Emotion or state of mind? It is necessary to know how to appreciate boredom, it is the appropriate moment to get out of oneself and to discover the other. Take advantage of its uncertainty, of a slight confusion, or of a lack of taste for anything in particular to take its time to the bliss, the contemplation of various things and people around. Generally, we are calm and relaxed, more able to experience surprises. The interplay between the absence of activity and languor allows us to make the link between mind and body and to achieve a certain unity. In the refusal of boredom, which is regularly the case, we maintain ourselves in a bodily and intellectual frenzy which is not always fruitful, especially which exhausts the resources of our person. From there, we could ask ourselves if the disgust comes from an inactivity or from an excess of occupation. If there is disgust, it is because there is no appetite for anything. But when do we find what we enjoy practicing if not when the time comes to ask ourselves about it? That is, while we are bored.


By some miracle of everyday life, tidying up perhaps, I came face to face with this half-serious, half-mocking being. Strangely, I feel like I have (finally) found my beloved image in the objects that surround me. White smile of the slumbering vampire and half closed hazel eyes behind glasses in the same tone. And in the background a translucent and opaque surface… Any coincidence or resemblance with a real person can only be fortuitous… In this case, narcissism does not necessarily produce a perfect image of my person, however symmetrical. It creates a reflection, returns an echo, answers or takes the shape of usual objects… Taste does not seem to take part in this masquerade, possibly, disgust… Frantic search of oneself in any element of the world, of a small quite personal world. The inability to reach out to the unknown, to rediscover the familiar, but only an obsession with the same, an identical reproduction of a self that I have trouble identifying. The only accepted otherness is this mirror image, this other who has no other choice than to be myself. And who has no other freedom than to disappear in a light wave, in the completion of its repetition, in the finitude of its response. Only taste escapes this confinement. On the contrary, it does not disappear, it is not satisfied, even at the risk of swelling… a mise en abyme of an infinite bottom… a provisional joy, a lightness, in a state of suspension or fall in slow motion in an interiority as deep as unfathomable, an exhilaration, heaviness. The eye is curious, even inquisitive, helped by glasses of correction so much it scrutinizes. The tooth a little carnivorous, before becoming bloody, for having incised – with delicacy and pleasure – the flesh which gave itself to it. Yes… here is a fantasized image of a being avid of sensations, of emotions, to escape from an ordinary, alas for too known, his own, so much admired… paradoxical relation between me-like and indifferent…

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