Tales of the Elen and Alan
Conte d' hiver 1996
| The tale began on
my 23rd birthday, the day where François Mitterrand was buried. January
11th, 1996. This tale ended on october 11th, the same year. Just before
an interview of Dominique A, in her hotel room. He played this evening
at Le Théâtre des
feuillants. My last interview. I met Elen at
a briefing for a student issue which I was the editor. She gave me
two poems, the stranger poems I never read, the more beautiful too.
She was the more intelligent girl I've never met, the stranger too.
She studied english at the University of Bourgogne, in Dijon. She
was the best of all students in english. I think, now, she has become
professor of University. It was the thing she wanted. During winter,
spring and summer debut, we gave life One Step
Beyond on Radio Dijon Campus, each monday. We
were the best, the stars. I'd never seen her again since this awful day on grey october. Black october. Red october... |
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This is the end,
beautiful friend
this is the end,
my only friend, the end...
| Insidious treachery. The
music unfurls like the waves of a reacherous ocean. In the heart of a broken up instant, merges my golden boby into a silver soul. Inexpressible truth, driven into being of life, intrinsic contradictions to our limitations. The organ's the limit. Desolation. Interstices
of a dispossed life, stolen from its source. Harrowing Misty dawn. Please
let me in silence fathom the stifling dampness of your misty dawn.
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