I remember that year, the crashing noise of the metallic door in the death's corridor closing in front of the impotent and amazed eyes of Mummiya Abdoul Jamal.


I remember that year, the beats of my heart merging with the deaf noises of the fists of Marvin Hagler acclaimed by the crowd one finale evening.


I remember that year when I let out my first note in front of the crazy public of a nursery wish gave me the impression to yell my name.

I remember that year on Stevie Wonder's tune springing up with me the conviction of a vocation...Do you imagine « less than one minute old » isn't it magnificent?

Strangely it's another year, more distant that returns to me, the one I see myself impatient on starting blocks taking along the departure on this detonation which went right through my skin,  to piercing me, making me aware of another departure which could have been imminent.

Anyway, I reassure you, I didn't cry...Besides like everyone that day, I don't know...Was it fear or courage, was I mature before age?


That day I got it all, except those incoherent smiles...<

Well in short better close the Benny Blanco's case that remains futile front of the unexpected departure of an imminence of naivety.

This banal tragic story of a person was at the wrong place at the wrong time.


This same impression wish seized me a few years ago when I arrived in the family cocoon.


I confess you that I still hold it against that asshole born in 1664 that only left me for memories behind him alcohol vapours whose my ancestor is apparently one of the heirs.


But thank you god, humanity is full of stories and characters which I could inherit through like literature or some mangas, with a special mention I admit to Ken The Survivor.
I just realized that I just mentioned Ken before telling you about my first love which was...?
NO! Eventually I know why...!
Ah yeah! I remember my first 18/20 grade in French, it was for me like a first music award and it will appear premonitory...


While writing I realize that I began the scene very early, well not as young as some singers that we know are saying in their biography that at age of 3 they were already singing with a comb in front of the mirror or their guests because my mirror was broken.
Well I am saying I didn't start that young but almost, in fact I remember earning 200 francs on stage at Bonneuil when I was 15 years old… ahhhhhhh ... Yeah That time we spoke in Francs!

Tell me didn't you notice a thing...? Each time you leave a place or an atmosphere that you like for a while, of course I am talking about that time that everybody knows, the confrontation... the direct one... with reality and the... drops by... the parlour...


You feel me right! That period where we become aware of what occurs in the hidden sides of life...

To finish… let's say that the tears of life feed drop by drop the flower at the end of our pen.

HO Soul


 

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