Exclusion by absenteeism, legitimation by silence

While the last words of the legendary Iron Maiden song resonate in My head… When I'm walking a dark road, I am a man who walks alone… "(When I walk a dark road, I am a man who walks alone), I remember that once, a young boy of just ten years, I was terrified by the night, and I was having horrible nightmares where gremlins (the famous creatures of the movie of the same name) Me Chasing, and I was always in a state of intense panic when I dreamed of those beings who were so afraid of me. The black rent me, the black frightened me, the black was dangerous. I could only sleep with a nightlight, which I still remember precisely the model, its color, its appearance, it was my only salvation to hope for a peaceful night and serene dreams. Today at twenty-nine years well weighed, black does not scare me anymore, I seek it, this darkness is my only friend. She comforts me, reassures me. I love her as much as I hate her, and I look her right in the eye. I observe that she, too, alive but deformed, observes me in the same way. Our eyes intersect, our beings merge, solitude flies in a fleeting moment, suspended in time… I suddenly feel light… for it is her, today, my great anguish, my great enemy, my unbearable and invincible terror. For this is my daily lot, a long, endless, almost identical day suite. And although I tried everything, even what I was not able to imagine daring to do one day, it is still there despite my efforts titanic, intact, giggling from my failures in the hollow of my ear. One day she is delicately laid on my existence, such a heavy, so heavy curtain, dark and opaque, making me invisible to all eyes, and the sound of my howls cannot pierce his fabric as thick as the armor of the Knights of yesteryear. This is the way I live my isolation, this is the vision that is printed in my mind when it overwhelms me. And while some may claim exaggeration, a tearful complaint is false, and if they persist in thinking it, they are among those inhuman beings who propagate the trivialization and diminution of the suffering of others, and by the way, I Screw them so much they most disgust me and make me puke. Abyssus abyssum Invocat. /Caption Today I met Flora for the second time. And for, perhaps, the first time in my life, another human being directly told me that I was talented, that I was valuable. Better, she offered me and encouraged me to use these supposed talents. For my pleasure, and at the same time for a common good. Whether it is directly for the benefit of autistic persons of whom I am a member (the Leitmotiv of the association she presides), or more generally, to offer a voice. A voice that expresses itself. A voice that has things to say. A voice that exists. A voice that speaks humbly in his name, or I wish and hope one day, on behalf of other people. My voice. I've always wanted to be a singer, but if the way of death Metal singer doesn't seem to be mine, I would take that of the keyboard, and letters, to tell my story, and those of others, or just my version of a story. After all… this is where it all started, thanks to the encouragement of a certain Mina, on a blog called "Stories of a guy". After all… I live for the stories. And my story to me, Flora was willing to listen to her, and as she listened to her, and I narrais her, she answered me gently, tenderly, offering me an opportunity. This is how a part of the heavy veil of solitude laid on my body flew away, broke. Where I have so failed to destroy it, damaging it, tearing it up, it only took one ear attentive to my cries to make a part disappear, and reveal a fragile being, curled up, shivering with sadness, face full of tear, begging with the help of his Eyed. This story… it's not just mine. It is of a common distressing, revolting, infuriating, whose violence of this hideous truth is without common measures and which the whole world has nothing to give a fuck as it is unbelievable. By a silent consensus, it, what I say, they, you, you, it, condemns a large number of people, autistic, schizophrenic, marginal, different, strange, original, wounded, sick, homosexual, and so many others, to death. No whore I'm not exaggerating. Death! Death is sometimes the first true friend that the living meet. /Caption How many cases of deceased persons alone in their dwellings, forgotten, have been listed this year? How many suicides? How many people have seen their minds break to take refuge in a furious rage vengeful, the only fortress facing the horror of their existence? a shit. To be honest I do not have the numbers, but whatever it is, it is far too much, far too high. And don't dare come and lie saying that it doesn't happen every fucking day on this damn planet. The difference today leads to an exile of a large number of people, because silently, little by little, they disappear, unwanted, persona not scratched, they are cut off the access to various places where their cousins Homo sapiens sapiens. Their possibilities atrophy, until they volatilize. Condemned to stay at home, pray that someone will receive their laments, for it is their one and only hope. The spectre of rejection floats around them, it impregnates their skin with its stench, undermines their vital function, and obliterates all joy and hope of redemption. They perceive death approaching through the hypnotic dance of darkness that blinds them. Little by little put on the bench of society, they leave for their last voyage, at home, in a microcosm in the midst of a planet, invisible to all, until a beautiful day… in their wildest dreams… someone the eradicates of this abyss of darkness , his jet claws grabbing the leg of the unfortunate victim to sink her again into their hell, an eternal boudoir or their agony still resonate. And if no one is strong enough to pull them out of there. Believe me. Never again will you see them. And you will never be aware of what you have missed, or of what you have condemned an incredible number of human beings. For solitude is a synchronized genocide on our hearts, and our forgetfulness of the value of others. We're all accomplices. I know. I've been through this hell, and I'm one of his survivors. Take my word for it. You don't want to fall into that darkness. I wish to be a voice for these people, stuck there, all the way down, where the light no longer exists, and I wish to be the voice that they, finally, hear. My name is Christopher. Nice to meet you. To you who read these lines, and you recognize it, I salute thee precious Life and proud brother of arms… know, my dear friend, that you are no longer alone. I may be on the side of the Angels, but don't think for one second that I am one of them. (Sherlock series) /Caption And as the Fear of the Dark of Iron Maiden ends, the words of exercises in Futility VI of Mgla echo in me, like the branches of a tree caught in a majestic storm that I admire in the distance with wonder. "As if you didn't know how it feels to lose as if you didn't know how it feels to lose at dice with fate as if you didn't know what it's like to lose as if you didn't know what it is to lose in the face of Fate…] As if everything was to be made right one day dreams don't come true for people like us as if everything was done to be well one day dreams don't become reality for people like us […] As if all this was something more than another footnote on a postcard from nowhere another chapter in the Handbook for exercises in futility as if it were all something more than another footnote in a postcard sent from anywhere a Other chapter in the Manual of exercises in futility»  

Written by Christopher Emanuel. His blog here = > https://histoiresdunmec.wordpress.com/
Share

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *