Our delivery
With the gulls, I will give this small package. That in which we locked up all our secrecies. Solicitors or unavowed. That does not have any more importance. With the gulls, I will ask to fly away. To plane towards these remote regions where they will deposit it. It will be our chance. With the gulls, I will entrust our need to escape to us. They will plane to this place where one cannot walk any more. It will be our last hope. With the gulls, I will give our light luggage. They will stick to carry it, to transport it with respect. It will be our ultimate lovesong. With the gulls, I will ask to accompany them by the thought. Beyond the floods, storms, towards the setting one turning red of a sun of summer. Slipped into the brittleness of our secrecies. That has such an amount of importance. It does not remain us any more but they to come to visit us. For each morning a pinched bread end. In front of our window, they bring the innovations to us. That summarizes our impotence. To fly, plane, on their transported wings. To look at the world being spread out below. Not touch, just to observe it. That will be our chance. Until the end of the world to project itself. To leave our window with the skimped universe. To project itself, to have plans, the ultimate one, the last. That will be done without arrogance. Just to fly away.For still vibrating. For still breathing. It will be our delivery.
Lire la suiteNotre délivrance
Aux mouettes, je donnerai ce petit paquet. Celui dans lequel nous avons enfermé tous nos secrets. Avoués ou inavoués. Cela n’a plus d’importance. Aux mouettes, je demanderai de s’envoler. De planer vers ces lointaines contrées où elles iront le déposer. Ce sera notre chance. Aux mouettes, je confierai notre besoin de nous échapper. Elles planeront jusqu’à cet endroit où l’on ne peut plus marcher. Ce sera notre dernière espérance. Aux mouettes, je remettrai notre bagage léger. Elles s’attacheront à le porter, le transporter avec respect. Ce sera notre ultime romance. Aux mouettes, je demanderai de les accompagner par la pensée. Au-delà des flots, des tempêtes, vers le couchant rougeoyant d’un soleil d’été. Glissé dans la fragilité de nos secrets. Cela a tant d’importance. Il ne nous reste plus qu’elles à venir nous visiter. Pour chaque matin un bout de pain chapardé. Devant notre fenêtre, elles nous apportent les nouveautés. Cela résume notre impuissance. Voler, planer, sur leurs ailes transportées. Regarder l’univers dessous s’étaler. Ne pas le toucher, juste l’observer. Cela sera notre chance. Jusqu’au bout du monde se projeter. Quitter notre fenêtre à l’univers étriqué. Se projeter, avoir des projets, l’ultime, le dernier. Cela se fera sans arrogance. Juste s’envoler.Pour encore vibrer. Pour encore respirer. Ce sera notre délivrance.
Lire la suiteDoors of temptation
One day, the doors will open. One day, we will enter inside. To know the truth. That which escapes to us. That which will give a direction. All that one does, with all that one feels. Without never understanding it. Carrying out each day by practice, lassitude. One will go hand in the hand crossing the doors at the moment when they will open. Without fear with the certainty which our turn came. Not to have cheated. To have waited. Looking At this wood and stone wall. Each day. Each evening. We contemplated it with waiting of this moment when the right will be given to us. To leave this world, to penetrate in another which we imagine different. There will be no more beauty, nor of ugliness. There will be only the hope of our dreams. We will carry them with us for single luggage. Neither heavy, nor light. Thus we imagine this elsewhere. It cannot be about it differently. To imagine the worst to make moment present the best. To still remain still and vis-a-vis the door. It would be enough to push it. It would be so simple. Nothing is simple. It little by little is understood. To like to breathe. To like to live. To like to continue to dream. Us to strengthen for this day when the choice will have to be made. The good. To cross the door. To launch out or remain. I am not sure any more of me. I am not sure any more of you. However, I need so much you. To only leave, I cannot imagine it. To see you you going from there, I cannot support it. I hate this dead end in which temptation imprisoned us. We lost such an amount of time to work, modify, transform our intended. We were mislaid in front of these closed doors which will remain it forever. Which madness to have wanted one day to exceed them. To be happy, it is enough for us to remain on our side. With this happiness of each day to live together. With this concern of protecting it, of sequestering it in order to never see it escaping to us.
Lire la suiteLes portes de la tentation
Un jour, les portes s’ouvriront. Un jour, nous entrerons à l’intérieur. Pour savoir et connaître la vérité. Celle qui nous échappe. Celle qui donnera un sens. A tout ce que l’on fait, à tout ce que l’on ressent. Sans jamais le comprendre. Le réalisant chaque jour par habitude, lassitude. On ira main dans la main franchissant les portes à l’instant où elles s’ouvriront. Sans peur avec la certitude que notre tour est venu. Pour ne pas avoir triché. Pour avoir attendu. Regardant ce mur de pierres et de bois. Chaque jour. Chaque soir. Nous l’avons contemplé à l’attente de ce moment où le droit nous sera donné. De quitter ce monde, de pénétrer dans un autre que nous imaginons différent. Il n’y aura plus de beauté, ni de laideur. Il n’y aura que l’espoir de nos rêves. Nous les emporterons avec nous pour unique bagage. Ni lourd, ni léger. C’est ainsi que nous imaginons cet ailleurs. Il ne peut en être autrement. Imaginer le pire pour faire de l’instant présent le meilleur. Rester encore et encore face à la porte. Il suffirait de la pousser. Ce serait si simple. Rien n’est simple. On le comprend peu à peu. S’aimer pour respirer. S’aimer pour vivre. S’aimer pour continuer de rêver. Nous fortifier pour ce jour où il faudra faire le choix. Le bon. Franchir la porte. Se lancer ou rester. Je ne suis plus sûr de moi. Je ne suis plus sûr de toi. Pourtant, j’ai tant besoin de toi. Partir seul, je ne peux l’imaginer. Te voir t’en aller, je ne peux le supporter. Je hais cette impasse dans laquelle la tentation nous a emprisonnés. Nous avons perdu tant de temps à façonner, modifier, transformer notre destiné. Nous nous sommes égarés devant ces portes fermées qui le resteront à jamais. Quelle folie d’avoir voulu un jour les dépasser. Pour être heureux, il nous suffit de rester de notre côté. Avec ce bonheur de chaque jour de vivre ensemble. Avec ce souci de le protéger, de le séquestrer afin de ne jamais le voir nous échapper.
Lire la suiteTo leave
To leave without being turned over. To go on the peak of the waves. To go up, go down, without drowning. Just to move away. Carried by the breath of the wind. Transported by the noise of water. To look at the flight of the gulls, plunging in frozen scum. To like the storm which rose. To close the eyes not to see more. Not to more seek to know. To float from to go away. Without direction, hesitation, question. To leave behind oneself the good, the bad one. More nothing to wait, not to more seek to undertake. Just to sail, let themselves carry. To feel the calm to be born. To have the feeling to reappear. To be well. In one evening or perhaps in a morning without a future. To flee far. The only force of the destiny. To have understood almost too late. With the doors of despair. To be itself lost in the black. To be itself misled at the end of a road of chance. To let itself toss. To let itself derive. To plunge in water to wash themselves, be cleaned. For all to erase. For one day to fail itself. In another world where all is to be created. On an abandoned beach. On a sunny bank. With concern not to have preserved in oneself the pangs of the past.
Lire la suite
J'aime ce qui est gothique, ce qui est romantique, je vous présente mes textes et mes photos. I like what is gothic, what is romantic, I present my texts and photos Steffan Urell
