Pensée à mes 5 sens ...

56 pulsations/min. I'm listening to my old friend U2, reading a book ("A long way gone" by Ishmael Beah, about the child soldiers in Sierra Leone), in my old destroyed homemade sleepingbag. I did nothing today. Just sleep, think, watch a movie, eat and read. My two weeks holidays were crazy and I think I needed some time for myself, alone and quiet. It is sometime difficult to find a right balance between my life here and my vacation. Tomorrow, first day of the week, I have plenty of projects to start. Take care

La pomme, le pont et ...

I'm weak.... Dexter Season 2 is excellent too.
And if you are looking for an easy-reading but good book, read the last Eric-Emmanuel Schmitt.
Meanwhile, the sun is shining, the sand is burning and I'm caughing.

Can I borrow your wallet please?

Pendant que je découvre que mes escapades me coûtent tres cher, vous pouvez aller lire ce que l'étranger pense de la vie politique suisse:

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/05/28/arts/music/28abroad.html?_r=1&ref=world&pagewanted=all

Crache mon petit, cela fait du bien...

Pfff.... I'm lying on my bed, with a fu$*ing headache (still part of my simulation of the great N1H1 whathever flu) and, after one month away from Darfur, I saw no changes at my return. Internet is still amazing slow and the same wankers say the same stupidities again and again. And, very clever, I forgot to drink my daily 2 liters of water in the last days and now have the feeling of being an amateur boxer after a fighting date with Tyson.
In the field, the situation is more or less the same. Rebels get bombed by the government, the government get attacked by rebels and the population dies or flees (or dies fleeing). Always the same nice funny game. By chance, the UN and the other countries observe attentively and count the points (but sorry, I don't remember the score).
But more seriously (who cares actually about the situation here?), I just finished Californication 2.
The first season was excellent, except maybe episodes 7-10. The second season is a kind of joke, with 30 minutes/episode (yeah, I know, it's due to the scenarist strike in the US). The first episode is good, it is sometimes funny but my overall impression is "NEXT !!!!" (and no, I'm not speaking about Season 3. I saw the trailer and it sucks (I know, watch your language young boy)). Ok.... maybe it's just my mood.
But the surprise came from Dexter. The first season is very good. It is funny, with a good suspense, the actors are excellent and the scenario well written. And I like when it's politically incorrect.
I want to read a bit more so I don't think I'm gonna start a series for now. Anyway, I'm already bored of staying in front of my laptop at night.

La nuit je mens ...

You all want to know how is the view from my rooftop in El-Fasher... Now, you do.

Airport mood

Après avoir vu un ami se marier et la vie d'un garçon proche se faire enterrer, après avoir flirté avec la tour Eiffel, passé 1 semaine à NYC, à tester la limite de ma carte de crédit et sa tolérance au champagne, coke et demoiselles ukrainiennes, et une autre courte semaine en Suisse à dire "- Oui je suis de retour et oui j'ai lu le journal", il est désormais de temps de retrouver mon désert.

Pour me protéger contre toute attaque de remplissage au moral de mes chaussettes, je suis parti avec un tueur en série (Mr. D. Morgan), un obsédé sexuel (Mr. H. Moody) et ai laissé le sauveur planétaire (Mr. J. Bauer) dans sa boîte. Mais avec Epictète comme gilet par-balles, un iPod touch pour jouer au poker au milieu de la nuit et qq souvenirs pour stimuler les muscles au coin de mes lèvres, je ne devrais plus risquer grand chose.

Et en attendant de retrouver mon lit boite d'allumettes et mon combo four micro-onde/solarium, je m'injecte de la musique en boucle dans mes petites veines toutes bleues, mange des fruits chez Starbucks et crache mes poumons pour simuler la grippe porcine.

- "Mais ouais mon gars, la vie est belle et on nique la crise".

Un coin chez soi

I'm back from NYC, in a train between Paris and Lausanne. I sometimes (e.g. today) feel homeless. I have boxes, in the basement of my parent's house, containing my clothes, my books, my past. A few belongings used by friends and two bagpacks with me in El-fasher, always full, ready to be carried.

I'm not complaining. I've chosen this life. But sometimes, especially when I'm tired, I miss a small room somewhere, not in Darfur but for when I come back to Europe. A bed, a wardrobe, a place for my books, some of my comics. A few pictures on the wall. Just a space where I could let things unfinished on the floor; a book to read, a DVD to watch, a friend's address.

Meanwhile, I keep on buying books. For this place, like a trace of my life. Just a place called home, my home. One day, maybe.