Some dreams (1)

Dream 1: I am in a corridor and it seems to be a visit because I'm following a guide. The path is round like a snail. There is a dinners room in the center: an empty luxuous restaurant with bright candles reflecting in glasses. Waiters and maître d'hôtel are going on and on. I pass by and the guide lead me to the end of the corridor, in a circular library. Inside, it is full of used books, and a man try to show me something about WW2: sepia pictures of regiments with jeeps crushed by a red triangle from above. But I have difficulties to maintain my attention: the librarian is wearing a "ficelle" wool jacket that my father used to wear when I was little, and huge whiskers, like Nietzshe did.

Dream 2: I was trapped in a bed with unknowns, I was feeling like I was invisible. I woke up several time in that bed and each time, a new person was leaving, both men or women, all unknown. The room was dark, with a window showing foggy weather, outside. My mother was sitten near it, in the darkness of the room. My father was standing at the door on my left, in a clear living room, a television was behind him.
The bed I am in separe them both. It is placed in the path through the door leading outside. I thought it was winter, but when I finaly went outside, it was a mid-summer sky, with a blinding sun. With my bare feet, I felt burning sand in the gutters.

I am not dreaming...

Music stopped...

The tune is rising like hertz waves on a radio tuner, when you need to look for a little while on the left or the right to get the correct signal. The record is collecting all the possible frequency waves in the universe, methodically recording, never loosing cracklings, parasites and imperfections.

I'm standing in a caddy, unworried about the way it moves. I'm travelling in the departments of a supermarket: everything is free for the eyes and ears.
I only watch and when the end of the counter comes, I'm leaded to the next one, collecting the impressions and advertising jingles...

Sometimes, the songs restart in the middle, played in another manner. Someone is switching the buttons and reminds are diluted like in a dream with foggy transitions.
Freescha come along, underline and redesign samples recalling something to my memory. Or maybe it's a part of cliché that fall from the wall of my skull:
A TV broadcast coming soon, a glass of milk on a formica table, my Goldorak jacket...

All the sounds are filling the chambers of my brain. Even through reception is blury, I can hear all the snatches of conversations, the sounds from the right and the left spreading in the place without any structure. It is a recollection of gaseous sound samples mixed in my own organic perception: in the first seconds, sound disappear like in a headphones disfunction. Music brings me exactly where I wanted to go: in a past that has never exist.

I think that something strange happens in the length, because sounds are growing old. It is scary and fascinating: step by step, samples sounds more mature. It's the music my father was listening, screams heard in a movie, some melancholic sounds, some unreleased 70's hits... a record tape remount with adhesive tape.... the stupid song which doesn't exist that I have never forget... a horror movie which I forgot the story and the name.... a biology document.

At night, I was remembering the sample sounds that I stored in my memory all day long. And when the dark was come, when everyone was sleeping, every sounds were dancing in the silence. To sleep was just wait for the next day to steal other new sounds to the universe.

Once again, I am in a supermaket and a Hip-Hop song give the rhythm to a fashion parade seen on a TV screen. Hostess announcements are following special offers, human shouts. So much departments, so much sounds, so much tunes to listen, so much bits to fill with free stuff that can be taken without beeing paid.

And one day, I lost myself, it might happen soon. "What's your name? Come with me, we're going to look for your parents". Since it happened, the snatches that I was collecting with fever became lost pieces of the surrounding chaos. I started to replace these noises by adult screams, conversations, numbers...
I really think that day, in that supermarket, I have lost myself.

Friday 1st+12

This morning when I left you at the train station, I might cross the huge post-war building site that Douai has become... I first walked along the Avis parking's lot; reaching the lights, I was facing the wound that will become an underground car park. I placed myself close to a girl trying to look fine despite of the fact she has never worn high heels before. I'm waiting for the moment I can cross the road and it's irritating me to see that drivers are slowing down only a the last moment, meaning: "What's up? I would have stop anyway!!!". A van coming from Barlet place wave us through walk on. The girl doesn't seem to react promptly. I start to cross the road and at this moment, I heard her to say: "Ooooh my Goooood!". I believed that expression was really outdated in a 25 years old's mouth, and understood that as long as the world would turn, girls like her would grow on old bigots.
While I'm thinking all this, I can't see the other van rising me on the opposite side. But as supposed, it stops. I ignore if the girl expected to have a ground meat à la YouTube for breakfast...

By the way, on Wednesday morning, I refused to walk under a scale, just because one of the two construction workers using it was eying me up, as far as he could see me. Did I reverse the polarities? The way the world is running or the course of my existence just because I refused to walk under that scale?
So I go on my way while a line 13's bus overtake me.
At Social Security, two veiled chicks speaking in arab are waiting. I'm going to the desk and the woman, pretty nice give me a ticket. Number 13. I told to myself: "Eh cool! The number 13", no more. As my turn has come, another woman, nice too, explain me that a Welfare Center certificate is missing. It was too good to be true.
I walk through Wetz street and I hate that street because it's a wind corridor unreached by the sun, so I walk, watching on the ground. I do that to avoid dog's shit too. I go on Fortier Street, always bewaring dog's shit, and at the only moment I hold up the head, I see a building. Some twisted wrough iron letters, made in a Grück manner, are drawing the number 13.
Raising the Welfare Center, my only wish is to end the operation quickly because I don't want to rush around all the morning from an administration to another. A new woman welcome me. Not so nice, inevitably, Welfare Center is like a refuge for the deposit of Society: red faced welfare helped, wearing white cheap training shoes and black leatherrette jacket for most. Fans of Johnny (Hallyday), I guess. The woman invited me to have a ticket, still the number 13...
I believed I would never have this damn certificate. The missus hardly answer me when I greet her. Not because she's disagreeable, just completly apathic. Can you imagine your old nanny working for state services! She has done the whole thing: "don't know whut to give ya. it dozn't exist. why is it written VITALE card here? (becuz it's a note page and I noted it to be sure I would take it with me, you cunt!). She finaly gave me two sheets of paper, mentionning she was unsure it would work: "wait and see". Sure, neither am I. I left, without saying a goodbye. His desk looks like the entering of a grotto with a desk board and a PC.

I want to end all this —it's 10AM, when I go out— I ran to the Social Security. I got a ticket: number 24 is printed on it.
I forgot to mention that I passed a bus from the line 13 to the traffic circle close to Châtelet.
It is done and I go back around the post office, remembering that the bus stop has been removed for the next one until the of the building site will end. I must walk along Saint-Jean Highschool to reach the train station again; next stop is over there. At the moment I hold up the head, I pass a bus again: Cuincy Les Treize (13). Something doesn't go round...
The weirdest thing I noticed while I was waiting for the bus was that: Friday 1st December, 12 01 2006... 12+1=13...