my dreams look like watercolors
distilled scenes from a future life- order et beauté
luxe, calm et volupté
domesticity, everyday life
blonde locks, everywhere, in a crib, in my bed
maybe a furry friend of two
and organic vegetables deliveries
and an electric car in the driveway
and her, her, her
but here here here
on a path sizzling near the abyss
oh so intriguing and tantalizing
because why not jumping and falling if this path isn’t going anywhere?
if there’s no blond locks? no organic deliveries? no electric car?
I like to think I’d rather die
in the same thought I miss the others
and crying in my sleep, I pray
all I ever want is
(to have it all figure out)
I find it funny how people react to my little exile- all of them, always, surprised by the ambition, bluffed by the courage to go by myself…
and then I wish whoring the internets wasn’t such a valid occupation nowadays because all the lives of these others, displayed more or less perfectly through the screen, makes it hard to come to terms with our own decisions-
makes it hard to see the courageous and the ambition
it just shows all the voids we should attempt to fill
I still wonder what would have happened if my 13 years old self was still following best-friend-of-these-days
maybe she is, somewhere- I wonder if she’s happy
(but I know I will)
So happy to share my last project, ‘I Feel Love’ by N U I T!
Réalisation, DP, editing : Camille Cotteverte / Colorgrading, FX : Cédric Rolando (Graphistman.com)
Featuring Ash Lendzion
So U See I Productions - souseeiproductions.com
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Blog prints- ‘dear printed reading material, thanks for having an end. The internet doesn’t have one so I never know when to stop’ (thxthxthx.com).
I am not sure as of now about the ‘landing smoothly’ part but.. yes.
you know what’s the worst about opening up?
meeting nothing; like, we never really think of that when reaching out, that it might be met with nothing
I have this problem a lot, here, in LA- I don’t know if it’s me because I’m French and them because they’re Americans, or if it’s just me (but the first option is way less scary)
and it hurts to be met with nothing, because then you have no option but to retract, and fast, before the entire thing rips you open from the crack you let them see
I hate this feeling
but I love what it makes me do
I reveal in the feeling
it sucks and I’ll cry a little before I fall asleep but I guess I learned something else, that I already knew- don’t be so quick dreaming about things, a little, yes, but you always go too far
so my only option is to come back, make a clean cut, and move on… to the next one.
(geeze, another one for you, letting go of things)
this whole ‘share your facebook movie’ that recounts all your time on the social network scares the shit out of me
(they might not be the worst but they’re the ones feeling the most like Big Brother. 1984 anyone?)
I have a blog somewhere on the internet that is not really accessible anymore
like a testimony of ‘the life before’
like a journal, really. I wonder if there’s a way to print it, somewhere, because I should keep it, all of it
because now I know. Gosh, how miserable can we be?
it’s like two years- very intense years where 286 posts are going strong
(and I found a website that can make a book out of it. I’m gonna call it ‘Ma vie d’avant’. It also means I can delete this part of the internet now)
Looks like I need a place to vent…
Why is it that everybody seems so clinically depressed in France?
I mean not everybody everybody, obviously the President should be happy after snatching up the really pretty Julie G (my geeky and slightly college dude side is super close to saying ‘Good Game!’).
But for the rest?
Every words I hear from France is tainted with cold, and grey, and, to put it in a big word, depression.
And here I am, waking up to the sound of ‘Happy’ by Pharrell and almost dancing my way to the gym.
And when the emails come…. news from France. Where people are at. How what I do here, what I film and put through images and sounds doesn’t resonate a bit for them- like, yeah, some parts are pretty, but it doesn’t really speak to us.
And then the immutable ‘but keep going, it’s important’. Patronizing much?
I know what I should expect- I’m the youngest, so oh well, but how can I not want to detach myself from all of that? Can I not answer? Bury my head in the sand until Springs comes to them?
This mess of words, expressing all the heartache that life brings, and is it because I’m young? Because somehow I haven’t forgotten to hope yet?
Or is it the Californian sun that allows me not to be so depressed like my peers?
France you scare me, so much- I’ll always look over my shoulder, waiting for you to swallow me in the same mal-être you cover everyone else.
As in- you’ll always be a part of me. Does it mean I have to be so damn unhappy?
Allow me a big ‘let’s hope not’.