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In April 2003, a man that I will call Robert, living in southern France, has been found in the morning, hanged in the attic of the family home, i… Read More
In April 2003, a man that I will call Robert, living in southern France, has been found in the morning, hanged in the attic of the family home, it is his wife who made this tragic discovery. Few reasons were evoked thereafter, to explain the fatal act, it seemed happy of living though sometimes described as loner and he never presented these precursory signs which sometimes make consider the worst. One said of Robert that it was gentle, respected and respectable, intelligent, dreamer. “Real TV” is the story of a very short part of his existence, the one that interests us and perhaps tells us more about the reasons that led him to jump the last step. I speak here about self-abandon and oblivion, our invaluable labyrinths and, at the end, of our weaknesses. But be reassured, it is just a game ... a simple and stupid game... By dint of wires and erected antennas, we got there, be shut away between two big tops quite high which came to block the sight. We still had a very intimate part of our initial memory, subway tickets and damaged shoes, that’s all. Sylvain emitted kinds of small and a bit scary whistles while Laure was plunged into a sudden silence, these silences which marked the end of an exciting life. As for me, I will not be able to explain you who or what I had become… Let us say that it sometimes happened to me to smile, to yawn and go without too tiring me. The 1st day - I’m in my bath, it is warm, I feel a tingling throughout the back that will die in small electric shocks, unpleasant and timed, against the intimacy of my head. I listen to a voice that told me to take care not to get too close to the edge, because I might to drown myself. I cling hard to nothing. The 2nd day - I dreamed of Sylvain, his legs white and naked and of mocking walls. I dreamed that we had become figures and the city, an arithmetic table. I dreamed once again still, that we would end up butting against our identity, but that was not there my reality, God thank you. Reality keeps me warm. The 3rd day - Volga station… Station 4AB12… Station ration… Station bis repetita… Station corridor… Station I do not fly by chance… Station the children are lying, one could sniff at our pubis… Station terminus everyone goes down I will be the last on the platform of station The 4th day - Form-2425-Sheet-F-of-group-313-Under-the-paragraph-3-of-the-annex-2-it-is-said-you-must-write-your-name-in-capital-letters-without-they-touch-themselves-else-your-request-would-be-considered-inadmissible-and-you-should-take-your-steps-again-from-the-beginning- “Did you understand me well miss? Forgive me but your face is so female… you understood me well sir?” The 5th day - To find the day’s program, I must follow the wire until its end. The 6th day - You sometimes push, without ceasing one moment, the switch, in order to check that your gestures and your approaches have their own consequences? I do the same with my city, I pushed the walls but without effect none… Only the traffic lights seem to accept my theories. I will be able to remember it. The 7th day - I watch "Exelon TV" but my favorite programs have been modified without one has bothered to tell me, I do not recognize anything. The presenter moves sideways without any tact, his large claws flapping in the wind, while his little head of a crow is stirred furiously well. Could it be that we have hired a newbie? I should write to the director of programs, but I think I have mislaid his address. The 8th day - The incredible corridor of the subway breathes me in, swallows me and digests us. We bump into each other, so much and so much, as the mass of the passengers to which I belong, get together in a living train which goes to stretch on kilometers of tunnels. How many pairs of eyes, small and large, for the same compartment? I become my neighbor who sucks his inch, and we finish this trip, drunk of thousand identities, before the tide scatters suddenly leaving me helpless and pulverized. The 9th day - I dreamed of me, my legs white and naked and of mocking walls. I dreamed that we had become figures and the city, an arithmetic table. I dreamed once again still, that I would end up butting against my identity, but that was not there our reality, God thank you. Reality keeps us warm. The 10th day - I heard a story that, in my turn I’ll tell you before forgetting it totally. It is an young man, an Inuit, who lives here since childhood and that we often see upstairs. It has a name I cannot repeat as its pronunciation is difficult. It is an young man, an Inuit, to which one has to announce the inexpressible one but without knowing how to go about it. He, he smiles, in his ignorance of the facts, he smiles, from above of his 24 years, from above of his absolute loneliness. The 11th day - One said to me to go down, to turn left then left again before going straight past the drink machine. There, the point was rather simple: Take the red elevator, the smallest one, and press the key SS, fly straight through the low-ceilinged corridor, between piping and the electric cables. Put back together the wheels and the circuits in their exodus, become the chip, the essential component, the transmitter of information. The 12th day - How long has Laure been going out to buy corn, unless it was some tubes of condensed milk? The calendar became nonsensical, and it could be that I hang it upside down, that would not change anything. My neighbors disappeared and Laure never came back. The 13th day - I track down my bookmarks, when a very fine dust tore itself from the book, followed by the tip of my finger. The star ran a short distance, before drawing a clear vertical and, with a sine curve, flown away by the ray of freedom delivered by the half-opened window. I looked at it again into the air, elegant sister of dust and giving up the search, I resumed the epilogue of my book without worrying about finding the bookmark. The 14th day - From the morning I suffer from migraines, one says to me to be looked after, to be scanned and to drink water in sufficient amount, so it is very exactly what I do. However, in the evening, I’m still holding my temples with both hands, listening to the arterial tom-tom that reminds me to life. I write in my large notebook of the incidences: “Problem of connection = Think to press reset” The 15th day - The small window blind since yesterday, I feel one’s way in my apartment, hitting the slightest hillock which leaves me in a great state of exhaustion. So I made the wise decision to give myself totally to the good resolutions prescribed... Tell me where to plug in and leave me alone... Prolog - We apologize for this short interruption of programs and are assured that Exelon TV crews make every effort to select a new candidate. Read Less
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