Those difficult times | Guy Verville
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Those difficult times

Modifié le : 2019/07/13

Le ventilateur, au plafond, turbine à fond. Une musique technodouce semble l’alimenter. Dehors, l’orage gronde. C’est le deuxième de la journée en autant d’heures.. Le ciel s’assombrit. Il pleuvra bientôt un nouveau déluge.

Nos jours modernes n’y échappent pas. La violence rougit les écrans, la furie de Pokémon entre dans la danse parmi les mitraillettes. Tout le monde dans la rue, mais pas pour les mêmes raisons. Les dictateurs fourbissent leurs mégaphones, bien assis sur les coussins d’une démocratie libertaire. Des groupes rocks deviennent belliqueux afin de protester contre les belliqueux, les intellectuels sourcillent, se grattent la tête ou la peau, tant l’inconfort des peuples les dérange. Les gens sont tristes, ils sont pauvres, des milliardaires disent être en colère pour eux. Quoi d’autre encore ?

Mon vieux père me dirait qu’il y a là rien de neuf sous le soleil. Bouddha, lui, ne ferait que me sourire de ses lèvres si horizontales qu’on ne sait si elles sont amères ou sucrées.

The fan, on the ceiling, the turbine at full speed. A piece of soft techno music seems to feed him. Outside, the storm is roaring. It’s the second of the day in as many hours… The sky is darkening. It will soon rain another flood.

Our modern days are no exception. Violence blushed the screens, Pokémon’s fury entered the dance among the machine guns. Everyone on the street, but not for the same reasons. Dictators swirl their megaphones around, sitting on the cushions of libertarian democracy. Rock groups become belligerent to protest against the belligerents, intellectuals blink, scratch their heads or their skin, so much the discomfort of the peoples disturbs them. People are sad, they are poor, billionaires say they are angry for them. What else?

My old man would tell me there’s nothing new in the sun. Buddha, on the other hand, would only smile at me with his lips so horizontal that we don’t know if they are bitter or sweet.

Then the peoples, the journalists, the hallucinated of God rely on fate and prayers as if everything that happens must happen, as if everything that happens is already the nth time the wheel turns, as if our hopes are only the nervous steam of lava dying of cold.

These are difficult times. Should I say so or should I attach an exclamation or question mark to it?

I can’t say too much, as I always do, even if I manage to embroider all these very personal sentences. At the beginning of this text, I was going to talk about the weather once again, after watching a profound documentary, The End of Time. Times are difficult, of course, but time is also a mystery. We are only the perception of this world. I encourage you to watch this long film, which goes a little in all directions, but which still has the quality to take us in all these directions…

Trailer: The End of Time (2012) from Grimthorpe Film on Vimeo.

Available on Netflix.


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