Saturday 29 June 2013

Beauty with a prepuce

For years, I had sworn never to attend our local beauty contest, even if I were to be paid for. Well, guess what? There I was in the middle of the crowd at J&J auditorium tonight to watch the Miss Mauritius beauty pageant just because my friend Daniel did not want to go alone. I desperately tried not to be cynical but it was to no avail, I couldn't resist it. Let me appeal to my compassionate heart. The organization was good, the contenders seemed promising, the entertainment by Club Med was of standard level and I was about to review my prejudiced opinion & swallow my past judgements until the girls reached the final round of questions.

Disaster!

To a question relating to road safety measures and the reduction of accidents on our roads one Miss missed the train when she started to elaborate about her studies in London and how thankful she was towards the organisation, how much the country had evolved, that we were the tiger of the indian ocean bla bla bla, then around the very end  mentioned something about busses blocking the road in the morning,  something completely incoherent and nonsensical that the whole nation is still trying to decipher.

This whole round of answers tangoed between pathetic and comical and to me with none of the contenders for the crown understanding the concept of beauty with a purpose. Beauty with a prepuce to hide their brains in would have sounded more appropriate, especially when the freshly crowned queen expressed how 'émuse' she was while being elected.

Ayo mama, fouf! Never again...never, I say!

Sunday 23 June 2013

Grosse envie d'écrire ce soir mais ne sais pas quoi écrire. zero inspiration + zero talent, on ne va pas bien loin avec. je me suis dit qu'un verre de vin rouge et de la bonne musique ne seraient pas de trop pour voir où me mèneront mes doigts.Un red blend et le streetbeat de david hewitt donc pour m'accompagner. 03 minutes de pur bonheur, de délice enivrant.Je lève mon verre à ma reflection dans le mirroir, ce moment m'appartient, il est à moi et à personne d'autre.
soyons fous chère âme, cher coeur, cher esprit:
If you know how to make me laugh, why do you make me cry? your tainted violet hand touches mine and i long to secretly live inside your pocket where everyday you will look for me. you will find me though you will not love me.there is no north,south,east,west inside a pocket, just darkness and dampness.one day your clothes will get old and you will throw them away forgetting me inside the pocket. who will be to blame? you? for getting me in there as a one time favorite distraction or me for having chosen to be there to entertain you?
i have been in so many pockets, each time loving to be there. some clothes got old and used while others never ran out of fashion. i would like to think my place is in a tuxedo but the comfy smell of an old pair of pyjamas suits me perfectly.what matters is that the pocket is close to the heart which i will warm night and day.











Saturday 22 June 2013

ad vitam aeternam

Les plus belles rencontrent ne sont-elles pas parfois celles qui sont les plus inattendues? la question se pose et la réponse se fraie un chemin jusqu'à ma tête. mais oui, mais oui, mais oui, c'est tout bonnement une évidence.

et si au détour d'une rue, je venais vers toi,
dans un clair de lune 
et si j'arrivais là où la ville s'arrête et la vie, 
la vraie, commence
et si je te regardais avec mes grands yeux rieurs
comprendrais tu que cette rencontre métaphysique 
serait inscrite dans l'espace temps à tout jamais?




Wednesday 12 June 2013

Mes plus belles ratures

Quelle exquise douleur que celle qui gagne la paume de ma main et de mon poignet lorsque je donne naissance aux mots sur un brouillon. Chaque page remplie est ponctuée de fautes, d'erreurs et de ratures, certainement les plus belles de ma vie.
De mes mots découlent mes pensées, mes intentions, mes habitudes, mon sommeil, ce fameux sommeil de l'âme. La conscience,elle, n'a point besoin de mémoire quand elle se pose aussi gracieusement sur et entre les lignes.Elle est susurrée quand la bille du stylo se met à valser sur le papier.
Lignes de vérités éclatées après des moments hésitants et lâches, vérités qui vous rattrapent au détour de chaque phrase. Si l'esprit est bohémien, l'émotion quant à elle est diva et l'intention burlesque, tous swinguant sur le même tempo.



Sunday 9 June 2013

Holidays in Cape Town

Just came back from a spree in Cape Town. Holidays or holy days as I would rather call it.
it was cold and at times rainy making the town even more special to my eyes. countless little moments which i can hardly describe here (a lunch under the winter sun in company garden, obviously in the good company of...squirrels, breathtaking views from cape point and table mountain, exquisite wine and cheese tastings with my best friend in the wine lands, a memorable drive at 165kms from Ceres, enjoying being a crazy zingarian for an evening, smoking pot, struggling with a dysfunctional gps which brought us back to the airport one evening...)

Being away for a few days made me realize how short life is and think about all the things that I would like to fix before leaving and which I unfortunately can't. As I observed my friend earnestly rebuilding a broken relationship, I could not help but stare at my own failures. If success in life is about timing, dosage and equilibrium, about patience, wisdom and detachment, how come I have learned so little in all these years? why is it that knowledge too often implies suffering? do we really need to suffer to grow? is there no other path to attaining wisdom than stumbling, falling and...crashing? is it ever safer just  to give up or does one need to die trying making amends?


Douze petites minutes

Quatre rues séparent ma maison de C hez Ram où trois pains maison chauds chauds  m'attendent tous les matins. Cinq minutes à pieds pour ...