As the days pass by professional masks emerge from childish shells. Time washes over me nurturing my cemetery of memories and, unconsciously, as usual, I surround myself with a cour des miracles where every satellite imitates the sun. Meanwhile, as communitarianism makes a profit in a single click at the same time taking part in a Third World War, my universe is reduced to informing mirrors.
But between the cult of boundaries and the dictatorship of the coffee machine, despite myself I end up coexisting with my fellow man. Since they take me for one of those domesticated idiots, I might as well make up a story worthy of fraud.
Text : Souklaye – Translation : Sophie Inge