Light upon dark

Leaving things incomplete is what gives them a brush of perfection. To say you would someday come back to a certain object or action, to examine it more thoroughly or to merely continue your activity upon it, means deceiving into perfection. But nobody says deceiving is wrong. Most of all, there is no right or wrong, from an objective point of view. And we are solely humans, dreadfully encompassed in subjectivity. We think and judge that this or that might be good or bad, right or wrong, but we must and should admit that such thing does not exist. It may not exist in an objective universe. We are but subjective points in an objective universe, points that do not even matter in the huge spick and span existential whole. What matters is the acknowledgement of our own selves, the existence inside our conscience. Depending on the individual, this conscience can be sometimes located in the soul and sometimes in the brain. There is no rule, there are just individual unique, irrepetable cases. Admitting a huge world outside ourselves, while being utterly subjective and conscious of ourselves, means leaning towards universability and profound understanding.

Ou...

Point ou plan.
La géométrie n'a pas d'importance
Quand on parle de l'âme;
Une âme qui se veut très urbaine.

Ronde ou rotonde.
La lumière est si inflexible,
Donner plus de raisons
À tout le monde.

Curiosité ou folie.
Nous tous avons des origines.
On doit leurs permettre
Juste d'apparaître.

La répétition

La répétition peut
Attraper ton secret -
L'oiseau de l'esprit -
Mais mentenir une enigme,
Au même temps.

Mais l'infinite peut pas
Corriger la fluctuation.
Il ammene le moyen age
De la vie.

En émettant radiation
Et couleur,
La répétition
Te fait sourire.

La montre du temps

Ombrager mon existence,
L'arbre de la connaissance
Ne s'arrête plus de grandir.
Mettre plus de questions,
Vivre ou mourir - le même.

Si savoir
A un pouvoir,
Qu'est-ce que cette Banalité?

Donc je veux juste m'aguerrir
À travers des règles.
C'est un jeu ou un concept?
Créature divine, magique -
Le Temps. Il a un montre.
C'est la sienne.

L'énergie disparaisait
Quand j'étais là,
Au milieu de l'existence.
Mon oreille pouvait pas
Percevoir
Le bruit de mon âme.

L'absolut

On peut prendre l'argument,
Souligner
Une telle erreur.
Mais jamais le Tout savoir.
Condamnes juste d'avoir tort,
D'etre pas sûrs,
On peut seulement deviner.

Le jazz sourit,
L'orage s'arrete.
Le vert paraît plus lumineux.
Lorsqu'elle vie dedans nous -
C'est la tempête.

Un doigt montre l'absolut:
Pleut-il aux rayons?

Dream vision[s]

Dali or Tzara tell us it is possible to mix things through imagination, through dream. Mix words, images, lettres, sounds. Mix believes and utterances of your soul. But what happens when you mix color and glass? Glass is one of the many symbols of surreality. And color...what is color? Is it part of the image? But what is the smallest bit of the image? It cannot be the point, as the point doesn't exist, geometry says. What you see is never what you think it is. It is much more beyond that.






All these are results of the lens watching through pieces of more or less colored glass, be it round, square or indefinite-shaped.

Framing Gent

Watching any country from an upper point makes you realize how big you are. Big in your own eyes, big in the eyes of somebody that is important to you. And as long as you are big to your own self, you are big to the whole world. Your inner subjectivity makes you have this selfish and egocentric view upon everybody else. Upon everything else. Every roof that you see makes you even bigger. Trying to raise is what gives you freedom of observing. To me, watching Belgium (in fact Gent) from two tall[-ish] points, a castle and a belfry, pieces of long-lasting legends, made me know it better. Made me know myself better.