ASPHODEL

In the end, if we think about it, we won't write because we don't have the courage to write. Writing is the day of silence. We write to let off steam, to bring out our feelings and turn them into a lighter. But ultimately, whatever character is beautiful, most of the world will impress on a bird or screen. And they are there. Real estate. Nothing will happen next to us.
I need to find him, what courage. Take the initiative and read "Loud those words". The human body is an almost perfect machine, we created it with a lace, with the ability to speak and dialogue, it was very powerful. We should brace ourselves and shout. Speak and write that it is now within us, the one that divides, piece by piece.
More than anything else, 2020 has taught us to let go, which is never giving up. It is rather not to push, not to strategize, not to force. It is not resisting things happening. It is not brooding. It is having courage to the end, stopping to direct but letting oneself be carried. It is trust, breath, love and lots and lots of courage. It’s watching life shatter and doing nothing. It is having absolute certainty that it is that reassembly that will give us a new shape, finally ours, the one we ignored, the only one that really belonged to us. Let yourself be shattered and believe in miracles. Abandon yourself and create them. Thanks for this year together.
You are made to be loved. With your sweet and smart eyes. With your ways of doing you send on the ball. Inspire sweetness, tenderness. Anyone would try this for you. You laugh. Talk and laugh. You like to joke with people. When you speak, you lower your head, look I don’t know where, then you raise it up and laugh. You are small, small but strong. You are able to save yourself and anyone else. You never tell about yourself. But if you told something, you would say that you tried to save someone you cared so much about, but they didn’t let themselves be saved, did they? If you told it, you would say that you have destroyed yourself for someone who lived on something else, and not on you. But how do you live, if not you? If you tell, you will tell that you have lost. And that’s why you look down every now and then while you’re talking. But even though you were small, you were strong. You took your life, you started to appreciate it, you took courage on your own and you came to the surface. You’re not dead, baby, no. And that’s why when you look down you look up and laugh. Because you made it against the whole world. Because when a person loses, he is in a struggle with himself and with others. And these kinds of battles are never easy. But keep it up, baby. Continue to enchant the eyes of others. Maybe God sent you for this. To bring some happiness. Because when it comes to you, spinning around, and then laughing, and then pulling your hair back, and then squirming, there’s always a smile ready to come out. There is no other alternative.
It has a strange effect, I don’t know if you understand. I mean, that looking into each other’s eyes so intensely, but for so little. A complex and enigmatic language, sometimes subtle. It can mean all or nothing. It is free, broad. We can give ourselves the taste of our interpretation or we can simply read what these two eyes can emanate. But no, I don’t do any of that. I don’t read, I don’t interpret. I live again. Images, feelings, scenarios and moments that transport me into the vortex of memory. A powerful vortex, which wonders what magical power gazes can have. It is a matter of seconds, really. But full of us.

( All pictures by Enki Bilal)

STRANGE GIRLS

I’m that weird girl, yes weird. You know? The one who, among friends, is stupid and laughs, for everything. The one who prefers to cry in the bedroom alone and not in front of everyone. The one with the moments of madness and the paranoid ones. The one that gives meaning to every bracelet on her wrist. The one who prefers to take the picture and not be there. The one that keeps everything. The one who loses everything: keys, headphones, buses, people, respect. The one who asks “sorry” even when the fault is not his. The one who lives every single place and book. The one who imagines what she wants by her side, everywhere. The messy one. The one with complicated thoughts, which no one understands. The one who loves hugs more than kisses. The one who loves to write and not smoke. The one who, to be happy, does not need drugs but the smile of those she loves. The one who does not look for people for fear of annoying. The one who never writes to anyone but waits. The one with the smudged makeup at parties. The grumpy one, who responds badly. The one who would like to be kinder, but has that anger inside that, sometimes, ruins the good speeches she would like to make. The one that puts others first and then herself. The one who gives others what she would like to receive. The strange one. So, do you have this in mind? Here, it’s me. “
They are a human contradiction. I have no faith in myself, but I am self-centered. I want to do many things and I always have a thousand projects in mind, but I want to die. I want to make people believe that I am strong, but I cry all the time. In every situation I am indifferent and detached, but everything wounds me to death because I am hypersensitive. When I get up, every morning, I want to be happy and start the day well, but I also want to never get up and sleep forever.
There are those days where you feel the world is collapsing on you and you don’t want to see or hear anyone but you have to face everything. You get the urge to disappear, to go away but you don’t know where to go and so you look at yourself, you observe yourself and you ask yourself “what the fuck am I doing here? Why do I make so many mistakes? Why do I wither everything I meet? Everything ends and I am the cause. I am the person who while loving you, at the same time kills you. Where the more you stay together the more you suffer, where it is impossible to continue because I am impossible, irrecoverable, paranoid and irascible. I just have to leave myself to fate, to hope for a better day than today, yesterday and even before.
Alice, it was better to stay in Wonderland, don’t you think? Reality isn’t what you imagined, is it? But tell me, what did you think it was like to grow up? You always wanted to be happy. You didn’t think there was so much pain in the world. You thought they were all there, ready to stop your falls. You thought you were going to be a star someday. And now you are there, Alice, sitting in that dark corner, with that blood coming out of her arms, legs and soul. And cry, Alice. Cry, because you can’t take it anymore. Cry, because you stopped fighting. Cry, because you are not enough. Cry, because you are one too many. You cry, because you no longer know anything. Cry, why do you dry their tears but who dries yours? Cry, because your eyes can no longer hold all those tears trapped. Cry, because you are a mistake. Cry, because you are a disappointment. Cry, because you are like that. You cry, because you no longer find reason to continue breathing. You cry, because you have finished living for a while. Cry, because the monsters who lived under your bed grew up with you and moved into your head. Cry, because you want to end it. You cry, because you are too afraid to end it. You cry, because you are afraid. You call the White Rabbit, you want to be led back to Wonderland. You scream, you scream, he doesn’t hear you. Look at you, Alice. Where did you go? Why did you let yourself go? Alice will pass, you’ll see. Alice, you’ll be fine. Alice, Alice, why is it all dark around you? Alice have you gone away? Alice, Alice, do you see me from up there? Alice how much blood did you leave here. Is there any piece of your heart, in the midst of all this red? Alice, you were so little. So fragile. And to think, that it was enough just for someone to take care of you. Alice, Alice, Alice. Now in Wonderland you will stay there forever, aren’t you happy?

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