"In the end, each life is no more than the sum of contingent facts, a chronicle of chance intersections, of flukes, of random events that divulge nothing but their own lack of purpose."
Paul Auster, the New York Trilogy
Maybe life is a joke, maybe life is just a ludicrous trilogy, but I know for sure that I like the number 3 for a significant amount of time. 3 has the delicacy of chance, 3 is more subtle than 2 or 4, tripods are solid, three course meals are more warmfull than quick drinks, and when you reach step three you don't know how it's gonna end but you know an end is close, and it is a pleasant feeling. Since I din't say the end, but an end. Hence a kinda step.
Three facts. A trilogy of facts linked by the lack of purpose. Three facts wonderfully derisory, following only some kind of invisible logic that a human mind, in its narrow complexity, can surely not embrace... Let's be humble sometimes. Let's enjoy the hectic flow of real things. "The music of chance", that was a good title too, Mr Auster. Anyway, three facts, nonsensical, at first sight disconnected, and charming...
I've been working all day long, all night long. Something like 18 or 19 hours. I'm not even proud of it, I could not care less indeed, I just find it exhausting. I've done it before, in so many occasions, I've got nothing to prove in that respect, since it's quite easy to do so, you just need to keep focus. I simply had to achieve several things, and as Rebecca Rabbit would say : "It's not my fault, I've been drawn that way." I need to have a clear mind, clear files, clear papers, before I feel free of escaping. Going away. Flying away. So I've been working all day & all night, and I secretly kept the best part for the end. I decided I would do it when I've finished with the hard work or the boring tasks. I knew this tiny little thing would be done in two, no, three minutes, and I was smiling inside, the decision has already been taken at the back of my mind, I knew it. Well, I had to do it for a while, though. It was in the air. I cleared up everything, words, images, messages, letters, pens, and then at 6.27 AM or so I booked my plane ticket to New-York. Very few travel plans can make me happier than the thought of going back to New-York. It's a mysterious call, a special vibe, a familiar place that welcomes me with the same rythm and sound, every time. each and every time. It's been too long, more than three years. I was supposed to be there in springtime, but springtime was a fading period. I will be in New-York again soon, working, running, stopping by, seeing Martine, getting her book one more time as a present for somebody in a next future, no need to decide, for some friend to be chosen later. Her book is a beautiful photography book, it's called "Do or die". Foreword by Scorsese... Ican't tell you everything. I think of that hotel where she lives & I can already feel the air of NY in every walking distance in early autumn. Just love it. And at 6.27 this morning, just like that, I booked my ticket to New-York, NY. Yeah. One, New-York. Number one fits New-York. Perfectly. Of course I will have some work to do there, and meetings, and as always very reasonable reasons. But you don't go to NY because you have something to do there : you do it the opposite way, it's smarter, and wiser. You listen to the voice and manage to create some occasion that drags you into NY city, and then you have to go. And you smile. And you hear some persistant music, a music that kept company to you every time somebody was your guide in NY : "Just a few blocks, Luv' ". Yeah, just a few blocks away now. New-York is a ship full of majesty and garbage, and you may of course ignore the final destination, but as soon as you get on board, no matter the waves, you already sing in your head. In black & white.
I use to write "I can fly, if asked gently" and in a couple of hours I will be flying again, going towards an island. I love islands. Even Japan is an island, by the way, and so is the United Kingdom. I have a friend born on this island where I'm going, but he travels so much it proves almost impossible to catch him. Just like that, by chance, I sent him a message, and he replied immediately. It happens he will be there. By chance. "We'll meet in the old town", that's what he said. I was suddenly wondering if old means 2000 years old in that peculiar case. In the old town. On monday. Tomorrow. There is no more colosseo on the island nowadays, but this friend is a colosseo in his art. He sings. Last time I saw him he was singing, and the time before too. Trying to guess if he might sing again. Last time we met I had this long black dress, then tomorrow I should wear a short white dress, and then try and make him sing. Maybe I could ask him to sing for the moon. I'm meeting Macbeth on a greek island, so anything may happen really. It's all about mythology. And the truth is often unbelievable. Who knows, maybe the moon may listen too. Maybe the dress should not be white, it should be the color of the moon. Don't think, just answer now : what is the color of the moon ?
Don't know why the moon has been in my mind, dreams and thoughts for ages. As a child I imagined that in year 2000 I would walk on the moon. Too bad. "Lunar" is one of my favorite words, in English or in French, and when I'm saying about somebody that she/he is lunar, it is always a stunning compliment. And when I find a landscape "lunar", it means absolute beauty, absolute peace of mind, absolute simplicity. A trilogy, yes. I do love lunar characters. And a full moon embodies the grace of the universe to me. And finally, the moon in her calm power and solemn movement reminds us that we are just passing by, and I love that feeling too. Well, going on this island I checked the weather - warm & blue of course since Ulyssis will not be far away- and suddenly I smiled reading these words : "Moonlit sky". Tonight it will be a full moon, a lunar light over an island. I hardly believe it. Everything falls into place. Even Manhattan is an island, actually. Maybe I could ask Macbeth to sing and close his eyes and think about New-York, all of this under a moonlit sky.
Hm... Wait & see. I've got to go now, actually, I haven't packed yet and soon I will be running wild to the airport. Anyway I don't need much, two or three things maybe, well let's say three, and no matter how lunatic, insane or illogical the list may seem : a lunar dress, a black & white music, and the last book written by a New-Yorker called Paul Auster. The book is called "Invisible". Almost an odyssey.