the Old wise man told me…Lesson One

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Idiot Sexuality

Les hommes n’aiment pas leur sexualité. Il n’aiment pas cette fonction qui leur incombe et qu’ils vivent avec le poids de l’obligation idiote et terne. La sexualité s’annonce en effet très vite répétitive et transparente. En revanche les individus aiment le sexe car le sexe leur appartient comme leur invention qui leur est propre. Le sexe est à la sexualité ce qu’est la gastronomie à l’alimentation. Il faut s’alimenter alors les hommes ont inventé la gastronomie.  Il faut se reproduire alors les hommes ont inventé le sexe pour mieux s’échapper de la sexualité. Derrière le mot sec et court de ” sexe” se trouve un boulevard dans lequel roule le flot de l’inventivité et de l’ingéniosité des hommes et des femmes comme de tous les autres genres possibles. Cette invention plus ou moins riche, heureuse n’a qu’un but : retarder le constat de la simplicité de la sexualité humaine qui est avant tout animale.

Le sexe c’est le plaisir des sens certes mais c’est avant tout le plaisir du mentale. Le mentale s’invente d’autres organes génitaux qui demeurent dans la zone de la perception intériorisée et modifiée du corps. Le sexe c’est l’autre nom d’un circuit fermé qui produit l’autosuggestion d’avoir du plaisir. ” L’amour est un acte sans importance, puisqu’on peut le faire indéfiniment.” rappelle le poète symboliste et c’est cela qui tourmente les hommes : le fait que faire l’amour peut se répéter ad libitum et ne jamais procurer un plaisir plus grand que celui que l’on reçoit car ce qui reste c’est une sensation limitée dont la singularité est élimée par la répétition. alors il faut inventer une croyance que le plaisir est ailleurs ; ailleurs c’est à dire dans d’autres pratiques…

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anger, heat and smoke…

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“Angered” Man

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my window

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Homme with Tree.

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PRANA

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le Dit du Crâne

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you can watch videos about life after life, you can watch videos about the paranormal, you can read texts about spiritualism, you can live in the certainty that you will be alive for eternity. You must remember that your body will disappear. You must know that you will be forgotten. Your name will be erased, it will be blown by the wind of time and it will be evacuated from all memory as a worthless dust. the luminous imprint of your face will disappear from the eyes of human kind for it shall be worn out by the succession of grains of time. The falling hours are acid rain. you’re a figure without values and I the living priceless figure. 

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The sound of reality. A Tribute to A. BIERCE…

Under the sky of matter, I hear the waves of reality.

The chaining of waves gives us this daily noise that we do not know because it is all too familiar to us.

It has invaded our ears for far too long and beyond our minds. This inaudible sound is the sound of reality; this surf that we are dealing with and that we forget.

Endlessly, these indefinite waves of reality come to the assault of our senses and our mind. They overwhelm us without giving us any respite. They invade us and cover us with their vibrating weight. Each wave is ephemeral but there are so many of them that we do not experience a lull. These waves are so thin, so discreet, so intangible but they pile up in large numbers on our bodies that we feel their weight and their embrace.

They come in tight rows and leave us stunned and confused. the reality is ephemeral but it has no end because it comes and leaves but its departure is immediately repaired by a return. We are the drowned in reality that cannot catch our breath.

And despite these shocks, this generous and spendthrift assault when we enjoy a rest time, however short it is to form a body with our mind, we are dazzled by the images that reality offers us to better drown ourselves.

nota bene : I need a better american version for that prose. You reader If you could write an other version…je vous en serais reconnaissant.

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behind the fleshed curtain…

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