Beb0pJam

tout cela n'a aucun sens



seulement un jour dans la Vie

My life is slowing down. That's how I feel.

I wish I could tell you I love you, but that's not true, dear prudence, ... I won't lie, I may wish I die, but who am I ? If I don't know, that would mean I never existed.


Who ever noticed me ? I lost myself, so how could I find the words ? There is so much more than words.




If we meet again, I'll tell you how I feel, I'll tell you love is real ...

The reason why I haven't killed myself yet is that I want to grow a fancy mustache.

Why picture yourself ?


Picture is a testimony. But if it is art, it isn't propaganda. Is there a message ? Or should it be a meaning ?


As for a photograph, there's nothing behind the mask. Picture yourself is being the mask. Having a meaning.


But if there isn't a conciousness of being the mask, the meaning, there's no true photograph. The only sens of truth is on the surface of the photograph.


But people have lost the concept of the mask, and therefore stopped being.


They are all barely alive.




I will exist.

Le souvenir est une bien étrange chose ...