Im so delighted you’ve been reading without any impatience what I write.
The question to ask is upon the border : who am I, or what am I experiencing, is it related to the texts I write ?
If I would answer this question, I would be underneath my expectations. I will never give any detail that would make the reader confident with me being “read” by some unknown or, at the opposite, familiar person.
Sorry about that but I am a nobody pretending to summer the whole akward feeling to be alive when everything is dead.
So my answer is Time. And Im faithfully holding myself to the traditional schedule :
You will read me again, if you will, next Christmas, time where loneliness is supposed to be a humanist gesture.
See you then on the 26th of December. In the meantime I hope the Gods are gonna be sweet with you.
Adieu (au sens propre), advienne. Et merci encore.