Petites Sentinelles d'un Ciel si Lourd.
(Come, Clouds, Caress My Sky #9)
Paris 16e, April 2 012
First broadcast 2 012
© Basile Pesso
Paris was not for us anymore. A few weeks before, I was at Le Quai des Orfèvres to warn the PJ (Police Judiciaire) that a pro-merah (God, I would like so much not to quote this "name" on my art site, but I'm in a period where I have decided to write more here) gathering was to take place at St-Michel in le Quartier Latin, close to La Sorbonne, in front of the Dragon Fountain.
The gathering was cancelled. It's one of the things I have done, without waiting some medal. Mainly, I have been gathering hate. "That's life", as one says. After Toulouse and Montauban's slaughters among which the Jewish children killed right in the head at a close distance (so sorry to have to tell this again), we knew we just had to prepare our departure, and to leave this country which had become a pure hell in spite of its often shiny appearance. We were seeing the apathy, and that people would let this keep on without moving.
Arrivederci "Francia", we have some other skies to meet, and to make love to. We won't often see you again, as you are directed by people who want to corrode your soul and your heart until only your skeleton remains.
and w y n