Monde de profusion, monde boulimique où les gens triquent sur la souffrance, l’agonie et le mensonge. L’abondance, nous éloigne et nourrit nos égos. On érige nos murs, on porte nos masques, laissant de côté l’authenticité. L’individu seul, peine à prendre sa place, peine à jouer sa carte. Souvent, il parle, mais personne n’écoute, quand il souffre tout le monde l’évite. Triste réalité souvent déniée. On l’évite, on le fuit par peur d’un mal contagieux.
Abandon injuste qui s’entre-tisse aux émotions vénéneuses et corrosives qui germent, une fois le trauma passé. Une maladie invisible qui peine à être dite, partagée et comprise. Le mot manque, l’écho du partage aussi. Dans ces moments creux, où le vide règne, la seule réponse est l’oubli. L’oubli de soi, l’oubli des autres, l’oubli de tout : l’oubli suprême. On prend le large, on cherche l’ivresse, la noyade éthylique. Dans cette quête sans récompense, la petite sirène n’existe pas.
Le dégoût prend sa part, le regret aussi, le reste s’effrite. La trame du temps nous oppresse, écrase nos fantasmes et nos rêves. L’avenir puant laisse place aux chimères.
World of profusion, bulimic world where people sort out suffering, agony and lies. Abundance drives us apart and feeds our egos. We put up our walls, we wear our masks, leaving authenticity behind. The lonely individual struggles to take his place, struggles to play his card. He often speaks, but no one listens; when he suffers, everyone avoids him. A sad reality often denied. We avoid him, we run away from him for fear of a contagious illness.
An unjust abandonment that intertwines with the poisonous, corrosive emotions that germinate once the trauma has passed. An invisible illness that struggles to be said, shared and understood. The word is missing, and so is the echo of sharing. In these hollow moments, when emptiness reigns, the only answer is oblivion. Forgetting oneself, forgetting others, forgetting everything: supreme oblivion. We take to the open sea, seeking intoxication, ethylic drowning. In this quest without reward, the Little Mermaid doesn't exist.
Disgust takes its toll, as does regret, and the rest crumbles away. The fabric of time oppresses us, crushing our fantasies and dreams. The stinking future gives way to chimeras.
Artwork Rokloup
Mix Jiggie
Master Lastrack
Text Guillaume
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