THE END OF THE IMAGE
1993 – 1995
One way or another I had to eventually make true my claim to finish, my obsession with closing. This became The End Of The Image. There is nothing more common than the words of a language used by all those who speak the same language. Yet, at the same time, those words are unique, like the dialogue that continues beyond the first flesh given to us. Those last images are whispered words, cryptic formulae that conceal tremendous evidence, indecencies. The skins and bodies are no longer the skin and body of any particular child, they are the skins and bodies of our lost childhoods. A big, unique body unfolding infinitely. The very childhood of life, the source of all nostalgia.
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You hide the world from me
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Like a wolf dying on a bed of budding flowers
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You cannot lie to this degree
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Like the Christmas of a child, piles of inexhaustible pleasures
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Light-years from you
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Like getting water in your eyes
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I have been loved
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Still possible
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How lovely a child’s tempest!
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What she has done with me alone, I have done with a thousand
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Time went by in all directions at once
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As if, opening a door, you'd find your double awaiting you
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The door of paradise has been opened for you, you can’t but believe in it
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Like breaking into a shop of toys
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Like some inconceivable return
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As if by fire that first purity
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It means undertaking too far away a trip
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Last hyphen, last indulgence
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The modest cover of the truth
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We should have left in time
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You, frigid image
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It was enough to stop, to step down…
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The fair days will return
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I lift the veil
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The purest actuality in the world
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The words have left the flesh, to reunite them
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“Mon petit chéri” drifts in the void, so many imperfect models have covered the original
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Neither angel nor ogre, but as ill fortune will have it...
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You cannot get over the fact that it should come to an end
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At last one could bathe twice in Heraclitus's river
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Like a ride on a merry-go-round: what utter bliss
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No more distance
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Suddenly, the beckoning of the bright lights, the sharp contrasts
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The table is set, the meal is served!
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To yield to temptation is still to learn
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A still surface, smiling
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Sweet cannibalism
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An image feast!
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The same always, and always different
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To sneak past time's watchful gaze, quietly steal away
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You are the gingercake alphabet hiding the words
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A finger quickly dipped into hot water
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A bit more upstream, a bit more downstream… there.
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An absolutely honest, pure, and objective desire to know
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A ribbon briefly waved from a passing star
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Why doesn’t the wreckage of happiness matter more?
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The proudness to have dared, to have chosen the best part
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An inexhaustible well of gratitude
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Everything for a kiss, and life thrown in
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The end