The Great Moments.

« […] Remember the precise moment when the major sideslip took place so that you should exorcize old ghosts and prevent a relapse. » [1]

He was happy this morning, he smiled while walking, his attention focused towards the contemplation of evidence now showing his happiness so ignored in the past. On a hibiscus petal strangely perfumed with amber he unrolled a few sequences of his childhood film. High up, sitting on a serene star he progressively disappeared the spirit and the bloody overshadowed by the eternal worthlessness. His soul suspended to the rope of an already capital interrogation where is he at this moment or another, who is not even his brother, exhale his fantasy? With a mischievous look, he challenged then defeated the nascent obsession. He is not elsewhere, he isn’t, each bristling point of the spiral of time logistically lives its’ hour of glory.

Another calm morning, the crowing of the cock blowing on the rising sun, the ball of fire spreads its’ flames on mango trees adorned by juicy fruits. And the great muezzin, dumb on the perched moon, cheerfully whistles sorcerer commandments to flourishing spirits with new ideas of fraternal friendship. On the edge of the sacred wood, the legionary rat hunter inhales dripping perfumes between ancient barks. Preceded by the nonchalant gait  of a weak pooch, the powerful arms of the boorish knight carry spells announcing exquisite salts. Knee-deep down, nosing about in the warmed-up humus, the predatory couple of true ointment turns its’ back to sterile shadows.

I cannot believe in the discretion of this clock and watchmaker, and then it works, my greedy bile of uncomfortable asperity. Today is Sabbath day, thorny palms will go and drink in the sea, the Nereid and the sons of Icarus will be the only ones to escape. The son of Man, betrayed by his mother, will walk with bloody feet towards forgetfulness. One day that he named the fourth one, he sat on the left side of a solar cutting slip. A little bit of starry nobility that he quickly undid, sunken by the certitude of an ephemeral smile. The pearly ropes of this precious moment surrounded by blue kisses coil again around its’ defeated legs.

On this great deserted avenue at this late hour, the ballet of the lonely firefly lead to the most beautiful acclamations, standing, his eye rejoiced by the mastery of the insignificant little insect on the tumult of burlesque days. With suppressed joy, he went towards the calm artist, with a greedy ear notes sliding on the gentle waves of the nightly wind. The extraordinary intensity of the moment became attached to his light soul, carried away by the explosion of his tortured body. His serum, abandoned in scattered drops on the warm asphalt espoused the tears of the bride , fulminated his powerlessness in front of the death of a night for a life, his ultimate weddings.

“What can a long life matter to you? Which warrior wants to be saved?” [2]

Manekang

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[1] Eugène Ebode, Le Fouettateur.

[2] Friedrich Nietzsche, Ainsi parlait Zarathoustra.