#birchler

[detournementsmineurs]

"Chrysanthème Bouclé" de Juergen Birchler, 2017.

[bonjourpublic]

Pentecôte 2015 #chinon #plouzeau #birchler #miammiam

[verbote]

An hour ago I was sitting by my boyfriend’s window having a smoke whilst reading a book I’m personally a huge fan of. Suddenly, I felt the urge to listen to some music. I pretty much listened to all the songs which bring me a certain nostalgia somehow. I could remember of many remarkable times whether they were good or not. Even the songs which usually help on increasing the sadness (such as The Smiths’ Asleep) couldn’t make it today. I felt happy. I mean, I still get very sad sometimes but lately, I’ve been feeling less foolish and less sad but I still didn’t reach the happiness itself. But things have been getting better. However, I was looking at the view from this lovely afternoon, when that so called happiness hit my brain hard and I didn’t mind all the trouble, I didn’t mind the misleading. I didn’t mind anything at all. I didn’t want to change anything about anything. It was good even though it was a very brief moment. For half an hour or so, it felt amazing not to worry about anything at all. I was smoking my third cigarette and the music was playing and although that particular song had sad lyrics, I couldn’t stop smiling because all I knew is that I loved him and I wanted him to come back home as fast as he can to continue celebrating our day (every day twelve is our day) and to give me a kiss. I think of when I was fourteen, a trouble-minded girl who didn’t know what she wanted and who used to go anywhere because she didn’t wanted to go nowhere, who used to put herself in some questionable situations, and I compare to now. I didn’t thought I was going to be happy ever again. But as I said, things are getting better now. Not much time has passed, I am seventeen today but I am here, sitting by my boyfriend’s window, having a smoke, while waiting for him to come back home from work, feeling good. The best part of him, of life with him is that I constantly feel like I’m a movie character. Even the worst parts of us make me feel like living in a good parallel universe a.k.a movies. And I tell you, for me there isn’t a more satisfying feeling than feeling like I’m in a very good (also clingy) movie which I’d watch a hundred times. He can make my worst addictions not hurt me like they used to. And I praise this. I pledge allegiance for this twenty-five year old lad for teaching me everything he knows. I feel actually like a freaking great movie or like Skins. And I personally love Skins. So it’s just all about perspective after all. Because in that moment, I felt loved and I enjoyed being aware that somebody is waiting to come home to see me. And that’s truly all I ever sought in life. I pledge myself to mr. A.

[verbote]

Alice.

So there’s this girl. Her name’s Alice. She seems to be very smart and cultured when in fact, she has just a deranged mind with deranged ideas and fetiches which gives her some smartness indeed. The ideas and fetiches seem to give Alice the feeling of fulfilment. She truly believes that if she achieves all of her goals, that so called satisfaction will hit her brains like a strong drug, but the effect will be everlasting. Alice has so much in common with that girl also named Alice from Alice in Wonderland. They both create an inexistent world in their heads because they’d rather live in there than in their realities. Did you ever wonder what would happen to someone who finds out that reality is way better than imagination? Wouldn’t that be such a disappointment? Therefore, nobody would want to take imagination away from Alice. Or Alice wouldn’t want anybody to take it from her. She’s a peculiar little thing. She loves older men, she loves mixing childish ways with sexual behaviour, she likes to tease people while showing that innocence in her eyes. She believes to be as innocent as a new born but she has knowledge that she has a twisted mind and a filthy soul. She knows that she can fool everyone and herself. She believes in innocence so strongly that she is innocent just for believing in such thing. Curiosity. Oh yeah, such a heavy load for her. So is temptation. She has very confusing thoughts and she likes the most peculiar things. She admires the strangest things in this world and she is completely fascinated for damaged and twisted people who desire her. She has a certain attraction for the strange. There’s this boy. Alice loves him. Because his older, he’s smart, he’s fucked up and beautiful. She likes the combination of the beauty and the damaged because it feels like a mistery. She likes the complexity of the world. Why would universe create someone so beautiful yet so complicated? This complexity is appealing for her. And he’s complicated. Which makes him art. Which is Alice’s strongest belief. She believes in art as if it was a religion. Anything can be art for her. Because she says anything is indeed. Alice says they have the most incredible sex, and she would never trade him for anyone else. She has the most incredible and weird fetiches when she thinks of him. His age makes her head pirouette. She likes to think of him kissing other boys and that sort of anomalies. He likes the way she acts like a dirty child, and that makes her feel even more intrigued about his nature. Alice is as fucked up as him and in her imagination it makes it work for them. She likes acting like a grown-kid who needs attention like a baby but need to get fucked like a woman. She likes to mix desire with love. Desire with fear. Desire with violence. She likes to mix desire and desire and desire. As much as she gets her desires fulfilled more and more she thinks she can take from life and more and more ideas of the inexistent she has. So Alice is trapped. But she's is not aware yet. And the more imagination and desire for the unusual she has, the more tragedies she’ll appreciate and count as art. So she’s not really trapped. A tragic life or a tragic situation or a tragic ending could be much more satisfactory than satisfaction itself. Pain could be way more satisfying. And so could love. So Alice’s trapped again. Because love is pain. She has to learn how to deal with the mix of these two extreme things. But she doesn’t know how yet. Alice could be a movie. Or a novel. She wants to become a character. Because she doesn’t feel real. But who even would locked in a intense fantasy like this one? Certainly, no one. Alice is going to go crazy someday. And when this happens, if she realises she’s crazy, she automatically won’t be and she’ll be satisfied. Finally, she’ll get what Jagger claims he never did…the art….the reason why she lives for…the so desired satisfaction.