Author Archives: proverrance

About proverrance

incorrigible dreamer

Pie or cake? (IRL)

“Why do I find Karl Marx so beautiful ever since I’m in love with you? I mean, his ideas about society.”

“And I find capitalism less awful.”

“See, we don’t have to be alike, do we?”

“Maybe that’s why we’re here. To complete each other’s choice.”


the body

I often feel so small and light that my existence doesn’t count much and I can go unnoticed or even disappear without having any effect on this world. Nevertheless, I’m still a body; I still eat, urinate, occupy a residential unit, and have my identity registered by all kinds of authorities. I may feel dead, but my physical body keeps functioning. Dying is not that easy. I have to deal with this cumbersome thing which is the body. And as humans we have built a whole culture around death (that is essentially for the livings). It’s as if you could never escape.

until when

So here it is, the end of summer. An entire three months of love with two people whom I treasure the most and who keep giving me reason to stay alive, even sometimes against my will. Going back to life in France and seeing people again feel less like a burden now. It’s not that I’ve regained the taste of casual company. But I’ve managed to shelter myself from the exasperation that it may cause me.

I wonder how long this feeling will last. How long I can be okay. Because I need to be okay – not that I desperately want to be ‘cured’ or to be normal, but it’s exhausting to go through a breakdown, and I don’t know how much longer I can still endure that, how many breakdowns I have left until I completely give in, and fade. The truth is sometimes I do want to live, when I think about our future with all the things that I want to share with you and the life that we would have together. But I’m tired, I’m just so tired. I’ve never been a driven person, I always leave the battle to other people. So how can I strive to find myself a place in this world, which involves competing and calculating for the sake of self-seeking?

The only thing I ever fought for so vehemently, that I though I’d never quit, turned out not to be even a thing. It has drained me. I can feel my faith crumble to the point of irreparability. I might not be unhappy anymore, but now there’s a cynicism lurking beneath every positive feeling I have. I’ve given myself this summer doing purposeless things. I thought that maybe when I finished those books, I would be healed. Now I realize that there will never be a deadline for healing. My best friend needed two years to ‘get over’ her story. But she didn’t set out to do it; it just happened. So I feel better now, I might actually am, but I also might not. I can only keep going about my days and see what happens. Until when, until when.


J’attends mon amie à la sortie du métro. Le vent humide et légèrement glacial traverse mes cheveux. Je m’assieds sur un bord de mur et reprends ma lecture. Il s’agit d’un recueil de nouvelles de Le Clézio, mon auteur préféré. Des “faits divers” transformés en récits poétiques et brûlants sur des vies en fuite. Je m’évade tout de suite vers des terres lointaines, dénudées et abandonnées. Le temps de la lecture rallonge ainsi la “vraie” durée de mon attente.

Depuis que je suis arrivée à P., j’ai appris à lire dans n’importe quel endroit et à n’importe quel moment. Souvent, mes temps de lecture correspondaient à mes temps d’attente. Souvent, j’attendais une seule chose. Et souvent, j’attendais devant les entrées du métro. Alors, aujourd’hui, quand j’attends mon amie, je me sens emportée vers un autre espace-temps (au sens anthropologique du terme), et plus spécifiquement, vers la ville que je viens de quitter. J’ai l’impression d’attendre la même chose que j’ai attendue tant de fois là-bas. Désormais, peu importe où je suis, ce sera mon unique objet d’attente. Et je tarde à quitter le livre des yeux, à mettre fin à mon attente, afin de rester dans cet univers où ce sera toujours toi que je voir arriver lorsque je lève la tête.

the salvation

A magpie walks on a balcony railing on fifth floor. Then it flies to a tree from the garden below. When it sets off, it just lets itself drop into the air. It gets absorbed into the leafy branches, then all of a sudden the bird spreads its wings and soars up to the top of the tree. The whole scene happens within a second. Then I think that is how I would like to kill myself. A suicide that does not end with death. Because I do not want to live until I cannot. And so I have to do it; I have to set out to die in order to regret it. But as soon as I embark on the journey towards death, right when I leave the wall, the balcony, the window, the rooftop, or whatever it is that still keeps me alive, a pair of wings will be released from my body and bring me back.

le monde bidimensionnel

Les cartes ont toujours servi d’un outil d’administration. Elles relèvent donc d’un ordre hégémonique. Ce qu’elles représentent, c’est plus le regard humain qui ordonne le monde en dressant les frontières administratives et politiques, qu’une réalité géographique et sociale telle qu’elle est vécue par ceux qui habitent ces territoires.

Outil de conquête pour les uns, les cartes peuvent cependant être un support de rêverie pour les autres: elles permettent aux âmes aventureuses de s’affranchir des limites imposées par leur existence physique. Cet usage poétique et non instrumental, au final, exprime un esprit de résistance au pouvoir que les cartes cherchent à exercer en premier lieu.

– quelques réflexions à l’issue de l’exposition Toulouse en vue(s) (11/09/2015 – 10/01/2016)