- Guided tour -

Publié le par Brad-Pitt Deuchfalh

Sometimes you don’t ask yourself the right question.
“July First two thousand five… July first two thousand five…”
If you could see me, for sure you would wonder what I am doing here stupidly repeating myself the date of today, sit like an idiot in my square meter of toilets with my butt stuck on the foamed toilet seat. The one who invented such a thing had to be quite cockeyed. When I look at the toilet seat it makes me think of the beard thing that some people put on the wheel of their car. That does not tell you why I'm repeating in a whisper July first two thousand five, like a prayer. But it shall come. Theoretically, as you're not here to see the scene, you're just gonna imagine it and - theoretically thus - it is at the end of the next paragraph that you will say yourselves “but what the hell is he doing into the toilets repeating the date of today stupidly? ” Then let's pass after. If you would please follow me.

This is here that everything happens. Into this cabin. The wallpaper with large flowers is undoubtedly vintage. I never knew anything but it. Lighting always was like this. Substandard. The pink toilet seat made with soft plastic confines cheap foam. Moreover is this really plastic? A kind of plastic let's say. It's hard for me to understand that mom did not seek to match it with the ashtray. It must have been beautiful at one time, this orange and white ashtray on foot. In the Seventies. It's funny these colors it has, a white which is not white any more, yellowed by smoke, by tobacco. An orange which makes me think of dad's fingers. Where his middle finger and his index meet to enclose his Gauloise without filter. Nut husk color. It's the odor of this precise cigarette that you could smell if you were here with me. But you are home and I am alone. Repeating myself the date of today. Question.
“July first two thousand five… July first two thousand five…”

Opening the toilets door, I immediately knew that it was dad who was coming out from there. The odor of his body. The heat. And I know that mom must have passed very quickly after him, just before me. But she did not stay for a long time. My father did. The air seems heavier than in the rest of the house, this is because of the absence of ventilation and of dad's cigarette. I override certain details and specify only one thing: nobody has pschitted marine scents spray for a long time. The metal odor it's mom who has her periods. The water in the toilets is still a bit red.
“July first two thousand five… July first two thousand five…”

I repeat myself the current date while thinking about things that occurred today and that I would like not to forget. Association process: one day I will wonder what happened on July first two thousand five and BLING everything will come back into my gull like a boomerang. Maybe. I hope so. I would like to remember these things all life long.

Question?




Visite guidée, translated by Valentina. Every correction, improvement, proofreading or subtleties are more than welcome. That's what the comments are for…If you're bilingual, a translator, an English teacher or simply very gifted in English, and if you wish to participate more actively to the translation of my texts, you can contact me by email (in French please!)

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