When I grew up my mother was adamant about not mixing french with english. She simply wouldn't allow it. Today I am confused, simply. If i give in to the least resistance of these messy trails then I become like ali baba covered with riches and references and words and associations just begin to dance with one another. Again the gift of telling a stroy is to heard. the gift of writing it is to be read, one simply doesn't exist without the other.On my way to Labelle Québec, la minerve, (my mother would make a joke here and say elle minerve!!!!! elle minerve!!!!) I was told about edwin Abbot Abbot , as the handmade spring bounced along perched on a magnetized tower in the middle of the dashboard. Billy crocket to my left driving his VW home.
Shortly after explaining to me how to measure and verify where a building collapses, with a water level, i had to once again let my brain roam freely. I really enjoy abstract thinking because everything becomes linked and strangely interconnected, as he was describing that he measured two points with water-levels, at many points in the basement I realised that he was describing his cross country skiing project, and that these few words and descriptions on the sunny highway were to encapsulate the Boréal Week-end.
He described the flat land idea, and humans incredibly limited perceptions, this edwin abbot abbot, wrote a novel which I haven't read but will read, maybe... as if averything were in a straight line. He made an analogy about the ubiquitousness of the woman, as she turns to her side becomes a point. OH dear, how fascinating.
Here I am sitting on my deflated yoga ball tensing up, because the words are rushing up to my brain, and the sense of urgency, the sense of grasping the thought, streaming translating it into words, and there right at the entrance they jam, like an embouteillage. they are rammed in there stuck and which word will make i through, and will be a french word or an english, and then the censor, this tall hairy, mean ogre shows up , the munster judge, the horrendous, creepy booger, yes precisely, the booger, jams the damned damn, and gives his final judgement. NO MIXINGPLEASE
not allowed. pure pure purity.
Jéricho after having sucked very slowly on a square of BUENO kinder, is asleep, behind us.
Crocket is now explaining further dimensions, the fifth. Alchemy, my ears are growing. I swear! Just breathe Pasc, no BIG deal, so yeah there is another human being who is giving you another version , of stickboy, of something you already know. Why should this keep you from breathing. The spring is still springing along, in small tiny bounces.
so many dimensions, such limited perception. AHHHH somehow sharing this always releases tension.
Nudged on top of a screwdriver screwed into the seat, is a felt hat, with one white reflective dot on it surrounded by a blue line, poetry is everywhere!
Jung when asked about whether he believed in god said, I DON'T BELIEVE I KNOW.
Now we are off the VW home and on the land, more pretty points show up, there is she the eastern european Borsht queen, in stupor, she has seen no one for a week. surrounded by only her own perhaps screaching voices.
the evening is creeping in and the time has come for another station there are fourteen according to jean. It all depends on where you stand in front of the cross or obliquely, only obliquely is the christ crucified, just a matter of where you stand.
Station number two is at la minerve, although I don't really know all I know is that the lake nearby is lac désert. Back up your files. Jericho doesn't believe crocket that he made that spring with his own little fingers.
the second station thus is filled with stars and a whales belly niched inside an octogonal wooden building, I feel immediatley at home. Another point comes along she has whisky blond hair and a luminous face, above the burning fire, is hung two GIANT steel nipples, i touched them, wondering if this contraption is meant to hold or generate heat. HAHAHA!!! i start to tap them and they make two different notes, so far in music this is all i can handle, and find much satisfaction in stricking two chords, I find it very evocative.
So here we will sleep, crocket has given up the double bed and has retrieved himself to the van.
I sleep a strange sleep, restlessness, I am alive.
In the morning, jericho squirts out of bed. Pancakes are being flipped over the fire.
I feel strangely at home, and yet I am nervous, there is a this is too good to be true , feeling, maybe it is the talk we had previously about lines and points that just had me going. The path of least resistance.
it is really nippy the sun is bright, we met the chickens, prince, the ducks, i forget their names. They are well treated here. I just wanna die, on the off chance that I might be reincarnated into a life linked to this wholesome dimension.
I see crocket getting dressed , after having dived into the lake, the very idea sends shivers up my spine. Jericho starts stripping with such a determination, that I figure I better follow her. soon enough, i am in the lake, my heart is menacing to stop beaing beating. I rush out the minute I am out I feel amazingly warm and awake.
Like the cold just shook everything back into place.
this is like the third station. the swim.
the drive to the land.
jéricho stays behind with la féé.
I know they have taken to one another.
I have flashes and wonder how the hell am I to draw all this studying crockets features and the house, prince, la fée, the dusty whale builder.
i walk on alone in the woods. and thereis alot buzzing, so much life so quickly.
black cloud mushrooms. I have to slow down, I want to savour the contentedness, that i feel as my feet plow the uneven soil, there are many things to discover, only suffices to stop and observe, having eternity helps. Having eternity is the only way.