Yes - finally - after all the time spent drooling, wondering, dreaming, hearing the shutter in my night dreams, imagining awesome pictures in my day dreams, I am a new owner of a Canon EOS 50D (mark 1- the original old school one - lol )
It came a little as a "bump in the road". I planned on buying second hand from kijiji.com but since the two offers which interested me never answered back to my emails - after a decent 2 weeks delay - and since the course of life has it's own path, the big event happened today.
My dad had the day off, since he's having a week of exams this week, and since he has the only monthly paid bus Opus card, and since mom wanted to take advantage of that, she went early one to do the groceries at her usual spots.
I took the advantage of that to sneak out and go see L.L.Lozeau camera shop (and the actual body of the Canon EOS 50D is about 50$ less than than in most electronics shops such as Future Shop or Best Buy
L.L.Lozeau - Canon EOS 50D Body only - 1 149.99$
Future Shop - Canon EOS 50D Body only - 1 199.99$
Best Buy - Canon EOS 50D Body only - 1 199.99$
So, since the shop opens at 8 - I left home around 7:40am to get there in time to buy it and quickly come back home since, with mom, it's pretty impossible to do a clear official declared shopping without risking world war 3 and a apocalypse.
The store is located near the metro station Beaubien, in the Plaza St-Hubert, on Bellechasse street and St-Hubert. I have to admit, it felt strange to be back there. My ex, Carl, actually lived on Bellechasse, very near the shop and I haven't been there since 2005. I don't know why exactly, but in my memory, the store's location was ... higher up, toward Jean-Talon metro station and so, stressed, rushed and not looking the street names, I walked up way too much ! nearly up the first section of the Plaza. I had finally the good idea to ask a young woman about the facts and I had to walk 2 whole sections back ! Then, as usually do, I asked God or someone up there to give me the right hunch as to where to turn : left or right. It was left. From the corner, I haven't even seen the store ! I had to walk along it's side, to actually notice the logo up on the building, near the roof, so I walked back and entered.
Surely the store is bigger than it looks ! And don't let their cute little practical website fool you ! They do have TONS of things and it's camera galore heaven ! not to mention lenses and tripods and all sorts of equipment.
I headed towards the back where a client was talking with an employee and got the attention of another one. As my usual talent leads me to do things - I stated the facts.
Bonjour, je veux acheter une camera. (Good morning, I want to buy a camera) - yeah I am that easy! I do my research in advance so I can be on the field like a pro.
He asked which cam - I answered.
In the end, I ended up with the body of the camera and a Sigma lens ( Sigma APO DG 70-300 1:4 - 5.6 ) which works wonders ! I love spying into the distance and macro photography and this works wonders !
And then, when I think all is over and I cash out - I get a nifty little surprise. The Desjardins card has a limit of 1 000 and since my stuff was above the limit, no access. Crap ! I felt like a fool.
Rushed back home, praying mom would not be home yet - or else I was busted. Matter of fact, she was ! So I said I just walked to the parc (Jarry) and took some shots. It worked. I used the bus card to head back -though, also mentioning that I needed to go the library to give back some books. So I stopped at the bank to take some cash out, half rushed back to the store and my stuff was there on the counter. The cashier boy (rather cute and classy) and the Assistant Chief Cashier girl (almost equally as cute) were talking about my case. What if I didn't come back ? They would just ship back my stuff to the warehouse above on the upper floor. BUT since there I was in front of them ^-^ we could carry on with the business.
Just as I was making eye contact with the cashier boy, I noticed on my right side Jean-René Dufort, also know locally as Infoman (!!) standing there also picking up somthing ! Wiicked !! After he was done, I asked the girl if they had regularly celebrities coming to their store and she smiled and nodded and the other cashier girl shared her experience with another tv show hostess.
I greeted good day to everyone and headed out.
On way to the library! ... to in fact give back some books and take some out. There wasn't much of a variety of books about the topic which I hadn't already read or taken out but I was pleased and surprised to find Eyewitness Companion - Photography by Tom Ang ! I would have never believed that this collection of books - usually tourist guides about countries around the world - would have the topic of cameras and photography in general ! I'm a sold fan of their style, work and way of putting a book together so I snatched this one.
Coming home - after I dropped by the Super C to buy concentrated orange juice since Mom asked me to - the trick was to actually make it look like I hadn't bought anything ! Not quite an easy task with two ... considerable sized boxes, but I had planned my thing ! I had put my other camera's pouch bag (Canon Power shot SXi 10 IS) in my purse - pretending that I am bringing it with myself - and voila ;) The two boxes were than shrank down to minimal size, put in the bigger bag I had brought for the books, the new camera in the pouch, the lens in it's own pouch in the purse too and with the help of free Metro newspapers, I could hide the top part of the camera's box which would have otherwise betray me.
Acting cool was also a big part of the game. Never let her even thing I did anything else than borrow books and buy juice.
So for the moment, I have the cam resting in the pouch, the lens in it's own pouch, the battery charged, and one extra in the pouch pocket, with the recharger.
What I need to do is :
1 - Read and learn the manual
2 - Get a bigger Compact Flash card. The one I currently have, a 32 MB one that came with the first Canon Power Shot A80 that I bought way back then in ... 2003 or around that time ... is completely out dated for this type of high capacity camera !
3 - Practice a bit more with it - learn to handle it - to be comfortable around it.
4 - See what other lenses - basic or specific - that I would like, need and can afford - with time ;)
But' quite freakin' happy I finally have the cam !
And I'm calling it Philippe. <3
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Pas de Calais - Chapitres 1 à 5
1 – La mer
La mer est une mère qui accueuille dans ses bras qu’importe le nom, la race, l’origine ethnique. La mer ouvre ses bras et accueuille les cœurs désamparés et blessés. La mer est généreuse et donne son amour inconditionnel, qu’importe qui la demande et comment.
Je me suis jettée de plein fouet dans ls bras accueuillants de la mer du nord de la Bretagne, espérant et souhaitant que les eaux froides rafraichiraient les brûlures de mon cœur.
Les vagues roulaient comme pour mieux m’accueuillir, elles grondaient un genre de bienvenue rauque et à demi étouffé, mais mon cœur lui, comprenait le doux chant des sirènes.
« Viens, viens à nous cœur éplorée et déplorée, viens que nous te berçions dans nos bras. Nous te ferons oublier tes soucis et tes chagrins. Nous sommes tes sœurs, ta mère, ta confidente. Nous sommes là pour toi, pour appaiser ta peine. »
J’écoutai ces paroles enchanteresses et mes pas, comme guidés par une force indépendante de ma volonté, dirigeaient bon gré malgré le reste de mon corps vers les vagues qui écumaient de passion dévorante. Elles aussi ont aimé. Elles aussi ont un éternel amour déçu.
L’eau était froide. Presque glaciale contre la chaleur intime de mon corps, mais plus j’avançai, plus un bien être indescriptible me prenait et plus l’envie d’avancer plus loin devenait intensément forte.
Il me sembla que la première vague voulait me repousser vers la plage, mais c’était une petite vague immature, et la seconde, plus grande, plus autoritaire et beaucoup plus forte m’attira avec une telle puissance qu’il me fut impossible à ce moment là de reculer, de faire demi tour. La vague suivante confirma les efforts de la seconde et m’entraîna encore plus loin dans la mer houleuse. Soudain, la plage était loin, et la réalisation des efforts qu’il me faudrait pour nager vers la terre sainte et ferme de mes anciens espoirs me fit paniquer. J’étais en enfer et je ne le réalisai qu’à moitié.
Or, la seule et unique chose à ne pas faire en mer est bel et bien de ne pas paniquer. Le corps reprend le contrôle sur les désespérances du cœur et s’agite comme un poisson dans un fillet … ou plutôt comme un triste poulet jetté à la mer. La peur sauvage s’empare des sens, les bras gesticulent, les yeux se ferment, ils refusent de regarder la triste réalitée en face. Les pieds, comme dans un espace aérien liquide, perdent de leur utilité, habitude de milliers d’années acquises chèrement à marchant sur la terre solide gouvernée par une loie gravitationnelle très différente de celle de la mer.
La bouche s’ouvre, avale de l’eau salée, la recrache aussitôt, trop salée, trop froide. Trop.
Là haut, dans le ciel azur, le soleil brille et aveugle, témoin silencieux, caméraman sans équipe de plateau.
Là en bas, l’actrice principale se noie, les éléments sont contre elle, les vagues l’avalent tout rond et elle est presque foutue.
« Est-ce que tu es folle ? »
Il avait hurlé ça à qulques reprises avant que je ne l’entende.
Au début, il y avait à peine la voix lointaine, à demi étouffé par le grondement des vagues. Puis la voix devint de plus en plus présente et claire.
Contact visuel : c’était un homme, un jeune homme, blond, avec des soupçons de rouille tons pastel, délavé. Tout devient délavé après un contact aussi passioné avec la mer. Il nageait vers moi, comme s’il fonçait sur moi. Il répétait sa question, mais je ne répondais pas. De toute façon c’était clairement une évidence : oui j’étais folle. Est-ce qu’une personne saine d’esprit irait s’offrir une petite trempette dans les eaux furieuses et glaciales de la mer ?
2 – L’homme
Un bras solide et déterminé, pour ne pas dire socialement archarné, s’enroula autour de ma poitrine et une force tout aussi déterminée m’attira contre son corps. Une main d’homme solide trouva position sur ma gorge, sous mon menton et comme d’instinc ou d’expérience, poussa mon visage pour le haut – pour m’empêcher d’avaler trop d’eau salée, ce qui par le fait même me força a recracher la dernière gorgée.
Une jolie quinte de toux digne d’une bonne pneumonie me prit et sur le coup je pensais que mon bon Sammaritain avait fait sa part, féliciations, mais que peut-être il était trop tard de toute façon.
« Respire, gamine! Respire ! »
Gamine ? C’était moi qu’il appelait gamine ? Et de quel droit, Monsieur ? Je n’ai eue qu’une dizaine de seconde pour le regarder mais il n’était pas si vieux, pas plus de quelques années de plus que moi … ou plus jeune avec une maturité et une force tranquille ancienne ancrée dans son être, comme un héritage très ancien et très solide.
Son autre bras, celui qui ne s’archarnait pas à me maintenir à la surface de l’eau, faisait des mouvements rotatifs pour aider le reste de son corps à nager vers la plage. Je pouvais sentir la puissance de ses jambes qui poussaient son corps et un poids presque mort à contre courant, contre les vagues déchaînées, furieuses, froides, pour nous ramener à la terre ferme. Je me sentais totalement idiote.
Le grondement des vagues devint de plus en plus lointain, distant, presque comme un souvenir qu’on perd, qu’importent les efforts pour le garder vif. Et mon corps redevint d’une lourdeur insuportable quand mon sauveur me déposa sur le sable humide et frais, mais bien moins froid quel’eau.
Il s’était penché sur moi, son ombre me protégeait du soleil et sans le dire, j’en étais reconnaissante.
Une main derrière ma nuque me fit lever le menton, et pendant que deux doigts me pinçaient sans ménagement le nez, deux autres doigts tout aussi forts me pinceaient la bouche pour forcer mes lèvres à s’ouvrir.
Mes yeux s’ouvrirent d’un coup, comme sous une impulse électrique.
« Je vais bien. J’en ai pas besoin. »
Une quinte de toux me vint encore et il m’aida à me tourner sur le côté pour recracher le restant d’eau salée que j’avais au fond de la gorge.
« Tu n’en as pas besoin, mais tu ne vas pas bien non plus ! »
Il avait ce genre de voix mi profonde, mi tendre, très rassurant pour un homme, dont les subtilités de la variation dépendaient uniquement du ton et du contenu. Et à ce moment là, je n’étais pas en position de marchander ou de remettre son autorité en question.
Et quand on ne peut remettre en question les paroles d’un homme, on peut encore moins remettre en question ses actions.
Il se releva comme si de rien n’était et me prit avec la même souplesse et force que si je n’étais qu’une enfant en bas age et commença à marcher.
3 – L’eau brûlante
Après les aux froides de la mer, la tropicalité quasi brûlante de sa douche coulait sur ma peau comme une onction bénite. Sa voix résonnait agréablement dans ma tête; « Ne me force à venir te rejoindre. » Sur le coup j’en souris comme une adolescente qui se serait fait draguer par un garçon plus âgé, mais je savais que c’était une menace plaisantine sans fondement, ce n’était pas le genre d’homme à abuser de son statut, de l’autorité et des points d’avance juste parceque l’occasion était lui était donné sur un plateau d’argent.
Le fait qu’il cogna pour s’enquérir de l’eau, de mon état moral et physique ne me surprit donc pas.
« Je t’ai apportée des serviettes et des fringues. Je n’ai que des chemises et des pantalons d’homme … »
Je glissai la porte de verre pour le regarder, mais il me tournait le dos, regardant la porte avec une dévotion digne d’une apparition de la Sainte Vierge. Les vêtements en question étaient posés sur le couvercle descendu de la cuvette de toilette : une chemise à carraux bleu, un pantalon bleu marine sombre, des chaussettes. Pas de sous vêtements.
« Je peux te prêter un de mes caleçons si tu y tiens. »
« J’apprécirais … beaucoup. »
Petit bruit discret de la porte qui s’ouvre et se referme.
L’eau qui coulait sur ma nuque et mon dos, glissait sur les courbes de ma féminité et me fit soudain réaliser, comme une épiphanie : c’était un homme et il était beau.
Je le revoyais dans la mer, sous le soleil, les cheveux qui brillaient, même s’ils étaient mouillés, sa barbe de deux semaines … je me demandais comment ça aurait été de ne pas refuser le bouche à bouche ?
Je me laissai aller contre les tuilles de la douche. Non, c’était idiot tout ça. De toute façon, folie passagère passée, l’embassade me trouvera un hôtel confortable, mes problèmes seront vite reglés et je partirai et je l’oublierai.
C’est fou comme la vie peut vous donner des claques sur la gueule quand on se laisse aller.
4 – L’eau réconfortante
« Je me suis presque suicidée et tu me donnes du sirop contre la toux ? »
« Avec la quantité d’eau froide que tu as avalée, ca ne peut pas te faire de tort. »
Une voix posée, calme, mais autoritaire et bienveillante.
J’ouvrai la bouche, pris le contenu de la cuillière et sitôt la bouche refermée, je sentais la force de sa main contre ma bouche. Le goût était fort, atroce, dégoûtant, piquant, mais avec cette main qui pressait avec une telle fermeté, impossible de recracher. Et ses yeux me regardaient si tendrement … pourquoi ? Pourquoi ses yeux m’encourageaient-ils à aller de l’avant, même si dans le présent très concret c’était vraiment difficile pour ne pas dire épouvantable.
J’avalai finalement, pris une grande respiration par le nez et serrai l’édredon du lit comme si forcer les muscles de mes mains allaient me faire oublier ce goût de rat alcolisé dans ma bouche.
Une autre respiration. Les yeux me piquaient et j’avais envie de pleurer. Il retira doucement sa main mais ne me quitta pas des yeux quand j’eus la grande idée de prendre une goulée d’air frais qui me fait tousser d’avantage. J’avalais encore, ma salive était pourtant plus que teintée de ce goût huileux et pestinentiel.
« C’est quoi cette vacherie que tu m’as donné ? »
« Syrop contre la toux de marin. Tu auras envie de courir un marathon demain. »
Je me laissais aller contre l’oreiller. Demain, c’est demain. Aujourd’hui j’ai envie de mourir.
« Je vais aller te faire du café ou du thé, ça va alléger le goût. »
Mais il ne bougea pas d’un pouce.
« Thé, s’il te plaît. »
Il sourit et se leva.
La chambre était typiquement cette chambre qui hantait ma mémoire et mon imaginaire depuis toujours : la fenêtre à ma gauche, la porte à quelques pas au bout du pied du lit, le mur de droite couvert comme une mosaique tout en relief de textures et de matériaux différents.
La fenêtre en bois, style ancien, avec des rideaux sombres et lourds en velours bleu fond de mer, presque noir, et les rideaux blancs légers, en dentelle travaillée – sûrement faite par des mains patientes et entrainées. J’aurais voulue savoir comment c’était de se réveiller dans ce lit, et regarder vers la fenêtre, comment ce serait d’entendre l’orage au travers de cette fenêtre, comment ce serait d’ouvrir la fenêtre en été pour laisser l’air marin rentrer dans la pièce ?
Une petite porte discrète, presque cachée par le peignoire accroché en soin coin, et que l’œil ne repérait qu’après s’être longuement perdue à regarder par la fenêtre, donnait sur une petite salle de bains privée mais pratique. Presque collé à la porte de cette fameuse salle de bains, la commode, en bois sombre et verni, d’allure officiellement européenne et ancienne, peut-être même un rescapé du siècle dernier, se tenait devant moi, l’allure fière et austère. Sur le sommet de sa tête, une petite télé moderne, à écran plat, lecteur DVD et une chaîne stéréo, les hauts parleurs se dressaient fièrement sur le sol, de chaque côté de la commode, comme des guardes encores plus fiers. Je souris à la vue d’une cravate cloué aux deux extremités du second tiroir et qui servait de corde à linge pour hameçons de différentes tailles et couleurs.
Le mur, de l’autre coté de la porte qui donnait sur le corridor, qui ensuite donnait sur le salon ou la cuisine, était le plus chargé, pour ne pas dire surchargé de décorations. Un énorme poisson verni et empaillé tenait dans sa gueule une chainette en avec un pendentif de croix en fleur de lys, tandis qu’à son aileron dorsale était accrochée une autre chaîne dont le pendentif représentait un petit petit bateau de pêcheur.
« Moi je suis pêcheur d’hommes »
L’homme qui m’avait sauvé de moi même l’était aussi.
Il revenait avec un plateau sur lequel deux tasses à thé et un pot formaient comme la petite communauté du social.
Il s’installa en face de moi, comme pour mieux me garder à l’oeil d’une nouvelle éventuelle bêtise et me tendit l’une des tasses.
5 – Mon Histoire
Il prit une grande cuillière du contenu du pot et la glissa dans ma tasse – du miel. Ohhh, comme la douceur de cet onctueux délice me donnait envie !
Il s’adossa contre la pièce de bois qui formait la tête du lit, se croisa les jambes et demande, de la même manière qu’un HR vous demanderait de lui résumer les points forts de votre carrière, il me demanda les circonstances qui m’ont pour ainsi dire, jetté dans les filets de ses bras.
« Ça va être long. Et ennuyant et très touristique.»
« J’ai pas entendue une bonne histoire depuis la mort de mon père. Éblouis-moi. »
Une première gorgée de thé, comme tout bon conteur se le doit de faire, et j’essayai de trouver le bon moment où commencer mes mésaventures.
Soupir.
« Eh bien, ça a commencé par un voyage de groupe. Nous partageons la photographie comme point commun, et sur un des nombreux forums sur lequel je m’étais éparpillée, un des membres a proposé de faire un voyage en Europe.
L’Europe en tant que tel … est bien merveilleux mais immense et ca m’a pas follement tentée. Et puis une autre femme a proposée de faire plusieurs voyages, par pays. Le processus a commencé par un vote : quelle région de l’Europe, puis quel pays. Le premier voyage était évidement en Italie. Vingt personnes ont formé le premier groupe. Succès total et incontestable. Trois mois plus tard, la Pologne a conquis un second groupe.
Et finalement, au septième tour, la Bretagne. »
« Old Lucky Seven. Et tu crois que ça t’a portée chance ? »
Un professeur d’université n’aurait pas mieux formulé la phrase, mieux modulé sa voix que lui, entre deux gorgées silencieuses.
Je souris avant de reprendre.
« J’ai assistée à un concert d’un groupe local dans un pub, j’ai mangée plus de poisson en une semaine que durant la totalité de ma vie – et ça c’est un miracle en soi – j’ai vue la mer ! »
Ton extatique malgré moi, les vagues, le bruit, la force de l’eau en mouvement, le ciel, les oiseaux. Je fermai les yeux pour mieux savourer le souvenir de cette première rencontre. C’est comme rencontrer une idole, on se sent en pamoîson, prêt à déclarer n’importe quelle imbécibilité romantique mais soudain, là, devant l’idole, on est à bout de mots. Rien ne sort. Que l’air salin qui rentre à plein régime par les narines, la bouche, par tous les pores de la peau.
Il but plus de thé. Je me demandai s’il avait envie de rajouter un commentaire, mais il ne dit rien. Pas la peine de tourner le couteau dans la plaie.
« Et puis vendredi après-midi est venu, comme un traître. La fin du rêve. Le voyage du retour. L’adieu. L’avion partait … il est parti ce matin, vers les 6 heures. Et je n’y étais pas.
« Et ton groupe ? »
« La majorité, si. Il y avait un groupuscule de moutons noirs dans le groupe. Deux autres Québecois, un Berbère, et moi. »
Commentaire tue, j’en étais certaine. Il but trois longues gorgées de thé.
« Nous avons décidé de passer la soirée dans un pub du coin, pour ne pas gâcher ces quelques heures dans notre hôtel. Nous voulions profiter au maximum de cette opportunité. »
À mon tour de prendre une longue gorgée de thé, pour mieux revivre les évenements
à suivre
La mer est une mère qui accueuille dans ses bras qu’importe le nom, la race, l’origine ethnique. La mer ouvre ses bras et accueuille les cœurs désamparés et blessés. La mer est généreuse et donne son amour inconditionnel, qu’importe qui la demande et comment.
Je me suis jettée de plein fouet dans ls bras accueuillants de la mer du nord de la Bretagne, espérant et souhaitant que les eaux froides rafraichiraient les brûlures de mon cœur.
Les vagues roulaient comme pour mieux m’accueuillir, elles grondaient un genre de bienvenue rauque et à demi étouffé, mais mon cœur lui, comprenait le doux chant des sirènes.
« Viens, viens à nous cœur éplorée et déplorée, viens que nous te berçions dans nos bras. Nous te ferons oublier tes soucis et tes chagrins. Nous sommes tes sœurs, ta mère, ta confidente. Nous sommes là pour toi, pour appaiser ta peine. »
J’écoutai ces paroles enchanteresses et mes pas, comme guidés par une force indépendante de ma volonté, dirigeaient bon gré malgré le reste de mon corps vers les vagues qui écumaient de passion dévorante. Elles aussi ont aimé. Elles aussi ont un éternel amour déçu.
L’eau était froide. Presque glaciale contre la chaleur intime de mon corps, mais plus j’avançai, plus un bien être indescriptible me prenait et plus l’envie d’avancer plus loin devenait intensément forte.
Il me sembla que la première vague voulait me repousser vers la plage, mais c’était une petite vague immature, et la seconde, plus grande, plus autoritaire et beaucoup plus forte m’attira avec une telle puissance qu’il me fut impossible à ce moment là de reculer, de faire demi tour. La vague suivante confirma les efforts de la seconde et m’entraîna encore plus loin dans la mer houleuse. Soudain, la plage était loin, et la réalisation des efforts qu’il me faudrait pour nager vers la terre sainte et ferme de mes anciens espoirs me fit paniquer. J’étais en enfer et je ne le réalisai qu’à moitié.
Or, la seule et unique chose à ne pas faire en mer est bel et bien de ne pas paniquer. Le corps reprend le contrôle sur les désespérances du cœur et s’agite comme un poisson dans un fillet … ou plutôt comme un triste poulet jetté à la mer. La peur sauvage s’empare des sens, les bras gesticulent, les yeux se ferment, ils refusent de regarder la triste réalitée en face. Les pieds, comme dans un espace aérien liquide, perdent de leur utilité, habitude de milliers d’années acquises chèrement à marchant sur la terre solide gouvernée par une loie gravitationnelle très différente de celle de la mer.
La bouche s’ouvre, avale de l’eau salée, la recrache aussitôt, trop salée, trop froide. Trop.
Là haut, dans le ciel azur, le soleil brille et aveugle, témoin silencieux, caméraman sans équipe de plateau.
Là en bas, l’actrice principale se noie, les éléments sont contre elle, les vagues l’avalent tout rond et elle est presque foutue.
« Est-ce que tu es folle ? »
Il avait hurlé ça à qulques reprises avant que je ne l’entende.
Au début, il y avait à peine la voix lointaine, à demi étouffé par le grondement des vagues. Puis la voix devint de plus en plus présente et claire.
Contact visuel : c’était un homme, un jeune homme, blond, avec des soupçons de rouille tons pastel, délavé. Tout devient délavé après un contact aussi passioné avec la mer. Il nageait vers moi, comme s’il fonçait sur moi. Il répétait sa question, mais je ne répondais pas. De toute façon c’était clairement une évidence : oui j’étais folle. Est-ce qu’une personne saine d’esprit irait s’offrir une petite trempette dans les eaux furieuses et glaciales de la mer ?
2 – L’homme
Un bras solide et déterminé, pour ne pas dire socialement archarné, s’enroula autour de ma poitrine et une force tout aussi déterminée m’attira contre son corps. Une main d’homme solide trouva position sur ma gorge, sous mon menton et comme d’instinc ou d’expérience, poussa mon visage pour le haut – pour m’empêcher d’avaler trop d’eau salée, ce qui par le fait même me força a recracher la dernière gorgée.
Une jolie quinte de toux digne d’une bonne pneumonie me prit et sur le coup je pensais que mon bon Sammaritain avait fait sa part, féliciations, mais que peut-être il était trop tard de toute façon.
« Respire, gamine! Respire ! »
Gamine ? C’était moi qu’il appelait gamine ? Et de quel droit, Monsieur ? Je n’ai eue qu’une dizaine de seconde pour le regarder mais il n’était pas si vieux, pas plus de quelques années de plus que moi … ou plus jeune avec une maturité et une force tranquille ancienne ancrée dans son être, comme un héritage très ancien et très solide.
Son autre bras, celui qui ne s’archarnait pas à me maintenir à la surface de l’eau, faisait des mouvements rotatifs pour aider le reste de son corps à nager vers la plage. Je pouvais sentir la puissance de ses jambes qui poussaient son corps et un poids presque mort à contre courant, contre les vagues déchaînées, furieuses, froides, pour nous ramener à la terre ferme. Je me sentais totalement idiote.
Le grondement des vagues devint de plus en plus lointain, distant, presque comme un souvenir qu’on perd, qu’importent les efforts pour le garder vif. Et mon corps redevint d’une lourdeur insuportable quand mon sauveur me déposa sur le sable humide et frais, mais bien moins froid quel’eau.
Il s’était penché sur moi, son ombre me protégeait du soleil et sans le dire, j’en étais reconnaissante.
Une main derrière ma nuque me fit lever le menton, et pendant que deux doigts me pinçaient sans ménagement le nez, deux autres doigts tout aussi forts me pinceaient la bouche pour forcer mes lèvres à s’ouvrir.
Mes yeux s’ouvrirent d’un coup, comme sous une impulse électrique.
« Je vais bien. J’en ai pas besoin. »
Une quinte de toux me vint encore et il m’aida à me tourner sur le côté pour recracher le restant d’eau salée que j’avais au fond de la gorge.
« Tu n’en as pas besoin, mais tu ne vas pas bien non plus ! »
Il avait ce genre de voix mi profonde, mi tendre, très rassurant pour un homme, dont les subtilités de la variation dépendaient uniquement du ton et du contenu. Et à ce moment là, je n’étais pas en position de marchander ou de remettre son autorité en question.
Et quand on ne peut remettre en question les paroles d’un homme, on peut encore moins remettre en question ses actions.
Il se releva comme si de rien n’était et me prit avec la même souplesse et force que si je n’étais qu’une enfant en bas age et commença à marcher.
3 – L’eau brûlante
Après les aux froides de la mer, la tropicalité quasi brûlante de sa douche coulait sur ma peau comme une onction bénite. Sa voix résonnait agréablement dans ma tête; « Ne me force à venir te rejoindre. » Sur le coup j’en souris comme une adolescente qui se serait fait draguer par un garçon plus âgé, mais je savais que c’était une menace plaisantine sans fondement, ce n’était pas le genre d’homme à abuser de son statut, de l’autorité et des points d’avance juste parceque l’occasion était lui était donné sur un plateau d’argent.
Le fait qu’il cogna pour s’enquérir de l’eau, de mon état moral et physique ne me surprit donc pas.
« Je t’ai apportée des serviettes et des fringues. Je n’ai que des chemises et des pantalons d’homme … »
Je glissai la porte de verre pour le regarder, mais il me tournait le dos, regardant la porte avec une dévotion digne d’une apparition de la Sainte Vierge. Les vêtements en question étaient posés sur le couvercle descendu de la cuvette de toilette : une chemise à carraux bleu, un pantalon bleu marine sombre, des chaussettes. Pas de sous vêtements.
« Je peux te prêter un de mes caleçons si tu y tiens. »
« J’apprécirais … beaucoup. »
Petit bruit discret de la porte qui s’ouvre et se referme.
L’eau qui coulait sur ma nuque et mon dos, glissait sur les courbes de ma féminité et me fit soudain réaliser, comme une épiphanie : c’était un homme et il était beau.
Je le revoyais dans la mer, sous le soleil, les cheveux qui brillaient, même s’ils étaient mouillés, sa barbe de deux semaines … je me demandais comment ça aurait été de ne pas refuser le bouche à bouche ?
Je me laissai aller contre les tuilles de la douche. Non, c’était idiot tout ça. De toute façon, folie passagère passée, l’embassade me trouvera un hôtel confortable, mes problèmes seront vite reglés et je partirai et je l’oublierai.
C’est fou comme la vie peut vous donner des claques sur la gueule quand on se laisse aller.
4 – L’eau réconfortante
« Je me suis presque suicidée et tu me donnes du sirop contre la toux ? »
« Avec la quantité d’eau froide que tu as avalée, ca ne peut pas te faire de tort. »
Une voix posée, calme, mais autoritaire et bienveillante.
J’ouvrai la bouche, pris le contenu de la cuillière et sitôt la bouche refermée, je sentais la force de sa main contre ma bouche. Le goût était fort, atroce, dégoûtant, piquant, mais avec cette main qui pressait avec une telle fermeté, impossible de recracher. Et ses yeux me regardaient si tendrement … pourquoi ? Pourquoi ses yeux m’encourageaient-ils à aller de l’avant, même si dans le présent très concret c’était vraiment difficile pour ne pas dire épouvantable.
J’avalai finalement, pris une grande respiration par le nez et serrai l’édredon du lit comme si forcer les muscles de mes mains allaient me faire oublier ce goût de rat alcolisé dans ma bouche.
Une autre respiration. Les yeux me piquaient et j’avais envie de pleurer. Il retira doucement sa main mais ne me quitta pas des yeux quand j’eus la grande idée de prendre une goulée d’air frais qui me fait tousser d’avantage. J’avalais encore, ma salive était pourtant plus que teintée de ce goût huileux et pestinentiel.
« C’est quoi cette vacherie que tu m’as donné ? »
« Syrop contre la toux de marin. Tu auras envie de courir un marathon demain. »
Je me laissais aller contre l’oreiller. Demain, c’est demain. Aujourd’hui j’ai envie de mourir.
« Je vais aller te faire du café ou du thé, ça va alléger le goût. »
Mais il ne bougea pas d’un pouce.
« Thé, s’il te plaît. »
Il sourit et se leva.
La chambre était typiquement cette chambre qui hantait ma mémoire et mon imaginaire depuis toujours : la fenêtre à ma gauche, la porte à quelques pas au bout du pied du lit, le mur de droite couvert comme une mosaique tout en relief de textures et de matériaux différents.
La fenêtre en bois, style ancien, avec des rideaux sombres et lourds en velours bleu fond de mer, presque noir, et les rideaux blancs légers, en dentelle travaillée – sûrement faite par des mains patientes et entrainées. J’aurais voulue savoir comment c’était de se réveiller dans ce lit, et regarder vers la fenêtre, comment ce serait d’entendre l’orage au travers de cette fenêtre, comment ce serait d’ouvrir la fenêtre en été pour laisser l’air marin rentrer dans la pièce ?
Une petite porte discrète, presque cachée par le peignoire accroché en soin coin, et que l’œil ne repérait qu’après s’être longuement perdue à regarder par la fenêtre, donnait sur une petite salle de bains privée mais pratique. Presque collé à la porte de cette fameuse salle de bains, la commode, en bois sombre et verni, d’allure officiellement européenne et ancienne, peut-être même un rescapé du siècle dernier, se tenait devant moi, l’allure fière et austère. Sur le sommet de sa tête, une petite télé moderne, à écran plat, lecteur DVD et une chaîne stéréo, les hauts parleurs se dressaient fièrement sur le sol, de chaque côté de la commode, comme des guardes encores plus fiers. Je souris à la vue d’une cravate cloué aux deux extremités du second tiroir et qui servait de corde à linge pour hameçons de différentes tailles et couleurs.
Le mur, de l’autre coté de la porte qui donnait sur le corridor, qui ensuite donnait sur le salon ou la cuisine, était le plus chargé, pour ne pas dire surchargé de décorations. Un énorme poisson verni et empaillé tenait dans sa gueule une chainette en avec un pendentif de croix en fleur de lys, tandis qu’à son aileron dorsale était accrochée une autre chaîne dont le pendentif représentait un petit petit bateau de pêcheur.
« Moi je suis pêcheur d’hommes »
L’homme qui m’avait sauvé de moi même l’était aussi.
Il revenait avec un plateau sur lequel deux tasses à thé et un pot formaient comme la petite communauté du social.
Il s’installa en face de moi, comme pour mieux me garder à l’oeil d’une nouvelle éventuelle bêtise et me tendit l’une des tasses.
5 – Mon Histoire
Il prit une grande cuillière du contenu du pot et la glissa dans ma tasse – du miel. Ohhh, comme la douceur de cet onctueux délice me donnait envie !
Il s’adossa contre la pièce de bois qui formait la tête du lit, se croisa les jambes et demande, de la même manière qu’un HR vous demanderait de lui résumer les points forts de votre carrière, il me demanda les circonstances qui m’ont pour ainsi dire, jetté dans les filets de ses bras.
« Ça va être long. Et ennuyant et très touristique.»
« J’ai pas entendue une bonne histoire depuis la mort de mon père. Éblouis-moi. »
Une première gorgée de thé, comme tout bon conteur se le doit de faire, et j’essayai de trouver le bon moment où commencer mes mésaventures.
Soupir.
« Eh bien, ça a commencé par un voyage de groupe. Nous partageons la photographie comme point commun, et sur un des nombreux forums sur lequel je m’étais éparpillée, un des membres a proposé de faire un voyage en Europe.
L’Europe en tant que tel … est bien merveilleux mais immense et ca m’a pas follement tentée. Et puis une autre femme a proposée de faire plusieurs voyages, par pays. Le processus a commencé par un vote : quelle région de l’Europe, puis quel pays. Le premier voyage était évidement en Italie. Vingt personnes ont formé le premier groupe. Succès total et incontestable. Trois mois plus tard, la Pologne a conquis un second groupe.
Et finalement, au septième tour, la Bretagne. »
« Old Lucky Seven. Et tu crois que ça t’a portée chance ? »
Un professeur d’université n’aurait pas mieux formulé la phrase, mieux modulé sa voix que lui, entre deux gorgées silencieuses.
Je souris avant de reprendre.
« J’ai assistée à un concert d’un groupe local dans un pub, j’ai mangée plus de poisson en une semaine que durant la totalité de ma vie – et ça c’est un miracle en soi – j’ai vue la mer ! »
Ton extatique malgré moi, les vagues, le bruit, la force de l’eau en mouvement, le ciel, les oiseaux. Je fermai les yeux pour mieux savourer le souvenir de cette première rencontre. C’est comme rencontrer une idole, on se sent en pamoîson, prêt à déclarer n’importe quelle imbécibilité romantique mais soudain, là, devant l’idole, on est à bout de mots. Rien ne sort. Que l’air salin qui rentre à plein régime par les narines, la bouche, par tous les pores de la peau.
Il but plus de thé. Je me demandai s’il avait envie de rajouter un commentaire, mais il ne dit rien. Pas la peine de tourner le couteau dans la plaie.
« Et puis vendredi après-midi est venu, comme un traître. La fin du rêve. Le voyage du retour. L’adieu. L’avion partait … il est parti ce matin, vers les 6 heures. Et je n’y étais pas.
« Et ton groupe ? »
« La majorité, si. Il y avait un groupuscule de moutons noirs dans le groupe. Deux autres Québecois, un Berbère, et moi. »
Commentaire tue, j’en étais certaine. Il but trois longues gorgées de thé.
« Nous avons décidé de passer la soirée dans un pub du coin, pour ne pas gâcher ces quelques heures dans notre hôtel. Nous voulions profiter au maximum de cette opportunité. »
À mon tour de prendre une longue gorgée de thé, pour mieux revivre les évenements
à suivre
Friday, January 08, 2010
Blond man
It started last year, in the very ending of 2009. In the dream of the Thursday 26th November 2009 (not yet published, it's typed in my i pod touch) - I dreamed I was a worker with a new company and in my new team, there were two men : a tall Arabic looking with dark curly hair and a shorter, long haired blond with a beard. Along the dream, the blond man had found a ring and a bracelet in that sort of cement we were stirring and he asked me if I wanted it, and since I liked him in the dream, I accepted. I knew it was a silent form of an engagement and I did in fact desired him. The ring's top (or 3/4 of it's entirety) was forming a looping 8. The upper part was filled with gold, making a uniformity with the rest of the ring while the bottom part had a white diamond slightly yet noticeably sticking out with grace and nice design. By accepting his gift, I was silently accepting something more official and concrete. No need for words and papers - we were now together.
Later, on December the 29th, I had yet another dream where at some point, he was sitting on the front porch (actually on the stairs of the porch) of a house in which I had spent the night and as I was finishing a conversation with a lady who was a neighbor lady of the lady owner of the house, he gently said in French "Allez, on rentre à la maison, Emi ?" a half question half clear desire / proposition to go back home. He was blond with a beard, very casually dressed ; t shirt, 3/4 pants of a light color and sandals. He said that with so much love and caring in this voice and so softly ! the memory of it makes me want to go with him ! where ever home could be.
Continuing, like a logical follow up of the story (first asking my hand, then asking me to go home with him) comes the actual home dream. January 2nd 2010 I dreamed I finally went to a house but I believe it was his parent's house - though I cannot for sure associate the other man with him, and yet, it's highly possible it could have been his father. The small and think path in the snow - large enough only for one person a time - led to 3 houses piled up one on top of each other and I thought to back off and go back to the prairie, the snow field but when I turned back, he was there right behind me and gently said, again in French "Non, continue. Tu y est presque." (No, continue, you are almost there.) And yet again with that incredible caring, loving soft and convincing tone of voice and such a loving caring look in his eyes, it gave me courage to go forward. I climbed the snow to reach the door and opened it. Inside was the backyard of a huge house and I noticed that in our yard were growing huge healthy tall deep vivid orange lilies. My favorite flowers ! And the blond man - still with this long hair and his beard - smiling at me half proud half that unchanging loving caring smile and expression on his face, and the hunter man behind me explaining something or saying something - but I was fascinated about how outside it was snow and here inside it was summer.
Something funny - if I go way back in time.
When I was around 8-9 I was introduced, by the mother of my neighbor friend, to a young blond guy a few years older than me - by 3-4 years - whom would be my sidekick in my dreams to help me fight the evil. We most often had the mission to stop Lestat (who was sleeping under the ice of a skate rink in Outremont - which fact I discovered years later when I went to high school Outremont and we got our Winter Activity day held at that skate rink and it just slapped in the faec : that was the rink of which i spent years dreaming !!) - so, our mission was to stop Lestat de Lioncourt (Anne Rice's vampire character) from getting to the two red headed twins and bite them. (Funny how years later, even more than the skate rink discovery), as I was reading the Lestat books - I found out that in fact, Lestat was sleeping under ice to avoid being detected by fellow vampires (found in the Akasha book - story) and the mythology of the two red headed twingirls (also in the saga by Anne Rice) and how eventually Lestat meets them and how everything gets mixed up and makes sense.
Recap :
1992-4 : I dream of the Blond Kid being introduced to me and we have to stop Lestat in that skate rink. He had long blond hair, going down to the base of his neck, straight, darker blond, and was wearing glasses.
1997-8 : I have my first Winter Activity day at that famous Outremont Skate rink. (I did start high school in August 1996 but I had the accident with the car on October 2nd and I only came back to School in February with a cast) First shock : the rink was the one i spent years dreaming of.
~ 1999-2000 : I was reading further in the Vampire Saga by Anne Rice and found out the Twins story, the Akasha one, how Lestat was sleeping underneath the ice to avoid being detected by other vampires. Freak awareness again - i had dreamed of that when I was a kid.
He came back when I was 14 - but I didn't quite recognized him - he presented himself as being Henri - was wearing a white and blue large stripped shirt and jeans (salopettes) and kissed me on the lips - rather .... lusciously and with passion.
Years later, the Blond Man came back in various other dreams. I'll always remember the most epic ones. He was my master in one and I remember how kissing him was a total game of impressing the other and how even if I thought I had won the argument, he did in fact impressed me way more and wan the game. He had shorter hair in that dream but still wearing the glasses and as I was looking up to him (he was standing, his hands on the polished armrest part of the balcony, on like an interior second floor.) and his face seemed so familiar it was hurting me not to know his name. But it was his eyes - his way of looking at me - that loving glow, that caring smile. He was wearing an old styled interior casual house robe. I was having a fight with his ... he was clearly the Master of the place and mine too. The tall dark haired younger man was his protégé and apprentice but he was not handling me ! I refused to kiss him and obey him, we were fighting over that down on the ground level - I was saying to the apprentice that he had nothing new he could teach me and I was done with him. I knew the art of love and kissing and pleasing a man so he could start looking for a new girl to train and spend his time with. My Master having heard our loud discussion, asked me up to his quarters, and that's when i saw his face, bent over, hands on the balcony, that smirk on his lips and yet the unquestionable love and care in his eyes ! even behind the glasses.
So I walked up the stairs, sat down on the couch that was just before the balcony's protective bars - a long deep purple rich dark (almost black) lacquered sofa with a few decorative pillows - and as he sat down with me ( I remember he was wearing a black robe with red enhancements on the borders) I bent over to kiss him and he did gave in the first moments. I was completely leading him, pulling him to give me more, stopping him when I felt like slowing down the kisses and when I thought I would finalize it all and prove myself, he kissed me in such a way that I was conquered. He pulled me right back into as I was ready to pull back - and I stood there, now being kissed and lead by him. (and he kisses divinely !! )
Then the dreams with him became sparse with time but he always was there and he was the first one to truly take me in a dream. Even if I had sex dreams in my teenage years, I usually was the man having sex with girls, or having sex with girls as a girl, but no man penetrated me. The only time that it nearly happened, I just walked away from the man (the dream was in the early 2000's) and I changed the dream.
The first real time was with him. It's noted somewhere in my livejournal - it was the spy dream. I knew he was inside of me and yet that was not the important factor. The important part was that we were having fun, our fingers crossed and sharing good memories of jokes, he was making me laugh.
And then, he reappeared clearly in a dream when I was about to consummate my honeymoon with another man (whom in the dream I didn't love and was not willingly in there with him). April the 7th 2007 I was in Venice - he was there and even though we had a somewhat of a misunderstanding at some time in the dream - everything came back to old habits. (And now that I analyse it - the black haired man that I said I have never seen before - I had completely forgotten him ! but he was there with him in that kiss on the balcony dream, he was the apprentice !)
In that dream there was something about us being alone in that little temple of love at some moment and the family looking for us to make sure we were not putting ourselves int trouble. We were of a good family and we couldn't afford to create trouble or rumors. ( Does this dream explain why when I first hears the song Temple of Love by the Sisters of mercy I instantly identified myself to the lyrics ? to the sadness of knowing that love would leave me in the morning... )
In another dream, he was again a sort of a spy, we were in a lift going down and I remember looking him straight in the eyes and knowing him - so painful to know his face, his smile, his eyes and yet not knowing his name !
Later, on December the 29th, I had yet another dream where at some point, he was sitting on the front porch (actually on the stairs of the porch) of a house in which I had spent the night and as I was finishing a conversation with a lady who was a neighbor lady of the lady owner of the house, he gently said in French "Allez, on rentre à la maison, Emi ?" a half question half clear desire / proposition to go back home. He was blond with a beard, very casually dressed ; t shirt, 3/4 pants of a light color and sandals. He said that with so much love and caring in this voice and so softly ! the memory of it makes me want to go with him ! where ever home could be.
Continuing, like a logical follow up of the story (first asking my hand, then asking me to go home with him) comes the actual home dream. January 2nd 2010 I dreamed I finally went to a house but I believe it was his parent's house - though I cannot for sure associate the other man with him, and yet, it's highly possible it could have been his father. The small and think path in the snow - large enough only for one person a time - led to 3 houses piled up one on top of each other and I thought to back off and go back to the prairie, the snow field but when I turned back, he was there right behind me and gently said, again in French "Non, continue. Tu y est presque." (No, continue, you are almost there.) And yet again with that incredible caring, loving soft and convincing tone of voice and such a loving caring look in his eyes, it gave me courage to go forward. I climbed the snow to reach the door and opened it. Inside was the backyard of a huge house and I noticed that in our yard were growing huge healthy tall deep vivid orange lilies. My favorite flowers ! And the blond man - still with this long hair and his beard - smiling at me half proud half that unchanging loving caring smile and expression on his face, and the hunter man behind me explaining something or saying something - but I was fascinated about how outside it was snow and here inside it was summer.
Something funny - if I go way back in time.
When I was around 8-9 I was introduced, by the mother of my neighbor friend, to a young blond guy a few years older than me - by 3-4 years - whom would be my sidekick in my dreams to help me fight the evil. We most often had the mission to stop Lestat (who was sleeping under the ice of a skate rink in Outremont - which fact I discovered years later when I went to high school Outremont and we got our Winter Activity day held at that skate rink and it just slapped in the faec : that was the rink of which i spent years dreaming !!) - so, our mission was to stop Lestat de Lioncourt (Anne Rice's vampire character) from getting to the two red headed twins and bite them. (Funny how years later, even more than the skate rink discovery), as I was reading the Lestat books - I found out that in fact, Lestat was sleeping under ice to avoid being detected by fellow vampires (found in the Akasha book - story) and the mythology of the two red headed twingirls (also in the saga by Anne Rice) and how eventually Lestat meets them and how everything gets mixed up and makes sense.
Recap :
1992-4 : I dream of the Blond Kid being introduced to me and we have to stop Lestat in that skate rink. He had long blond hair, going down to the base of his neck, straight, darker blond, and was wearing glasses.
1997-8 : I have my first Winter Activity day at that famous Outremont Skate rink. (I did start high school in August 1996 but I had the accident with the car on October 2nd and I only came back to School in February with a cast) First shock : the rink was the one i spent years dreaming of.
~ 1999-2000 : I was reading further in the Vampire Saga by Anne Rice and found out the Twins story, the Akasha one, how Lestat was sleeping underneath the ice to avoid being detected by other vampires. Freak awareness again - i had dreamed of that when I was a kid.
He came back when I was 14 - but I didn't quite recognized him - he presented himself as being Henri - was wearing a white and blue large stripped shirt and jeans (salopettes) and kissed me on the lips - rather .... lusciously and with passion.
Years later, the Blond Man came back in various other dreams. I'll always remember the most epic ones. He was my master in one and I remember how kissing him was a total game of impressing the other and how even if I thought I had won the argument, he did in fact impressed me way more and wan the game. He had shorter hair in that dream but still wearing the glasses and as I was looking up to him (he was standing, his hands on the polished armrest part of the balcony, on like an interior second floor.) and his face seemed so familiar it was hurting me not to know his name. But it was his eyes - his way of looking at me - that loving glow, that caring smile. He was wearing an old styled interior casual house robe. I was having a fight with his ... he was clearly the Master of the place and mine too. The tall dark haired younger man was his protégé and apprentice but he was not handling me ! I refused to kiss him and obey him, we were fighting over that down on the ground level - I was saying to the apprentice that he had nothing new he could teach me and I was done with him. I knew the art of love and kissing and pleasing a man so he could start looking for a new girl to train and spend his time with. My Master having heard our loud discussion, asked me up to his quarters, and that's when i saw his face, bent over, hands on the balcony, that smirk on his lips and yet the unquestionable love and care in his eyes ! even behind the glasses.
So I walked up the stairs, sat down on the couch that was just before the balcony's protective bars - a long deep purple rich dark (almost black) lacquered sofa with a few decorative pillows - and as he sat down with me ( I remember he was wearing a black robe with red enhancements on the borders) I bent over to kiss him and he did gave in the first moments. I was completely leading him, pulling him to give me more, stopping him when I felt like slowing down the kisses and when I thought I would finalize it all and prove myself, he kissed me in such a way that I was conquered. He pulled me right back into as I was ready to pull back - and I stood there, now being kissed and lead by him. (and he kisses divinely !! )
Then the dreams with him became sparse with time but he always was there and he was the first one to truly take me in a dream. Even if I had sex dreams in my teenage years, I usually was the man having sex with girls, or having sex with girls as a girl, but no man penetrated me. The only time that it nearly happened, I just walked away from the man (the dream was in the early 2000's) and I changed the dream.
The first real time was with him. It's noted somewhere in my livejournal - it was the spy dream. I knew he was inside of me and yet that was not the important factor. The important part was that we were having fun, our fingers crossed and sharing good memories of jokes, he was making me laugh.
And then, he reappeared clearly in a dream when I was about to consummate my honeymoon with another man (whom in the dream I didn't love and was not willingly in there with him). April the 7th 2007 I was in Venice - he was there and even though we had a somewhat of a misunderstanding at some time in the dream - everything came back to old habits. (And now that I analyse it - the black haired man that I said I have never seen before - I had completely forgotten him ! but he was there with him in that kiss on the balcony dream, he was the apprentice !)
Near the end, seeing that he still had the scalpel in his hand, I took his hand, shaping his fist around the scalpel’s handle, bending his fingers tightly around it, and holding half his wrist, half his fist with the scalpel’s sharp edge pointing at my chest, I just hold it like that, the edge of the scalpel near my skin – with the other hand palpating my chest bones and finding two rib bones (oh and believe me, it’s unreal in a dream to actually feel the strength of a bone under your skin and the squishy non resistant part in between the 2 said bones !!) so I was there, feeling my ribs and nearly shouted at him :
“[ Well then ] Kill me !! Just here ! Between the two rib bones ! Wait, you are not holding this properly … ( and I actually turned the scalpel horizontally so that the blade would have an easier penetrating capacity ! – like who the hell does calculate such a thing in real life when stabbing ? a regular killer just stabs with the knife vertically pointed – cutting the ribs and who the hell actually cares about hitting the heart without hitting the resistance of bones ?? ) … like that you can access the heart easily ! (And in my head, I was imagining the blade going through the skin, the muscle, between the two ribs and hitting just the first third of the heart – penetrating in the right atrium.
He hesitated and forcefully retrieved his hand. Next thing I was conscious about was the fact that I had my arms around his neck and I was kissing him. I had my head turned on his right cheek side – I could appreciate the cool moist of his mouth (no he was not warm like humans are usually mid-warm, nor did he tasted salty like Sam used to always taste salty when I kissed him, like kissing the ocean) and he felt so refreshing, like cool water made into a human mouth or a kiss. I remember perfectly the moment my lips touched his – the black haired guy still not even a feet away from the blond one ! – and how he responded to me, at first unsure and then just appreciating it for what it was. We exchanged a few kisses on this right side before I switched my head to his left side, still passionately kissing him yet our tongues were not mixed up yet because I started to roll my tongue around his (and I even remember it was from his left side to his ride – counter-clockwise !! omg the detail !! from 3 up to 12 and down to 9 and down to 6 and back up to 3 for a complete turn – and not only once !) and feeling it exciting me, feeling it so normal and natural and cool ! (In real life, anything in my mouth that is not food and I throw up or have severe nausea and need to breath ! that made kissing guys highly romantic !) With him, I only was conscious of good he felt, the starting pleasure he was giving me – or the fact that I was kissing him – and it felt just plain awesome ! Near the end, I even remember I was twirling my right hand’s fingers around his very short hair in the back of his neck and I was fascinated by his really freaking close shave ! ( Like was he using Mac Fusion 5 or what ? because his skin was so smooth and clean of any trace of hair !)
In that dream there was something about us being alone in that little temple of love at some moment and the family looking for us to make sure we were not putting ourselves int trouble. We were of a good family and we couldn't afford to create trouble or rumors. ( Does this dream explain why when I first hears the song Temple of Love by the Sisters of mercy I instantly identified myself to the lyrics ? to the sadness of knowing that love would leave me in the morning... )
In another dream, he was again a sort of a spy, we were in a lift going down and I remember looking him straight in the eyes and knowing him - so painful to know his face, his smile, his eyes and yet not knowing his name !
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
The 50D is at my reach !
I simply cannot believe it ! The Canon 50D is finally at my reach ! And that sole factor makes me thrilled happy and incredibly positive about life.
The whole process started last Friday morning (the 25th September 2009) when Isabelle B. from Plexo called me about my application for a job as medical archivist at the clinic. That break through was, and is, most welcomed. She first asked me some questions about myself, the course, if I had the diploma (yes I do), what I know about the company (what I read on their website), if I would be available for an interview - hellyeah I was ! Date was set for Tuesday the 29th September 2009 at 10 am.
And suddenly, the possibility of a work, with a stable revenue meant I could finally get my hands on a professional Canon camera - which was my dream ever since I discovered Canon back in early 2000's. A random memory I just had while writing this, it's like when I was at a friend's house going through an electronic shop catalog and when I hit the Sandisk logo and name, I just fell in love with it and now I know why ! 9 years later, with the purchase of a Sandisk Sansa Fuse MP3 player, I know why I love the Sandisk brand. Same thing with Canon. There is something about it. And earlier this year, I discovered that the word Canon is the American-ized version of the Japanese goddess Kwanon - and I am a fan and enthusiast of Japanese religion and mythology. 1+1=2 ;)
So back to our sheeps. Stable revenue meant I could get my Canon camera ! So I went on BestBuy's website and I must have searched for it, but I got results ! Canon 50D !
So here are currently my options :
1 - a) the Canon EF-S 55-250mm f/4-5.6 IS Lens for $359.99
paired up with option
1 - b) The Canon EOS 50D 15.1MP Digital SLR Camera - Body Only
or option
2) The Canon 50D with a lesser good, basic lens for about the same price as the 2 together combined - with a difference of 120$
And so - all week end - I dreamed, I visioned, I imagined myself holding that camera, rotating that lens to make the picture clear, zooming in, zooming out - capturing the beauty of nature, macro shots - the way I always dreamed I would and could.
That dream, those visions haunted me all day Morning, even changed out the "bed time story" (based off a dream I had last week or during the week end to fit in the camera) and dreamed about it all today too (Tuesday). I just soo freakin' want that camera it's unreal !
The counter part of that is, if I don't get the job - *I cross my fingers and knock on wood so that it won't happen - that I WILL get the job* - is that I will lose my hope and faith in life, I'll probably get back into my uncaring depressive mood and just simply continue to not give a fuck about anything outside my art and my already taken photos. [ And secretly still keep dreaming and wishing for that cam to become mine. ]
Today - Monday the 29th September 2009 - I did attend the job interview, it went pretty fine, I felt comfortable, and there was a nice chemistry between the two interviewers and myself and I really hope and pray from the bottom of my heart that I will get that job - I need that job ! The team itself looks like a nice bunch of folks to work around (a Russian, a Romanian, a Moroccan to quote these, plus the students who work part time) and the company/clinic itself looks the perfect place for me !
She has to call me back either later this week or at the latest, early next week. Mostly the time that my personal information as to criminal records gets verified by a certain agency by the name of Garda. It's the new procedure for all new employees, either at hire spot or at agencies.
If I get the job, I'm buying that lens first thing ! Than wait to get the necessary funds to buy the body itself :D
*continues praying*
The whole process started last Friday morning (the 25th September 2009) when Isabelle B. from Plexo called me about my application for a job as medical archivist at the clinic. That break through was, and is, most welcomed. She first asked me some questions about myself, the course, if I had the diploma (yes I do), what I know about the company (what I read on their website), if I would be available for an interview - hellyeah I was ! Date was set for Tuesday the 29th September 2009 at 10 am.
And suddenly, the possibility of a work, with a stable revenue meant I could finally get my hands on a professional Canon camera - which was my dream ever since I discovered Canon back in early 2000's. A random memory I just had while writing this, it's like when I was at a friend's house going through an electronic shop catalog and when I hit the Sandisk logo and name, I just fell in love with it and now I know why ! 9 years later, with the purchase of a Sandisk Sansa Fuse MP3 player, I know why I love the Sandisk brand. Same thing with Canon. There is something about it. And earlier this year, I discovered that the word Canon is the American-ized version of the Japanese goddess Kwanon - and I am a fan and enthusiast of Japanese religion and mythology. 1+1=2 ;)
So back to our sheeps. Stable revenue meant I could get my Canon camera ! So I went on BestBuy's website and I must have searched for it, but I got results ! Canon 50D !
So here are currently my options :
1 - a) the Canon EF-S 55-250mm f/4-5.6 IS Lens for $359.99
paired up with option
1 - b) The Canon EOS 50D 15.1MP Digital SLR Camera - Body Only
or option
2) The Canon 50D with a lesser good, basic lens for about the same price as the 2 together combined - with a difference of 120$
And so - all week end - I dreamed, I visioned, I imagined myself holding that camera, rotating that lens to make the picture clear, zooming in, zooming out - capturing the beauty of nature, macro shots - the way I always dreamed I would and could.
That dream, those visions haunted me all day Morning, even changed out the "bed time story" (based off a dream I had last week or during the week end to fit in the camera) and dreamed about it all today too (Tuesday). I just soo freakin' want that camera it's unreal !
The counter part of that is, if I don't get the job - *I cross my fingers and knock on wood so that it won't happen - that I WILL get the job* - is that I will lose my hope and faith in life, I'll probably get back into my uncaring depressive mood and just simply continue to not give a fuck about anything outside my art and my already taken photos. [ And secretly still keep dreaming and wishing for that cam to become mine. ]
Today - Monday the 29th September 2009 - I did attend the job interview, it went pretty fine, I felt comfortable, and there was a nice chemistry between the two interviewers and myself and I really hope and pray from the bottom of my heart that I will get that job - I need that job ! The team itself looks like a nice bunch of folks to work around (a Russian, a Romanian, a Moroccan to quote these, plus the students who work part time) and the company/clinic itself looks the perfect place for me !
She has to call me back either later this week or at the latest, early next week. Mostly the time that my personal information as to criminal records gets verified by a certain agency by the name of Garda. It's the new procedure for all new employees, either at hire spot or at agencies.
If I get the job, I'm buying that lens first thing ! Than wait to get the necessary funds to buy the body itself :D
*continues praying*
Monday, September 21, 2009
Thursday, September 17, 2009
The pornographic cancer is invading and no one cares
It started some time around last year I believe when a photographic shot of a very wett female's ass got a daily deviation -which on the site is the most prestiged and valued event that could happen to anyone - and even more so considering that a daily deviation, short called DD, gives more attention and watchers to the one being featured, because for one whole day, that person's selected piece is seen by about the 17 millions of users registered on the site.
Now what bothers me is that over the time, and over the many variations of the site's system - the many changes allowed by the site's configuration - allowed for more and more shots of female asses, vagina and such to be considered as art.
Even though the site has a policy quoted two times in the Terms of Agreement and the Etiquette policy, both clearly depicting the fact that uploading porn is considered as an offence punishable by removal of the said piece.
Sadly - pieces such as a female's ass hole is not considered as porn. Nor is a vagina, spread legs showing a wet vagina, or a wet ass just out of the pool or the bath. Women posing in poses as to reveal and put the accent on their genitalia are encouraged by massive hits of over several thousands of views per day or even inside a few hours !
Moreover, since subscription is free, anyone can create an account and go support those deviations, by commenting in favor and favouriting those pieces. Basically, instead of paying a porn site a 5$ a month or what ever the fees are, they just come to deviant art for the same reasons, BUT because it's deviant art - a gathering community for "artists" - they get the free porn ! And ppl are fool enough to either ignore the problem and let it propragate even further, or leave a comment but then the defenders of such pieces come back on the double with arguments saying that the first denouncer is not knowing anything to art, the female body is beautiful (this excuses the macro shot of a shaved vagina) and that anyone going against such pictures is just a close minded person who doesn't know what art is !
I tried to prove my point several times, and each time I was either pointed as being a pervert because I showed a link to the same exact content (a female vagina) found on a pornographi site, or that I have too much time to waste (incredible fact, knowing that I found those inside of Less than 10 seconds on google !) and on and on and on ! So people who actually try to defend the site and keep it clean from useless and repetetive junk get to be treated as the worst people on the site !
I personally find this issue incredibly frustrating and beyond words inadmissible from a so called community for artists ! Would a healthy individual let a cancer eat that person away ? Logically speaking, the answer is no. So why does this place let the sort of crap that it currently allows - Even against it's own policies - be considered normal ?
Lastly - I wonder if deviantart.com even knows the significance of the word "pornography" because all the dictionaries online do give about the same signification and those significations clearly depict the content of some of the devations submitted on the site under "artistic nude" or "fetish portraits" (because, ladies and gentlemen, the ass hole - aka - the end of the digestive tract by where the fecal matter travels) is considered "artistic" or beautiful or admissible as NON pornographic. I have personally reported such a deviation to the help desk and it came back and I quote the answer
" Your Prohibited Content Violation Report on Bang a Gong was reviewed by a member of the staff and action was taken, marking the report as Invalid.
Additionally, the following comment was provided:
A reviewing member of staff has reviewed this report and has determined that no action is necessary as this deviation does not meet the current definition for pornography.
Please click here for more information.
This message was generated automatically.
-- deviantART Staff "
here is a print screen of the said deviation - http://i27.photobucket.com/albums/c180/Shouza/Deviantart%20Porn/ScreenShot052.jpg
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Blog's Face Change
As of today - actually it happened during my 2 weeks without internet - I decided that this blog will be a place where I will share my photography and talk about Canon cameras because I love that company, love what they give to the public and love their products and possibilities they give to their clients.
I will share tips, tricks, personal experiences and stuff like that :D
Current model of camera is Canon PowerShot SXi 10 IS which is totally hot stuff !
I will share tips, tricks, personal experiences and stuff like that :D
Current model of camera is Canon PowerShot SXi 10 IS which is totally hot stuff !
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
What is "Art" in the 21st century
I am a member of this website called Deviant Art located at deviantart.com since now 4 years. I have had the chance to see various trends be born, be over used and die. I have seen sheep like brainless motions created for the sole purpose of attention whoring and pageviews collecting. I have seen fetish and artistic nude photography ever since I am member, but nowadays I truly wonder what art is.
Deviant art, is a private website with the purpose of offering a place - like a community would - to artists who seek to share their works with fellow people like them and get encouragements or critics or any form of acknowledgment, which is fine and normal in a society ever growing bigger where each individual strife to be original, unique and stand out of the crowd.
I have nothing against nudes, I can appreciate a beautiful naked woman's photography and appreciate the quality of the picture, the pose and the mood that was captured. But I wonder what is the new trend with the overly used naked boobs, ass shots, pussy shots and tied up women ? Why is the female body going under this over exposition of it's qualifying characteristics and not the male body ? If we live in a so called "Equalized Society" why don't we see that much up close and personal penises or men ass shots ? In a society which is obsessed with fitness and thinness why does an over sized breast rule over a flat male chest ? Breast are composed of overly fat tissues.
Why is exposing one's genitalia even considered artistic ? We all have one - either vagina or penis - so what does make a photography of a close up clitoris and labia something that competes with a sculpture, a painting (may it be digital or traditional) or a fan work in which real talent, technique and time have been invested in ?
What is the next step if we follow this trend ? A woman shitting pee (which is biological mix of mostly water, vitamins, salt and sugar) taken with a 15 mega pixel camera in "live action" with crisp clear detail of the crystalline fluid coming out of her vagina and being like a solid link with the content of a toilet ? Will that be considered art too ?
I heard art is meant to be provocative and wake up consciousnesses ... maybe I should be a pioneer and do that first shot myself and start a trend !
The ass equally takes all it's value when round, wet, shiny and has a clear shot of anus (which, I respectfully remind you, is the exit of the larger intestines - through which the food you eat, after all nutriments have been absorbed - exits the body in the form fecal matter). So basically - you pretty much value like gold the exit door of the human's natural "end of the chain work" spot. Next thing I'll hear will be that pee is high class champagne !
Deviant art, is a private website with the purpose of offering a place - like a community would - to artists who seek to share their works with fellow people like them and get encouragements or critics or any form of acknowledgment, which is fine and normal in a society ever growing bigger where each individual strife to be original, unique and stand out of the crowd.
I have nothing against nudes, I can appreciate a beautiful naked woman's photography and appreciate the quality of the picture, the pose and the mood that was captured. But I wonder what is the new trend with the overly used naked boobs, ass shots, pussy shots and tied up women ? Why is the female body going under this over exposition of it's qualifying characteristics and not the male body ? If we live in a so called "Equalized Society" why don't we see that much up close and personal penises or men ass shots ? In a society which is obsessed with fitness and thinness why does an over sized breast rule over a flat male chest ? Breast are composed of overly fat tissues.
Why is exposing one's genitalia even considered artistic ? We all have one - either vagina or penis - so what does make a photography of a close up clitoris and labia something that competes with a sculpture, a painting (may it be digital or traditional) or a fan work in which real talent, technique and time have been invested in ?
What is the next step if we follow this trend ? A woman shitting pee (which is biological mix of mostly water, vitamins, salt and sugar) taken with a 15 mega pixel camera in "live action" with crisp clear detail of the crystalline fluid coming out of her vagina and being like a solid link with the content of a toilet ? Will that be considered art too ?
I heard art is meant to be provocative and wake up consciousnesses ... maybe I should be a pioneer and do that first shot myself and start a trend !
The ass equally takes all it's value when round, wet, shiny and has a clear shot of anus (which, I respectfully remind you, is the exit of the larger intestines - through which the food you eat, after all nutriments have been absorbed - exits the body in the form fecal matter). So basically - you pretty much value like gold the exit door of the human's natural "end of the chain work" spot. Next thing I'll hear will be that pee is high class champagne !
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