The tear
I have always had this strange impression that once I had made the decision to break from the pretence of what appears to be our civilised societies, I’d crossed over to the other side of the mirror and immersed myself for good in the infinite woven by my dreams.
This feeling of immersion had become my reason for living and I knew that nothing could ever make me turn back again.
I forgot forever the person I was or the person I could have been, to become what the reason of my dreams wanted me to be.
I had willingly chosen to confine myself to the fringes, to live in this universe where emotions were the only reality that could allow me to escape from everyday conversations.
I nevertheless knew that this border I had just crossed was an illusory one and that, when faced with the invitations of the world, I would have to split my personally endlessly in order to survive
The double would accompany me throughout my life as a measuring device which would continually assess the distance there would be henceforth between me and me, between you and me
Her
The crossing-over that I had imposed on myself was in fact like a door on a theatre stage.
A door on a stage is never meant to be passed through but is meant to be seen as a theatre door.
The same applies to a window which allows a glimpse of a blue sky
Claire will stop at the door, leaving her life in front of the window
The distance which separates me from the window condemns me therefore to make an X-ray of my brain, take an inventory, to understand that this distance separated me forever from my immediate dreams and pushed me into this passing time.
An existential pain invaded me and forced me to live within the tear. I had to kill time to keep it at a distance and believe in the dream of my creation.
Believing in this creative illusion was my survival.
Music, like a real lock on a fake door, was the key to these distances which have constantly punctuated my life.
A straight, diagonal, or sinusoidal line takes on exaggerated proportions when faced with the reality of absence
Sometimes broken for the length of a conversation
A lunch meeting
A night which deconstructs itself the morning.
Just like music, which makes it possible to reach the most dizzying heights
But which instantly undoes itself
Every second
Leaving us to walk the tightrope of our own life.
All that remains then is the distance between what is left of an emotion and that which is already deconstructing itself.
The highest expression of human genius was a deconstruction of all languages. This, too, was a tear
The distance there was between her and me was a tear which forced me to live in exile from herself
And yet, the door which is beside the window is equipped with a real lock
Claire has turned the key in the silence, thinking that the other side was imaginary
But desire is not imaginary
It submits to its own imagination, into which it has thrown itself
Where I was, I am no longer, where she was, you are no longer
There is no doubt that two events cannot occur at the same place at the same time and all that counts is the distance which separates these two events – 2km, 50,000km.
It is always very difficult to resist imagination’s call
It is like a mute cry which could resist the breath of its own vibration
Claire is mute as she looks at the door
I think that’s because of the light switch situated between the window and the door
I suppose that this switch has no real function, other than to return the sky to the light
Suppose that Claire decided to light up the sky
There would no longer be the same distance between her and what she imagines
She might go blind
Unless this light let her locate what is stopping her from crying out, or simply allowed me to see what was behind that door
The suffering would then be extreme
We would then be like two ends of the needle on a compass, which seeks a direction
Or rather hesitates over its point of attraction
Just like the notes on this piano, which mark out the time before settling beneath my hesitating fingers
But hesitation is not synonymous with compass
A compass always indicates a direction,
A point in space
A place
What, then, would be the degree of longitude and latitude which would let one shorten this distance and suspend the time which contains this hesitation ?
How could one bring the body of the note closer to its imaginary space?
A body is not imaginary
Bringing two bodies closer together can be imaginary
What needle could sew up this imprecisely outlined tear
This question is probably not the right one for outlines are always precise
It is the shape that is imprecise
It depends on the distance from which one looks at it
But can two bodies be blurred to the point of disappearing into the light behind the door
A priori, no, unless the light is out
In this case, darkness would become night and everything would seem even further away
But who
What is thousands of imaginary kilometres away
A body
Two bodies
Her
A face seen through a window-pane always seems further away when the light is dim
It casts a shadow on the other side of the glass, which nonetheless seems close
I remember from long ago that Claire was afraid to approach this window-pane
No doubt she thought that the door next to it could catch fire in the night.
The crossing-over would be impossible then
But then how could she remember this imaginary desire which had uprooted her and summoned her to herself
Looking behind the door
I saw nothing
Other than this abyss, which was the reason for her distance in her imagination
My imaginary world
In the search for nothingness, I had chosen separation by immersing myself
In nonentity
Covering my tracks to better escape the eternal new beginnings that the real world imposed on me was my only survival in this dream of creation
Claire thought then that perhaps we should start everything afresh
But a new beginning presumes that there has been a beginning
But a beginning to whom, to what
When was this beginning
I remember having never thought of this beginning, since I didn’t want there to be a beginning or an end
Nor did she.
Eleven centimetres separate a G from a D on a piano keyboard in the ratio of 3/2
1.3 centimetres separate two open strings on the bridge of a violin which will transmit the harmony to the soul
This fifth was the distance needed to keep the octave behind the door
Measure the chord, divide it, repeat it
For whom
Claire could not see this beginning for it was as invisible as the chord which has produced this harmony
A true encounter is always invisible, suspended in the moment of recognition
I don’t exist, she said
I am nothing
How could I reconcile myself to this idea, since I could hear her from where I was
She could see me from where she was
A friend brings a cloak
One can say, then, that she was born
Fitting the definition of a population which does not describe itself by the standard of appearances
To be born, like the sound of a piano when two white keys are struck, or the white friction of a bow on two strings
White mezzo piano
Indifference
Non-existence
The door was open
From the fifth to the octave, which was luminous as this computer screen which shines brightly in the dark of the night
A white light
Revealed five notes then eleven sounds
