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Le Monde de L'Écriture » Encore plus loin dans l'écriture ! » Textes non francophones » The truth about you

Auteur Sujet: The truth about you  (Lu 981 fois)

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The truth about you
« le: 19 janvier 2020 à 21:40:07 »
Absolutus-Did Protée said "I" or "He"-Dandys aren't dandys-Mushkyne has a nose similar to His-The character of Ménalque who isn't a character-bonjour je parle anglais comme une pièce de monnaie dans un caddie, est-ce que vous pourriez tout refaire en mieux, et puis il faudrait que je trouve un titre, un vrai, un beau, comme ceux de Baudelaire, et puis c'est à rendre pour mercredi, peut-être mentez-moi que je puisse regarder le professeur sans honte, ou bien mangez moi que je n'ai plus à me torturer là-dessus, car oui, je ne suis pas bien fière, mais après tout ce texte me fait un peu comme lui (the boy) aux autres ; je me retourne au blanc du ciel mais ne détourne pas.

Peering this reflexion should only last for the time of a cue, enough to give you some clues. The story I'm about to tell isn't constructed under the form of replica, therefore responses are not required. My monologue will be similar to its : lacking in reflection. Nevertheless, by parcelling out the undue and unreasonable repetition linked with the action of mirrors, don't we exceed, protude, improve it ? Hoping your future laugh thanks to the happening, here is the beginning :
Once upon a time there was a boy who was all the times, all the places, all the people, at once. Everything therefore nothing. All the things he encountered, he couldn't prevent himself embodying them. Reflecting all faces, hers was a mirror. Unfortunately, the boy's empathy and pure adaptation was received with annoyance, not to say irritation. Seeing themselves imitated, people believed that he was making fun of them. Actually, the boy never laughed at what he subconsciously subverted and pastiched, while the people around him worshiped the spectacle presented in spite of himself. His meeting with the president had made a splash in the media because everyone had realized a major defect of the president : that he always used to touch his nose with his tongue before starting a sentence. No one had noticed it before the boy made such a revelation, by this mediation. The comic lay not only in the expression of a truth but in its devaluation. Thus, the grace and elegance of Noureev weakened following his encounter with the boy. People kept only the trembling image of that piece of flesh (the boy) that revealed the ridiculousness of the dancer's arabesques (noureev). As we retain only the king's drawing of a pear, the boy was a living caricature whose constant movement was a risk for those who faced it. The worst part was not when everyone realized that the princess was ugly, that Sartre did not always squint with the same eye, that the Pope often repeated the word "orbit" (we could have confused this boy with a brilliant humoristorite using with finesse - following his meticulous observations - his intelligence and his critical mind) but, because the strangeness revealed inside people was lower in comparison to his, the worst was that he couldn’t in the presence of his relatives be himself. His mother, as "other" as a lawyer or an astronaut, could not recognize this child who claimed to teach her how to speak when he did not even know it. On the bench of squares he was watching out, sitting next to him, this mother, to whom he had learned little by little that his apparent calm had intended only to hide her wrinkles, that her sentences remained mostly unfinished, that she stuttered, confused words, did not listen to others, that she was susceptible, selfish, spiteful ; such a fiendish mom that he was a fiendish son. From him she could have learned to correct her faults, but vanity make no exception, even among the saddest faces. Love, outside the circle of his family (no need to tell you about his brothers and sisters since he killed them as they showed him magic tricks in which their arms and heads were cut) could have brought him some comfort. During his first date he almost starved to death because the girl only ate salad. While this sparrow's appetite had entraced and intoxicated the young lady's heart, the boy had become so anorexic that his teeth were the only ones susceptible to kissing : his mouth had gone along with his fat. The girl was allergic to hopitals, their love was impossible. His second girlfriend was an artist : but the paintings made with her highlighted her own weakenesses (chin positionning on the face) while improving his strong points, surpassing them. Models the girl imitated were themselves overwhelmed by this imitating boy ; she committed suicide. (Beautifying and disfiguring Mirror, or cruel by dint of simplicity. Was he a form of art ? Formless, his passivity denied him this claim.) He later married a Buddhist monk with whom he spent six years hidden and reclusived in a temple and in silence, before incarnating his nascent desire to escape solitude. While hypocrisy forced the monk to keep his promises, on leaving, the boy set fire to the temple as the monk inside would have done. He was sent to a retirement home in the hope that older people would catch on that dreadful and awful reflection a piece of vitality and youth, but cardiac arrest which frequently interrupted the sessions put the chip in the ear of nurses who sent back the boy. He tried everything for anything. Mozart was not Mozart, culprits were not culprits, beauty not beauty, words not words... Unable to reach a conclusion of its reflets he was condemned to silence. He knows of laughter, tears, humanity [...] always what it is not, never what it is. Negation asserts itself eternally without providing the alternative proper to the truth, or what comes close to it. The story ends as many ways it could have started, in order to explain his deep stupidity, close to ingenuity and animality. Some say that on the boy's birth day his twin died. By murder, it would explain his evil nature, by accident it would rise him to the rank of martyr. Condemned by choice or by necessity to recreate the image of this brother, this missing duality, this lost identity as soon as he got one, incurred certains questions from the mystical : is the path of this boy going up or down ? Falling shadow or rising light ? Knowing origins and reasons of his fate would allow us to arbitrate, but the mirror does not reveal the secrets of the craftsman. The end of the road does not allow us more to give him the clear identity behind the mask of skin. One day he found himself facing a mirror. Peering his reflection lasted only the time of a cue, that closing his eyes cut.

ps : clap clap bravo, vous êtes arrivés jusque là, et vraiment ça me fait battre le coeur de sentir que vous vous êtes battus. Ouvrez les yeux, ouvrez les yeux, la morale n'est pas dans la fuite ni l'abandon mais dans la récéption, l'attention, et justement parce-que vous avez su l'être (vraiment ça me fait battre le coeur de sentir que vous vous êtes battus - là par exemple je ne m'auto-cite pas pour faire résonner le texte, pas mais me moque de moi, ce n'est ni vanité ni humilité mais pure humiliation - quoique de me répéter et de me lamenter ainsi, on pourrait finir par confondre...) et ça valait vraiment le coup (de point), parce qu'en guise de remerciements (et de récompense), quelques lignes d'une qualité qu'on ne peut même pas dire supérieure tant elle touche le soleil vous seront calligraphiés. Le passage en question (que j'aime autant que mon propre texte) est extrait d'Orlando, de Virginia Woolf :
"Even Orlando (who had no conceit of her person) knew it, for she smiled the involuntary smile which women smile when their own beauty, which seems not their own, forms like a drop falling or a fountain rising and confronts them all of a sudden of a glass - this smile she smiled and then she listened for a moment and heard only the leaves blowing and the sparrows twittering, and then she sighed "Life, a lover"

Hors ligne O.deJavel

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Re : The truth about you
« Réponse #1 le: 14 février 2020 à 02:31:11 »
What can I say ? Uh ! The story, for what I can understand, seems very creatively thoughtfully crafted. Other than that... You either used a language translator or... I don’t know...

The first sentence is especially painful. It doesn’t mean anything. I’have tried to find a meaning to it, but I just can’t... Peering this reflexion means: Regarder par la lorgnette ce reflet... What ? And it goes on, and on, and on... sorry, but you should really go back to the drafting board and try something simpler... I’d gladly help you, but l’m not gonna sweat on some automatic translation stuff. Work harder !
« Modifié: 21 février 2020 à 06:19:46 par O.deJavel »

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Re : The truth about you
« Réponse #2 le: 22 février 2020 à 17:26:03 »
dear - warm thanks for your return - the cheating has been caught - even this answer is written with the help of google translation- and now I know that reflexion does not mean reflexion but reflection - your severity would no doubt be more profitable to me than the indulgence of the teachers

Aïe aïe aïe,
j'étais tranquillement en train de lire un conte d'andersen quand patatratra je me découvre dès les premières lignes du premier chapitre : pasticheuse involontaire (car mon écrit court derrière l'ombre d'une cheville prise pour projection ex nihilo)
Pour attendrir les dieux et recevoir d'eux le pardon je me suis appliquée à suivre en toute scolarité et timidité la calligraphie que voici :
"First story, which deals with the mirror and the shards of glass.
Right then! Time to start. When we’re at the end of the story we’ll know more than we do now, for it has to do with an evil ogre! one of the very worst – it was ‘the devil’! One day he was in a really good mood, for he had made a mirror that had the property of reducing everything good and beautiful that was reflected in it into practically nothing, but whatever was fit for nothing and looked bad grew more pronounced and became even worse. The loveliest landscapes looked like boiled spinach in it, and the best of people turned ugly or stood on their heads with no stomach, their faces became so distorted that they were unrecognisable, and if someone had a freckle, you could be sure that it spread out over both nose and mouth. It was most amusing, ‘the devil’ said."

modération : messages regroupés, éviter les doublons. Merci
« Modifié: 23 février 2020 à 08:55:39 par Claudius »


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