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I'm back a bit.
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Lookout for the #snapchot ... might be fun.


Thursday, 22 November 2007

22 Novembre 2007

Voilà, j'y arrive. Je voulais atteindre 600, mais non, 565 c'est un joli nombre aussi, moins rond, plus compliqué mais bien symétrique.

Pourquoi se forcer si l'envie ne réveille plus le matin? Ne fait plus frétiller le neurone, dans la rame bondée, avec une paillette au fond de l'oeil signée "Euréka" et qui vous donne plus d'espace, parce que les gens s'écartent, inquiets. L'inconnu...mmm... ça fait toujours peur. Surtout aux masses. Comme la guêpe qui fait peur à tous... enfin surtout au souvenir de ma cuisse.

So I had my place for 2 years, almost... I'm cutting a bit short here, that's a pity, but the good little soldier just got fired for too good services.
I didn't thought about how long I'll do it, when I first started it. I told you, it was just to leave a message somewhere.

When on top of the world, I just thought "what could make me stop?" And next day, I was like "F... it!" Well, I'm sure you've noticed that, my faithful readers.

So now, after having had my place, I want a home. I'm getting greedy. Yeahhh, you read well. And so? No harm done to anyone here, so that's not a bad feeling (in this case, eh... I can already see you starting to argue!).

So yeah, I need a little bit more liberty, and to find another way to do this. And to work on my words, and style.
Where, when, how? Still big mysteries to me. Some more, as (my) life is full of them.
Maybe you'll see me back here (I owe someone some pictures!), but I don't think so now.
Maybe I'll let you know, maybe not. Sometimes I like to play... when I hold the rules (who doesn't?)

So my faithful readers (looking out at the crowd of... three), I'll give you William to bid you goodbye, not fairwell.

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

I specially like the last two lines. So me!

Je vous tire gracieusement ma révérence, avec le haut de forme et tout et tout.Merci.

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