Diego libre dans sa tête (avatar)

Diego libre dans sa tête

Je dessine, écris, range mon appart, et fais du sport

Abonné·e de Mediapart

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Billet de blog 18 mai 2024

Diego libre dans sa tête (avatar)

Diego libre dans sa tête

Je dessine, écris, range mon appart, et fais du sport

Abonné·e de Mediapart

For Mediapart's crew

I remember reading Georges Perec’s educated fantasies, and watching Fargo, also I remember living in Paris bubble for countless years, and not facing a neo-Nazi nor a duck or a forest tree ever. Today, in my suburban rejuvenescence, I’ve learned to speak loud and clear. I’ve learned to live among the others. I believe in unity. I’m not sure about politics anymore.

Diego libre dans sa tête (avatar)

Diego libre dans sa tête

Je dessine, écris, range mon appart, et fais du sport

Abonné·e de Mediapart

Ce blog est personnel, la rédaction n’est pas à l’origine de ses contenus.

Illustration 1
Ourselves © Diego Montes

So, let’s BE creative. Let’s forget about the midi keyboard I have in front of me, and put aside the memory of my murdered mother, my distant loving son – but kilometers and frontiers are nothing, absolutely nothing in front of our mutual understanding, and my yesterday’s injection. 
I have trouble breathing, but I’m not willing to attack Marlboro in court until the planet schedules a common complaint. I’d like to see the tobacco industry stripped of its last Dollar bill. And marijuana at least legalized (remember I live in France? Where the saying goes that?). 
Impetus, sisters and brothers of the Mediapart galaxy; real, radical leftist politics haven’t, in my opinion, ever been put in place in France since Léon Blum, but in the form of a hypocrite dusting (thus the cacophony). I remember sharing a glass of wine at Montmartre, at Pierrot’s, with Olivier Besancenot some 20, maybe 30 years ago. And I remember his recent involvement in Mediapart’s studios, his alarm. A fraternal hug to him. Cheers.


I remember reading Georges Perec’s educated fantasies, and watching Fargo, also I remember living in Paris bubble for countless years, and not facing a neo-Nazi nor a duck or a forest tree ever. Today, in my suburban rejuvenescence, I’ve learned to speak loud and clear. I’ve learned to live among the others. I believe in unity. I’m not sure about politics anymore. I’m sure my knowledge isn’t anything but a timid sprout, and I know are coming loads of difficult confrontations. 


I cry because of some deaths. 


I continue my prose. 


I’m writing on a Mediapart blog. Which is mine. But they host it. So, thank you. Have you ever read Hemingway’s The Old Man and The Sea? 
A practical bonus that I have when they inject me with risperidone, is that I can go as crazy, insane, artificial… wacky as I want. And no one at the airport, where I’ll never step foot again, will arrest me for insult, when everybody knows Leonard Cohen.
I’ll call a fridge,
Have no beer,
Gouvernement de merde. Historique. Macronie de même.  

Ce blog est personnel, la rédaction n’est pas à l’origine de ses contenus.