English translation below.Quelques Extraits...
''Cela faisait des mois que je vivais sur la belle et chic place de Mexico pile en face de l'avenue d'Eylau d'où la fière et impassible tour Eiffel de l'autre côté du Trocadéro me saluait chaque jour, le porte-monnaie mythomane à s'inventer systématiquement des histoires d'un temps révolu auxquelles il croyait encore dur dur et qui voulait avec acharnement toujours vivre au présent de ses années passées leur luxe vécu. Je vivais dans un microcosme géographique et affectif que les queues de mes riches amants finançaient dans les deux arrondissements limitrophes pour me divertir et qui affectaient mon mental dont je ne savais sortir. Je m'illusionnais ainsi appartenir à l'élite uniquement parisienne et ne connaissais de la campagne que St Germain Des Près et celle de Neuilly-sur-Seine.''
''I started to get short of money. Bank notes were getting low.I was spending night after night, restaurant after restaurant, at Lipp Brasserie's or at the Lorraine's, from Neuilly to La Closerie des Lilas, bottle of champagne after bottle of champagne at Castel's or at Regine's, clothes from Yves St Laurent or caviar from Petrossian's. I wanted to be at the level of the others. The others I was used to meet day after day in a very closed limited Parisian high class cycle of earls and princesses, world stars and politicians, despising everything from the ordinary world. A limited cycle in which I fully delighted myself though this elite was limited as its cycle itself was. Uncapabale to take the right move outside Paris or think of new thoughts that would lead them to some other life. To go to New York city for a week-end was already knowing the world for them with great verve while I knew the planet so well. And I did know it. I was escaping. Escaping from everything. My own space in the city, my own place in the world, my knowledge and experiences, my culture and myself not knowing if I had made some room in this world and not knowing where I stood. I did envy their honored and respectful lives as well as theit bank accounts. Everything became unclear. I wanted to be like them, envied, honored and rich, but no door I had pushed to be among them all was stable enough to remain definitely opened. They were born there. I was not. And even though this knowledge of mine I was liked for was indeed superior to theirs, no one let me get up the scale one single step above for me to succeed. Whether the scale was an artistic one, a literay or intellectual one. My presence was absolutely adored around a table chatting away drinking champagne in some fancy restaurant or club but never any farther. And that could not last anymore. They would until the day of their death still be sitted around the same tables chatting away drinking champagne with the same old routine. I started to realize all this and could watch the bank notes Marhmud did not provide anymore, simply flying away with no return. For months I had been waiting for my talents and knowledge they were continuously flattering to be recognized, honored and such. And what else could I hear for compliments and flattering remarks! None of them turned into gold. I was doubting of myself more and more. Feeling more and more insecure from this life I was living whose the right road to take I could not see. I was less and less going to sing at Le Doyen and started to stay rue des Sablons indoors most the time organizing orgies again. Man after man, cock after cock, all together embrassed at the bottom of my bed my mouth wide opened. Leaving the elite behind, and my friend Laurence too. My anxiety was growing and growing as I could see the bank notes getting lower and lower and never renewed...I was getting poor. One side of the miror was blinding me by gazing me back the dark and sad image of the initial world I was born in and that had been since long ago forgotten. Lyon and my youth and its poverty I had so badly wanted to quit. One constant settled life I had not could only send me back there. I did not belong to the elite. I had deluded myself that I did by touching it with my own hands, incapable to dissociate the real from the unreal along my moments of pleasures. I had been far too devoted to them. They had killed my intelligence as well as my ambition that never had been really there all along.''
''I started to get short of money. Bank notes were getting low.I was spending night after night, restaurant after restaurant, at Lipp Brasserie's or at the Lorraine's, from Neuilly to La Closerie des Lilas, bottle of champagne after bottle of champagne at Castel's or at Regine's, clothes from Yves St Laurent or caviar from Petrossian's. I wanted to be at the level of the others. The others I was used to meet day after day in a very closed limited Parisian high class cycle of earls and princesses, world stars and politicians, despising everything from the ordinary world. A limited cycle in which I fully delighted myself though this elite was limited as its cycle itself was. Uncapabale to take the right move outside Paris or think of new thoughts that would lead them to some other life. To go to New York city for a week-end was already knowing the world for them with great verve while I knew the planet so well. And I did know it. I was escaping. Escaping from everything. My own space in the city, my own place in the world, my knowledge and experiences, my culture and myself not knowing if I had made some room in this world and not knowing where I stood. I did envy their honored and respectful lives as well as theit bank accounts. Everything became unclear. I wanted to be like them, envied, honored and rich, but no door I had pushed to be among them all was stable enough to remain definitely opened. They were born there. I was not. And even though this knowledge of mine I was liked for was indeed superior to theirs, no one let me get up the scale one single step above for me to succeed. Whether the scale was an artistic one, a literay or intellectual one. My presence was absolutely adored around a table chatting away drinking champagne in some fancy restaurant or club but never any farther. And that could not last anymore. They would until the day of their death still be sitted around the same tables chatting away drinking champagne with the same old routine. I started to realize all this and could watch the bank notes Marhmud did not provide anymore, simply flying away with no return. For months I had been waiting for my talents and knowledge they were continuously flattering to be recognized, honored and such. And what else could I hear for compliments and flattering remarks! None of them turned into gold. I was doubting of myself more and more. Feeling more and more insecure from this life I was living whose the right road to take I could not see. I was less and less going to sing at Le Doyen and started to stay rue des Sablons indoors most the time organizing orgies again. Man after man, cock after cock, all together embrassed at the bottom of my bed my mouth wide opened. Leaving the elite behind, and my friend Laurence too. My anxiety was growing and growing as I could see the bank notes getting lower and lower and never renewed...I was getting poor. One side of the miror was blinding me by gazing me back the dark and sad image of the initial world I was born in and that had been since long ago forgotten. Lyon and my youth and its poverty I had so badly wanted to quit. One constant settled life I had not could only send me back there. I did not belong to the elite. I had deluded myself that I did by touching it with my own hands, incapable to dissociate the real from the unreal along my moments of pleasures. I had been far too devoted to them. They had killed my intelligence as well as my ambition that never had been really there all along.''
No comments:
Post a Comment