Madame servait moi du thé

L’’accent charmant de Jane nous présente Gimme Shelter sur un plateau, nous, nous dégustons la tarte (aux pommes bien sûr) que j'ai concoctée avec amour, Papa dort, les Stones sont beaux, merci Arte; Serais-ce le nouveau summer of love? On y croit vachement haha. la chambre, le parquet, le rebord de fenêtre, tout y passe; les Pim's également. On danse. On se roule par terre. On a quinze ans, peut etre moins, peut-être plus mais qu'importe. J'ai choppé un torticolis vicieux en restant assise devant le ventilo du shebeen trop longtemps, c'est de ma faute. je ne sais pas quoi ajouter. Si : l'appenzeller c'est franchement infecte. On ira bronzer au bord de l'eau. Et de l'autoroute. on s'en moque. C'est toujours pareil ; le Maudit Blues. Intact. Mais sans lui, la page blanche. je pars dans les rues, des chats galopent sur mes pas. le lendemain, tu as encore disparu.  But since then I live on Mars.

Puis les rues toujours orange et le lampadaire solitaire, ma vue se brouillant, le front contre le bois, les tempes qui bourdonnent, je hais cette rue, je hais cette ville, mais par contre je crains de …♪

I was sitting by that winbow, waiting for his voice to come. The sparkling stars in his eyes were looking up, towards their twins in higher skies. His lips were rounded in silence, red and soft and perfect, his breath suspended in the air. His hair was slightly floating in the breeze, sweetening his dreamy face. Around him was floating a cloud of lilac haze, oh, Lord ! How he was alive! Suddenly, he took his breath, and immediately, I put my pen against the page, my hand firm but thrilling with eagerness. Then, after a forgotten second or two, his voice came out, deep, smooth but vibrating in the room, declining itself in myriad of waves and tones, and I heard the sweetest curves of his vocal chords, on his tongue and through the gap between his front teeth. I began to write; The words, I had no time to understand them, I just had to try to capture the most of his prose, but he was speaking to fast; “Wait!” I asked unwilling, quickly ashamed; Though not hurt, he went on more quietly for an unmeasurable moment, unfixed and riffeling. And when he was done, finally, he stopped an poured his divine look upon me. “Well, let’s read the whole thing again” he said with majesty. I knew my face was red, my cheeks were burning, but his eyes were strangely soothing. “I’m not sure I’ve had the time to write it all” I said, my voice falling to pieces. “Who cares, please go on” he replied, blinking his glittering eye. So I read the three pages I had written, and didn’t stopped, though that was the most wonderful prose I’d ever known or written, prose that made tears come to my eyes and my heart beat slightly faster. I knew I couldn’t have had written it on my own, for it was far too beautiful, though it was indeed my own handwrite. So I quickly closed the violet notebook; But when I looked up again, The man was gone.