Dear reader, readers should I even say the views of your number that swells as fast * as the face of Regina, have you ever had an epiphany? Not
course, you're not Bernadette Soubirous. I figure you either. I do not like things that appear as the obvious, it inspires me that mistrust. I tend to doubt my claim of partisan, that great enemy that opens many doors yet. It too is wary of the doubt and less obvious. That's why policies are what they are ... but it does not matter.
At ten o'clock in the morning, the first book I sold was called Henry and its author was neither more nor less than Francois Bayrou. It's pretty crazy to imagine that this great Dadet a questionable aerodynamics wrote in his youth history books, even crazier to imagine that someone purchases a day. That day has come. Later I did "beep" with the barcode from a bunch of books to return them to their dealers, I played the cashier at the same time I discovered the names of authors until then unknown titles improbable, blankets cheesy. Later still, because yes it is a fatality, le temps passe, j’ai rangé tout le rayon BD, reclassé tout ce bordel par ordre alphabétique parce que c’était un vrai bronx. Ca piquait les yeux, parce que les BD ne sont jamais du même format, jamais de la même couleur, jamais la tranche imprimée dans le même sens, parfois le nom de l’auteur caché dans un recoin obscur à cause d’un maquettiste fou. J’y ai trouvé des trésors, comme une édition américaine de Tank Girl que même LA librairie spécialisée en bandes-dessinées de Lyon avait été incapable de me dégotter, ou une autre qui s’appelle Jésus la terreur des zombies, et rien que pour ça j’ai eu un vieux silly smile to the face veneer throughout the day. And when I was doing shit, I strolled up watching all these slices of trees torn from their native Amazonia, ground into pulp, and spread to the pages. I felt both as a tiny dung ignarde, and at the same time the power was within my reach.
That the evidence of the day. For once in my life, I project myself in a professional future other than Cut nougat to Never Land, trainer of the Wild in Patagonia or seller of lubricant in Sodom.
I will let you enjoy my fun with François Bayrou, and wish you a future as casse-gueule que le mien.
* non je mens en vérité
course, you're not Bernadette Soubirous. I figure you either. I do not like things that appear as the obvious, it inspires me that mistrust. I tend to doubt my claim of partisan, that great enemy that opens many doors yet. It too is wary of the doubt and less obvious. That's why policies are what they are ... but it does not matter.
At ten o'clock in the morning, the first book I sold was called Henry and its author was neither more nor less than Francois Bayrou. It's pretty crazy to imagine that this great Dadet a questionable aerodynamics wrote in his youth history books, even crazier to imagine that someone purchases a day. That day has come. Later I did "beep" with the barcode from a bunch of books to return them to their dealers, I played the cashier at the same time I discovered the names of authors until then unknown titles improbable, blankets cheesy. Later still, because yes it is a fatality, le temps passe, j’ai rangé tout le rayon BD, reclassé tout ce bordel par ordre alphabétique parce que c’était un vrai bronx. Ca piquait les yeux, parce que les BD ne sont jamais du même format, jamais de la même couleur, jamais la tranche imprimée dans le même sens, parfois le nom de l’auteur caché dans un recoin obscur à cause d’un maquettiste fou. J’y ai trouvé des trésors, comme une édition américaine de Tank Girl que même LA librairie spécialisée en bandes-dessinées de Lyon avait été incapable de me dégotter, ou une autre qui s’appelle Jésus la terreur des zombies, et rien que pour ça j’ai eu un vieux silly smile to the face veneer throughout the day. And when I was doing shit, I strolled up watching all these slices of trees torn from their native Amazonia, ground into pulp, and spread to the pages. I felt both as a tiny dung ignarde, and at the same time the power was within my reach.
That the evidence of the day. For once in my life, I project myself in a professional future other than Cut nougat to Never Land, trainer of the Wild in Patagonia or seller of lubricant in Sodom.
I will let you enjoy my fun with François Bayrou, and wish you a future as casse-gueule que le mien.
* non je mens en vérité
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