Look Zola heredity covers the whole range of possibilities: one is an alcoholic, tuberculosis, invert, from father to son, it's inevitable. And do not support me otherwise! We would imagine that as the child is born pure, devoid of a priori on the world. Error! Angelic bullshit! Idealism fool! Once laid, it is marked in the iron. We all calves whose skin reddens as metal.
Rogis born, I stayed. My relationship with sensuality, sex, suddenly seems so trivial, so readable. It's me, the vampire. These one-night stands, these crazes guzzler. My nights with cannibals Cecile great intoxication of triumphant body, blood that enjoys. It's the only pleasure I have power. The executioner is not entitled to feeling, if he falters. It should not be touched, ever! That's why I threw Aurora homeless. By loving, I lost my strength, I hypothéquais my neutrality; I ébréchais my ax. By loving, I became again human.
Ostracized from society, the executioner lived without friends or relations. My life is nothing but a parenthesis cleverly arranged, devoid of any emotional involvement, of any commitment. A sacred grove, clean, dry void of emotion but waterlogged images and blood. I obey my inspiration as Rogis obeyed the law. http://enjoycoloring.com/ I submit to my readers as they bent to the wishes of the people. I was born to meet, to absorb, to frighten, to comfort, to reassure ... Finding implacable as sobering!
I sat in the Tuileries, the garden charmless whose aridity has always displeased me. These stunted trunks, this lack of sap. While the executioner like blood, even the trees. He needs the organic. Ultimate paradox: the executioner is more than any lover of life. He sees so closely, he knows when it disappears, he knows the price. That's why he respects all life. That's why he loves the leaves, roots, animals, insects. He alone understands the nature in its absolute, nature does not need us to kill, it is justice itself.
Visit our dossier: The best of the literary season
No comments:
Post a Comment