Thursday, October 03, 2002 :::
 

CROWDSURFER

He crossed the street, half-stoned. Fucking streets. Fucking cars blooming like bullets. Fucking people hastening like cars. Fucking sidewalk, fucking eyes, fucking windows and fucking sky. He kept his head down. Underneath his feet the city was roaring , unknown and yet already familiar, as were all cities, distinct coasts edging the same ocean.

A dog was pooing in the gutter. At the god's side of the leash - or was it the contrary? - granny in twisted claws. He involuntarily shut his eyes.

Surf, man, get on your board, wash your mind.

He tapped on the wall, so calm, and took the wave, peacefully, the harshed wrinkled tainted wave, he went beyond, his eyes now opened, he went further, far from the edge. Everything was so quiet now, peasants went by, silently, only a constant droning, the buzzing sea, the waves of an absurd ocean, that always come and go, resentful black water, clockwork orage, rageous tides, underneath crabs biting dead. But he didn't give no more fuck. He was on the crest, the magic moment, when one tames the wave, when one fucks the brains.

He smiled. They were drops. All of them! Drops. As the sheep are as the foam bleating in the stream. Each of them tear of a lonely soul, pouring down to feed that enormous wave, the urban tsunami, salted flock of tears, billions of griefs he just slid on.
He was already in the sky, walking on water, and no more shy. No more love or hatred, no more call or try, no more self-destruct, no more role or lie. He wasn't even conscious of them. He couldn't be conscious of them, since he watched upside where were shining the stars. He went further. He needn't any place to go. He just needed to go, straight, he couldn't come back. He had to go - where the wave growth, to reach the tiny lights of night. Eyes wide opened, absorbing all the beads of life oozing over others, to stuff the flood of joys and pains on which he blows his mind.

And as the wave growth, he growth, let them drown, and reached the stars upside.


Une petite histoire écrite par un crowdsurfer, pour les crowdsurfers.
Pourquoi en anglais? Ben... pour la simple raison qu'elle m'est venue en anglais, et que j'ai paradoxalement plus de facilité à m'exprimer dans la langue de Shakespeare. (comme m'a dit un pote espagnol qui parle anglais et français: "je te sens plus libre dans tes écrits en anglais". Je le sens aussi, et c'est peut-être bien pour ça que je veux m'exiler en pays anglo-saxon).

Cela dit, je ne me considère pas comme réelement bilingue, le texte ci-dessus doit encore contenir pas mal d'erreurs. Après, si ça vous dit de me les signaler, je vous y encourage vivement, ça me permettra de progresser. (enfin, j'espère quand même que y en a pas trop, Saddam de merde)

::: posted by Tranxenne at 6:48 PM

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