-centredness that I asked him that, not so much by altruism. These rails were rails of pleasure. They are close to those which one sends by pain, but they are different. Then good, I do not know, I must it believe when he says that yes, it was good, that yes, he liked. It wanted to start again after, it said violate me, and me I said if you it requires it of me is not a rape, and it is me which decides when I do something. I did not want any more. I found that sad, almost glaucous to have kissed it with same the parquet floor, almost too quickly, to have hastened to fill "it" (to fill the hood), hastened to enjoy after at least two weeks without enjoying. There still, of the obvious egoism. Then I listen to Alain Bashung while the day rises quickly, soon it will make complétement day and me I would have seen the night yielding to the day gently.
07-29-2006
The difference between wanting and being able.
I listen to always certain musics which made the beautiful days of my sad winter, the long winter. But it is not similar any more, now. I thought that, when S. spoke to me, when he said to me I in vain always gives to each one the best of myself, people, boys are useful themselves, kiss me and bar themselves. Flee me. It had come until at home, one had attacked a pineapple with the large kitchen knife, a pineapple which it said dry, but which finally was juicy, one poured liters of pineapple juice on the bed where one was lengthened almost naked. From time to time I smoked, and S., it, told I the customers, money and the effects of the GHB. I believe that in the content I felt sorry for it. I said I could not have been whore, I do not want especially of it, in fact, capacity, the question would not be even posed. But to want it, not, I would not have liked to earn my living like that. Because of the risks. Diseases. Because of the contempt, too. Of course, it is a form of love (sadistic). But this love which one measures in euros, I do not want any. I want love free. Love by desire, desire. It said to one moment I am well with you, me I did not stop speaking about Patricio, I believe that it had to end up cursing it, or to envy it, this famous Patricio of which I could speak thousand years without me to stop. I said I could not bring to you what you await from me, I do not give anything any more, more like that, more at a loss. It is there that he said that he gave much, that he did not receive anything exchanges some, it is there that I thought that it was not similar any more, that this winter was far from this summer for me. That it was almost reassuring. I said to him you know, with time, one learns how to relativize, do not worry you, you still have time to change so much. S., him, he is complétement masochist, complétement locked up in a self-destroying system. 
The AIDS does that at this kind of young a little lost guy, that déboussole. Then of course, I could feel sorry for it, tell me whore that fears, this trick, me I kissed million guys and I ever had it, and him, the first time that he kissed, he badly fell, and he had it. In which conditions, moreover... But I did not want that. I think that it did not ask me that. He all the time says then that is there, that kills you. The more I learn some on him, the more it says that to me. And more I non-non head says, but at the bottom of me oui-oui, straightforwardly. Ca would cool even Rocco Sifredi, the history of young a 19 year old PD which is made violate and contaminate at the same time. I would like to say to him I will love you nevertheless, but I will not like it, and I do not want to like it. The difference between wanting and being able.
07-24-2006
Je suis complétement malade...
I felt soft, of the interior, it was like the days of fever, a generalized weakness, and I was cold, very cold, I shivered, I had left lower part the bed the second feather bed, I drowned under two feather beds and two cloths, and of a blow I was hot, very hot, and if I removed a feather bed then, if I had the hor to slip only one feather bed, I were cold again. It was infernal, intolerable. I only smelled myself, I thought I only will burst, on France2 one will say a death collateral of the heat wave, and it will be funny in the medium of the octogenarians whom one empties with the wheelbarrow in this season that a thirty year master key the weapon on the left. Then I took a drug, and I continued to shiver, and then finally, from a blow, that went better. I rose, I have write a late article for the magazine, prepared interviews for tomorrow, almost want to attack me with the arrangement of the appart, taken the firm resolution to buy to me candles against the odor of the tobacco failing to stop smoking. It was strange, this true-false disease, I is not explained it. I thought of Patricio, I almost wanted some to him not to be there, and when Bonnie and Clyde spoke about their arguments, me I said to them to both that it was a chance, engueuler, that wanted to say that one, that me I would like to me engueuler with Patricio, that sometimes I liked missed it. Not but I could burst well at home in middle of the night and nobody would make me mouth with mouth. On Génération Europe 1 I intended a 26 year old idiot to complain not to find the love, and I said myself that that became serious, these people, all the same. Did Patricio, one see when together, my love? Bonnie and Barrow the other evening said to me you consider when a strategic bringing together, and me I had answered that it was not on the agenda, that one did not even know oneself yet. But finally, finally, this man I think of it misses I. And my small tree Zen is died, and Lunar made festival with Mexicans, and Bonnie, when I said to him that I was going to die of an unknown disease said to me you have a marvellous life, you do not have the right to feel sorry for you. I realized that I was fragile. A small fragile being and without defense. I do of it a little too much?
07-22-2006
Their skin.
Formerly, I said to my friends "I do not want your skin", and they were content, that I say that, they were proud, they were to even say something of the kind "fortunately", but me I felt sorry for them still more, because by saying that, I thought I do not even want your peau.En made, of them, I did not want anything. With postériori, now, I can to say that finally them I do not have anything any more, some vague memories, words of first song that I have written for our group of rock'n'roll, of bursts of laughter which remain printed, not tears, even if I think that there was of it, inevitably. There was of it, since G died. But I had not cried, at this time I did not cry, I could not do it. I had to learn how to do it later a few years, and I remember it, there has first time that had been extraordinary, a relief at the same time that the expression of an intense suffering. Then there perhaps no were tears, finally, at this time. There were fields of corn or maîs, large fields, with bundles of hay on which one could throw oneself, or to lengthen, and of silence. Sun. Finally it is far all that. Now I enuyerais myself, in the bundles of hay, I could not allure the son of the dentist more, the fine young man of the corner. There is nothing nor nobody who connects to me at this time, I succeeded in cutting the bridges, to release the mooring ropes, and in the content I do not know very well where I will fail, but in the content, I don't care.
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