Travel and gaze at the foggy sea
…Take a pencil, a keyboard, a notebook, a paper towel, whatever is in your hand in that febrile moment when you draw, intimately and instantly, what moves you when you leave… No, not leaving. When you go, from one place to another. When your soul takes roots or explodes. Or both. And finds its silences, the detours of who you are, fleeting, mutable and endless in the winds. And takes the freedom to be blue of the wild sea one day and red of the dry earth the next.
…Take a pen-holder, a Minitel, a scroll, a kitchen towel, what is trendy or your desire, and tell you, me, us, those sparks transforming us, those realities hurting us, those heights transcending us, those butterflies transmuting us.
…Take a pen, a typewriter, a diary, a bath towel, what is as quick as your mind and sing in a few words, in a brief sentence, worlds hidden in a tree, a person, an ocean or an isle… Those places piercing you, yours only for a fleeting moment because your backpack or your whole soul decide to settle there. For one second. For an entire life.
Or at least try…
To my English readers
I must warn you that the English version of the blog will be a bit behind for a while. I have lots of French material to translate and because my upcoming travels will be more intense, if the present will always be in time, past will take a bit longer to rebuild on my white screen and it might be quite messy for a little while. I hope you will understand and enjoy nonetheless… Justine
Unexpected Immobility #2
In a few days, our shared and fleeting wor(l)ds will celebrate their first summer and, yet, I am more and more absent from both your email box and our universal web’s immaterial pages. The rumor has it, I have been hammering for weeks; despite my tendency to drift between here and there, I write with, on and about other materials… it takes a snail’s time to draw, to meander, to turn but I enjoy as long as I get lost in eternity; oblivious space is limited by time.
All committed to my wordsmith job, what may I promise in the meanwhile? What will I give you to bite on so you would forgive my inconsistent absences and my irregular poetry?
I might start for real, with words and pictures as proof of my good will. This month again, I have the huge privilege to travel to my favorite Indigo planet: INDIBLOG. I tell there my two weeks spent through Aude’s vineyards alleys talking with grapes and leaves.
Then what? I may tell that with summer coming and freedom to travel (almost) entirely recovered, I have suspended journeys to our Neverlands, waiting for new excuses to meet them again. I have prefered to keep my immobile meanders for myself as well. However, I wish to sprinkle my summer with some escapades in Cathar Lands, that will probably spread on your screens over here from time to time.
I hope it will be enough for now, that you will get your own summer adventures and you will forgive my infidelities… I then leave you here, snapped up by my imaginations’ Sirocco, tapping sweet joys to fill up both your thought and July.
They called me Mousseigne like you would write a poem.
They called me Mousseigne but I was only bohemia.
They wanted me to believe I was leading the way through blossoming grapes ranges. They wanted me to believe I was the mistress of this tidy vine whose fruit filling up my balloon glass for unforgettable nights was the only thing I had ever known. They wanted me, and after all was it a crime, to dream of other times. … More Summer Bacchanals
Silence. Emptiness. Gone. Then they are gone. And I stay. It has been such a long time since I have been the one staying. Silence. Emptiness. Melancholia. Oh, this weight on my stomach, I know it so well. It reminds me of other departures, of other absences. It is so hard to be the one… Read more
Work in progress! Lost in Translation… Sorry for the delay.
Sun of fog – Nacre – Blue Jay – Confused – Beautiful City – Lonely Highlands – Place of Hopes – The Lady of the Lakes – Hazy Island – Colors of the Wind – Another hanging spring – Dubliner
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