OLD – a little philosophy …



“it was the beginning of an exceptionally hot spring, the mating season had started …


6. the Lake of Warfaaz, avril 2015

From the first beautiful days of spring, I took Haruka to the Lake of Warfaaz to prepare her for what I had imagined doing with her by showing her how the duck male courted the duck female, how it first circled around of her by depositing small stones to seduce her before covering her, and the female who looked at this beads without flinching, I needed that to ask her the capital question without saying anything to her, the gravity of the situation required it, of course, the smart girl quickly understood, I felt that it was coming, the image was strong and coherent enough for her to attach herself to me and take my business to heart.

It was the beginning of an exceptionally hot spring, the mating season had started, around noon, I suggested that we go down to the pond in my garden of Eden to observe the tiny frogs as black as ebony who lose their eggs under the eager eye of the fevered raptors of the Wayai, quetcha quetchi, quetcha quetchi, she agrees of course, but she would like to go there in Eve’s costume, my surprise is total, she finds it very natural, there is no what to make of it a metaphysical question, and she quietly asks me to do the same, I’m stunned, what ? get naked ? me too ?

Oh no, nothing sexual in there, no question for her to fuck with this old painter who was the lover of her young mother, who could have been her grandfather, but he will be able to touch her in the evening, to massage her, to fondle her, little melodious work without sin, without going as far as, just what it takes for our minimum need for carnal contact, it will surely put blood in my wounds and poison in my prick, but too bad, she will let me do, she also will behappy in her own way, all this while keeping her calm, impenetrable air, icon of purity, candor and placidity, a certain way of looking at me without thirst and without fever, with a look in the state pure that expresses no nuance of feeling, no expectation or astonishment, a kind of light source, lit like embers, with eyes sharp as knife blades to cut, not to express, yes, that’s it, to peel “à la Spinoza” with ruthless lucidity.

(extract from “Five years of philosophy in the workshop, p.15 -16)