Maison des Ailleurs

Note to reader this is the long report of a short trip to a French town and the inner world involved. It’ll be unblogly long (although even only a sketch) and perhaps not very interesting for another person. So feel free to skip this entirely or just watch the photographs, as I wrote it mostly for myself.

Epilogue

What if one day you wake up and realise you have actually started to believe in things. What if that comforting rut of disbelief and dismay one day has disappeared without a warning, and the abyss of an amazing and resplendent truth is suddenly staring you in the face… the shimmering contours of a wondrous temple seen miraging over the desert air of an heretic Promised Land. You can see yourself hopping from star to star over a deep blue playground universe… And the ideas of ‘getting by’, being there, a life secure & predictable, one day all seems futile and preposterously petty.

What if one day you realise, to the full extent of the realisation, that society’s principles do not apply to you at all… that you have no connection to them whatsoever. False, blind, gilded excrements… a gangrenous carcass of worn out, animalistic ideas. Unpoetic garbage! To hell with them: the future is mine! What if these thoughts one day materialize into fragrant fruits on branches so close you can almost touch them…

I will tell you what happens… you go out of your mind, that’s what happens! And the follow-up is foreseeable: you give up your connections, burn your address book and leave without a trace in the night for a land far away to see the grave of a gifted, scandalous poet.