HOMELESS SWEET HOMELESS
Bottle, where are you…come to me…let me taste you, get you into me…I need you to burn my throat…down to me…I need to eat, eat. Days without food, I m starving…I must find a restaurant…oh fuck a garbage bin should be fine….bottle stay with me…
Oh what is …thorns, oh no my skin…sweating like a pig, what s happening…oh please bottle come to rescue me…I m floating…that’s smell…is it shit or blood…and my skin, infected…people around me, what are they looking at…me, do they see something, me, me, me…why me…oh…I m tired…money, food alcohol…I should stop all that, blade, I need a blade.. rip my veins out…my lovely bottle come to me…
Another day, same shit…beg, money, food…shit…fuck them…not gonna ask them money…sleep, again, it s cold, cold…my bones are freezing…and this noise…fucking crap listening music and drinking …when was the last time, what have I done…under this bridge
Train, train , train…humans , all sorts…short, fat, tall, stupid, nicely dress…drinking coffee, eating croissants…pigs…drink, cigarette…oops a cig leftover…maybe I ll smoke that…might kill time before food…stomach in pain, garbage…eh eh mister garbage cleaner don’t take my food away…you don t know…let me tell you something, some people eat others garbage…I do.
Another…taste good
Music…that small thing…what is that…found it at the bus stop…at least some music sometimes…plugs in my ears…my brain was leaking out…I use to listen music, but I don t know what is that ! Noise, rage…clam down where are all gonna die in silence…everyone will forget us and what we were…maybe someone will remember something small, a tiny bit of hope…something which was said one day in a bar drinking…I ve been drinking all this time…again and again…with you and with you and with you and with you, who are you…come out of my head, you are polluting me.
Us…no me, here…it s cold.
It was an agitated night, champagne, thoughts, coldness, stupidity…I ve been trying to run away but everytime I was getting harder and harder! Et me voila la perdu le corps branlant et le pensees muettes, au milieu de mon monde. Oo mother died, got a phone call...trying to get a ticket, this guy...for e penny got killed by me...then his brothers willing to get me...and it s cold here, give me my bottle...fingers are blue, down my throat it s a flood of burning tears...on the ground to sleep again
Then a box, for me…my winterhouse, I will get protected now…maybe I will not die this winter…very luxurious and only for me…mirror on the outer skin, translucent glass inner skin with a extruded carbon structure…waw tires and hand…my home to travel, can stop everywhere and sleep, maybe now I ll be the freak everyone avoid to see…now they will see not only me but themselves looking at me, will they look at me anymore?
And a bit more of alcohol, need to eat now, net to get clean as well….can t enter my new house that dirty…for how long ? will it disappear after winter ? is there any summer version ? am I the only one ?
It s cold…freezing…must get warmer…
And people shopping…what is that for…I always forgot what it is to have someone to care for…gifts, kisses…come to me bottle
So comfortable in my box, I ve been traveling a lot today,…I m the curiousity in the street…slept inside for the first time…warmer than the ground…feel like at home, didn tmet anyone else with the same box…it was shinny today…I was really happy, I was even more brighter than the sun…and people looking at me….i ll suspect some of them to want to steal my house…bastards.
Walking with my house…so good, a reason to live…a house…just mine…no toilet, no bathroom, no kitchen…nothing at all…just my box and me…a new life… 2200x1200x2200 of happiness, for my happiness…
I need to eat now…as usual restaurants left over and public dirty toilet to shit and my bottle of alcohol…someday the scalpel I stole is whispering me…and me, use me, I want to taste your blood, I want to let you feel how cold I am…please play with me, help me, please play with me or let someone else have that pleasure…my hand in my pocket to get the alcohol….i need to get rid of these thoughts…I drink more and more…
I m in my box, alone with my bottle…my scalpel in my hand.
Another day with my box, me, my scalpel and my bottle…again and again every day the same again and again…and these mirrors I can t watch them…me fragmented, multiples of me…one is more than enough. I can see myself millions of time…I need to puke…falling asleep in my shit…hope tomorrow will bring me something else.
Je n arrête plus de voyager, je tire ma maison, je suis une attraction au milieu de ce cirque...je suis enchaine a cette chose, je suis un animal en cage, cage de verre mais cage...je m enferme pour echapper aux regards, je m enferme pour retrouver un peu de dignite, je m enferme pour pleurer....heureusement de l exterieur rien qu un reflet des passions et desespoirs, une image figee dans la memoire...un souvenir qui disparait, une seconde qui s eteint...je ne ais plus combien de seconde se sont eteintes pour moi, j ai arreter de compter...
Please use me, please use me, please use me, please use me…over and over again…my head is just a big windmill…the same wind, the same voice.
Et je me vide de ma substance, mon etre se repands dans ma boite, bientot il ne subsistera plus que un souvenir de ma presence...tout au plus mon sang sera la preuve de mon existence...un coup de balai et voila ma propriete au main d un autre. Ma boite a un autre...non, je rangeai mon scalpel dans ma poche et approchai ma bouteille de ma bouche. Mon univers se resume a ca...une boite, une bouteille et un scalpel...et la ville comme arriere plan de ma vie...je ne suis pas encore nature-morte mais ce n est qu une question de temps.
Les souvenirs viennent me hanter...aussitot la, aussitot ailleurs...mon esprit n est plus qu une poubelle, mes oreilles les orifices de cette decharge qu est ma personne...rien ne subsiste.
J avance, je tire cette boite, je cherche une place ou passer la nuit, m enfermer dans mon cirque et laisser le monde me contempler...moi le sans domicile fixe, la crainte de toutes ces bonnes gens.
It is quiet now...no noise at all...and this color everytime i m in it s green, everytime I m out it s red….will I see it red once in.
Je ne peux plus rien sentir, le silence, je ne veux plus...je veux pouvoir entendre le calme, le vide dans mon esprit, toute cette agitation au dehors...il me faut boire, il me faut user de mon scalpel...la lame brille, elle est tranchante...je la range dans ma poche...je bois un coup d alcool. Les bonnes ames existent encore dans ce foutu monde, des gens bien intentionnees...ceux qui vous donnent a boire plutot qu a manger, ceux qui pensent a leur bien plutot qu a becher dans le jardin du voisin...jesus est mort, son egoisme l a tue.
A boire...je suis sale, sale de mes pensees, sale de mes jours, je dois me laver...oter mes vetements, me mettre a nue...une plume dans mon cul ferai le plus grand effet, je pourrais enfin me pavaner, etre le plus beau.
Je m endors et espere...au dehors il fait froid, je suis ...je m enroule dnas mes couvertures, la salete m a rejoint la aussi...je n entends plus rien....je tant cherche ce silence.
So cold, i m freezing…the night is getting darker, tomorrow I will wake up in the same box….again, another day of traveling, how long will I travel? How many miles will I go?…I can still remember when this started…
Le sang s ecoule de ma chair, la decoupe est profonde…je plonge ma langue dans la plaie beante et y goute mon etre. Beat, hagard et heureux, je mords ma chair, le sang afflue, je sens mon corps se vider, je bois encore et encore...je ne vois plus mon bras, plus que une fontaine de sang, un distributeur de plaisira remplace ma langue. De ma chair jaillisse des gouttes qui s eclatent sur mon visage...je tombe...le sol m arrete, je me vide...
Dans le negatif de ma boite, je vois des yeux qui me scrutent...mon monde n est plus que oeil et je suis l animal de cirque, l homme mise a nu et ma boite est mon linceul ...tellement d invites a mes funerailles...des funerailles dignes d une poubelle...je n ai pas ecrit de testament...je n ai pas de dernieres volontes, oh oui la decharge publique, les restes humains, les entrailles du monde, la merde et moi...mon paradis...celui que m as promis jesus, peut etre y verrais je dieu, le mal denomme.
Mon ventre tiraillee par la faim, je tente de resister...il me faut manger...mendier pour manger...il fut un temps ou je mendiais pour boire...boire, encore, un peu plus, toujours plus, jusque ou, encore un coup...c etait bien mieux.
Ils veulent me voir, moi, hein avec leurs grands yeux.
Je tire et je cherche un nouvel endroit pour m attirer la complainte des yeux.