Traverser noir

"we held each other's hand to move forward in the dark
contact, the skin of things, contour, without distance, to touch the
moment (or to be touched, blind)
we delicately massage the anguish
a filter that disorientates: night falls, we advance in time, a path
is made, it is a hole, we fall, we make the world fall inside, there
is emptiness, the dust of emptiness, the face of nothingness , the
mute matter of things
nothing comes, there is no form, no genre, no magic formula: just move on
grains of dust are our real landmarks
we cannot see anything and it is our way of feeling
we were able to begin because beginning is problematic
all this supposes a fragility: the main thing was to take care of the
relationship, of the distance
this well-known trick of digging, attentive to the lines, to the
nuances, to the grain of the voice, to the grain of the tight rope.
a collection of pebbles on the beach, waiting to become grains of sand
the waves, already there, before we realize it

a whole intimate geography of the thresholds of perception
to write with both ear and body immersed
not what we want to say but how it works, it binds, it clusters in chaos

everything was there (palpably)."