Today is a day when symbols have no signification attached to them anymore; they are just little anchors to the material world, a bit like the dots and comas of sentences. In my visual poetry, a cross has just attracted my eyes. It is possibly the capital letter of a word I am about to spell. I think nothing of christianity. Christianity , to me, is a burried body. A plastic straw is a burried body. A tree trunk is a burried body. My grand-parents are 4 burried bodies but my father was cremated and his ashes scattered on top of the mountain he cherished. Something was real though for me to be; I can not dispel all that exist around me and pretend things are dots and planes of color and light. I tell you now what was omnipresent and had the biggest impact on how I felt because I can not show it to you, not today at least : it was the rats rushing in the foliage on the side of the canal.
What you see in the picture is only half of the story. never forget that.

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