J.C. always follows a strict order. He has a habit of tracing the
client's initials on the file. And here is a client whose initials are
identical to his: J.C. for Jules Compactor. He has barely begun to write
on this file but he
hesitates on the first sentence, he stumbles on the first word. Can he
really write? The file concerns a half-man, half-god entity, an item
whose nature has never been clearly defined. It's a very complicated
story, that of a character ready to
to shoulder the guilt of all mankind alone! As Jules is determined to
adopt simple approaches he sticks to the fact that the cross is the
generally recognized symbol to evoke this individual, he gets to the
point. Jules traces the
letter X on the folder.
At the beginning
The verb is not addressed to God or to the Devil. When desire is silent
for a moment, the words unite in sentences so that the word rises in a
song that speaks the truth. The word resonates in the meditation of
places far from the turmoil of commerce. The
word expresses his gratitude to the world. It speaks of the infinite
beauty of plants, animals and all things that allow this mouth to open
and to thank for the grace bestowed upon it. This word has given up the
ease of belief.
It has no certainty, it questions the world, it says the will to
understand. It expresses the hope of getting a little closer to an
always hidden truth.
Au nom du GoodGold
They invoke the name of the GoodGold. They bow under the yoke of his
absence and they bow their backs to earn their bread. They are agitated
by a few jolts when evening comes. When the bellies round, they are
amazed at the greatness of the mystery and
they adorn themselves with the title of Creators. It is a commotion that
produces a harmful brood, a swarm that proliferates and takes over
space, a variety of mammals unable to control their droppings. It is
organized into tribes which mark their
land of putrid mud. It is a brood that invades the space of its
grotesque creations, leaving behind a pile of useless objects. Its
passage stifles life and it is dotted with monuments that glorify death.
A few kilos
plastic toys, a few boxes of blurry photos, a name on a few registers,
this fury to show the originality of a presence will become indecent. A
light wind will disperse a dust, it will erase the last vestige of the
of those beings who proclaimed themselves unique.
Under the roofs
The first floor.
Jules Compactor lives in a shack in the 12th district of Paris. There
are creaking shutters and it smells a bit of cat piss on the stairs.
Jules Compactor's house is organized simply. His office and his files
are on the ground floor. He sleeps at
first floor. When the rains are heavy it leaks a bit, but JC has made up
Jules' days are organized like a concert. They have different movements.
He would like to be able to enjoy them like symphonies, but sometimes
he is sure he has lived through a fiasco.
He begins each day with the determination to achieve great and beautiful
works. He wants to smile from the moment he gets out of bed on a new
day. Yet if he tries to rejoice in being still there, he feels the need
to establish continuity, to give a
sense to what is first of all a tomorrow. The end of a day does not
offer that good time for debriefing, the one you do with your friends
after a scuba dive. The evening is for him an uncertain time between the
day before and
sleep, a time when all the questions that arose from his various
investigations become too numerous and make his thinking confused.
Each night offers an asylum, an escape from consciousness, a prelude to
the writing of new stories. Where was I? The simple statement of this
question of this heavy evidence that today is the day after yesterday,
marks the beginning of each
day of worry. What remains of yesterday in my memory? What did you want
to print there? What manipulations did the temple merchants engage in to
clutter my brain? Can I still quote the book or the film that I used
an accessory to enhance my waking hours?
Jules enjoys the privilege of being delivered from the obligations
necessary for the survival of his being. He doesn't have a wall to paint
or a locomotive to drive to earn his living. Like an old sage he
concentrates on drawing a few ideograms.
With the reading of the symbols that make up the page written yesterday,
he seeks a continuity, a beginning, the one that will allow him to
become Jules again. He will then try to find the answer to all the
questions with which he has filled the drawers of
his drawer unit.
Jules Compactor is awakened by the cries of children. He questions the
responsibility of a prolific humanity which depletes the planet's
resources. Noise from the neighboring school invades the space as he
worries about his part
responsibility for a demographic expansion, the immediate consequences
of which manifest themselves in tangible form. He said to himself that
it was a bit early to develop a thesis and although he no longer had the
imperative need to provide for the needs
food from his offspring, he painfully emerges from his night.
JC especially likes this place for its restful character. This allows
him to rebuild his health. On the financial level it is a rejuvenation.
In its small room it has a very
special which allows him to reset his accounts to zero. He follows the
example of his predecessor who multiplied the breads: in his time JC is a
Big Bang, Reset ... It's as you want ... here Reset for a reset.
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