Je l’aime tout le temps. Dans n’importe quoi. Peut importe le rôle.

 

Même là.

Même là…

Starter for ten, les gens. Si vous avez jamais vu…Serait temps de se prendre une bonne barre. Et pis y’a James McAvoy.

Ah, Benedict…Même dans les rôles les plus coincés, tu excelles.

Sia – Breathe Me

…Nothing more to say, right ?

[en V.O 2]

5.58 am. 59, actually. Time flies.

Sun is rising. Under the pouring rain. The sky is grey, but you can see glimpses of blue behind it. Blue’s fighting hard to recover from the bad weather. I think that, at some point of the day, it’s just going to give up and let the grey take over. After all, we’re in Brittany. One can hardly hope for the weather to turn into sunny, warm thing.

I gave up entirely on all social networks. I haven’t actually been on twitter for days, and I’m using facebook only to carry on my White Lies France duties. I don’t even know how far I will keep on faking the perfect happy fan. We’re barely 200 out there, once again, I probably picked up the wrong horse. If people does not want to care, it’s their choice. I don’t really know why I’m fighting this hard on this territory. No one gives a damn about it anyway. It’s like refusing to pull the plug off a brain dead thing already. Or maybe my all time speciality is to hold on desperates cases. My own life being first on the list.

I know, I do not really sound like the happiest thing of all. I don’t know if happiness is the actual matter. I have extremely happy moments. I just try to figure out what the hell is wrong with me, why am I so stubborn I refuse to give in. How easier would that be. How comfortable. How comforting. I’m there, being old, unreasonable, watching the sun rise and craving so many things. So many people. So many feelings. I look at the sky and all I want to do is take the first plane to nowhere. To everywhere. Stop thinking. Just live. See things. Meet people. Love them with all of my damaged heart.

I crave being alive. Waking up in the middle of nowhere, going out on the streets and letting the unknown catch me and kill me if it is what it wants to do.

Over the past months, people have spit on my memories. On the best ones. The worst part of it all being that the creators of those memories are those destroying it inch by inch. I hate the feeling of having chosen the wrong side. Of having trust people who don’t deserve my trust. Of being the pathetic idiot saving the day for nothing. How I wish I was loved. How I wish I was liked. How I wish there was something from me people cherished. How I wish I was something.

Yeah, I feel like I’m nothing, lately. Or not much anyway. I’ve probably done stuff wrong. I don’t precisely know what, because everything is done within my whole entire heart and soul into it.

I’m not depressed. I’m just being terribly realistic. And no one ever said that the truth was fun to catch on.

So, instead of measuring up how lonely I feel, and how easily I just vanished from people’s life, I drown myself into work. All sorts of work. Useless one. Vain one. Terribly down the ground one. Dream one. Artistic one. I cheat on my own mind, try to shut it down, shoot the whispers in the head, but they keep coming back, and they’re louder each time.

So, what am I going to do ? Sitting down in front of the opened window at sunrise, appreciate the simple melody of the rain, its smells, the one of freshly cut grass, melted with a little bit of the polluted air, and I’ll wait till I feel the freshness of the sea nearby. And it always comes.  Never failed.

When I’m done with work, or with overthinking everything, I switch on to the happy things, the other world, the one where I can scream out loud at 4 in the morning, finding out that I’ll be able to see Star Trek one day before it is actually released in France. Half full. Only twenty hours won over the 12th, and in french. Half empty. But it’s still a lot of fun and stuff to look forward to. Entirely full. And let it be.

I’ve been following the bumpy yet damn exciting Benedict path too. Taking things slowly really is the key. Slowly but surely, he’s becoming something that’s an actual part of my life, however strange and lonely it could be, he’s there everywhere. Changing all of my backgrounds have had a positive effect on it all. I have supressed all the risks of bumping into things that would be painful to look at, and instead, I am litteraly drowning my sorrows into his perfect eyes, and am not willing to be rescued at all. Leave me there. It seems that it’s the one place where I don’t have to explain myself about everything I am or everything I do. I just look at him, see all the bloody perfection this world is capable of, and I suppose that it is fine by me. It’s like sitting down the whole day in front of a Monet’s masterpiece. No one asks you why you’re doing this, because on your face, it’s like you’re entering a whole entire new world. Benedict is slowly becoming my world. He would probably be a totally average dude for anyone else, and one with a pretty fucked up name too. But he has probably forced my brain to all of its current pain, pain that is, in the end, extremely necessary to reach something that was out of my league until now. Complete, absolute artistic bliss. I don’t care about fandoms, about whatever he or she says or thinks, I have no need to scream out loud how much I actually adore that little pinch in my heart each time he is mentionned, let alone playing. I feel it refreshing, that little delighted squee here and there, and my mind drifting apart just realising how just beautiful he is. It makes me feel both silly and lucky. There is a whole entire universe I’m exploring one step at a time, and the further I go, the better it feels. I let him do. I have no urge of telling him in a way or another, I just feel like everything is just there, between his huge, impossible to qualify talent, and me. And there’s nothing left to say. And it feels fabulous. And I’m glad I am rich of this. I’m extremely grateful.

Oh, I’ve been wandering around another massively talented actor, this week end. I finally took the time to watch the whole of Broadchurch, and was absolutely moved by it. Possibly one of the best serie I’ve seen since…Well, Parade’s End. Not this long, but totally worth taking the eight something hours. Plus there’s David Tennant in it, which is the cherry on top of the cake, but seeing how great he is, I’d say it’s a pumpkin sized cherry. Not bad. Not bad at all.

Oh, one of the perks of being socially ignored was to start appreciating Muse’s work again. Whenever you drop the pressure of the mass of critics and of fangirling and of blind love and deaf hate, you just realise that you can see a setlist and think “oh my word, this is bloody brilliant” and see a stage and think “holy cow that’s 2007 all over again” and the thought stays like that. No one come to spit on it, and you just realise you are loving those people that made your life for years all over again. Twitter has been, lately, such a hate territory that I now realise that being out of it is like discovering all over again how pure air feels. You’d think you can’t spread hate in 140 caracters. Well, think again. Social networks are like a call for what’s worst in the human being. Tendancy to like to brag over nothing. Love for hate, everything, everyone, about things that we normally should appreciate. I don’t find any comfort in this fake world, not anymore. Maybe I’m just growing up to be less about myself and more about my world. After all, aren’t we all vain to claim that our lives have to be updated on an hourly basis ? I know, I’m blogging, but in the end, I’m doing it to exorcise my demons, not to be read. Maybe we’re all little vain and egocentric creatures, and maybe that’s going to be our death. That’s the thing. Anyway, I am letting Muse coming back to me, and it’s going to take a long time, providing we’ve been throwing dishes, furniture, bricks and mortar at each other’s face, but where love has grown, I still believe hate can’t win. Bellamy’s still a rat, but it’s a rat that has saved my miserable life. I can’t deny it much longer. And as far as I can see, Muse are faaaaar from being the most badly behaved band, in terms of disrespecting fans and stuff.

7.06 am. I was right. Grey has won the fight. Maybe I’ll try to sleep. Maybe I’ll just get back to 221B.

 

Sara Jackson Holman – Come By Fire

Encore une merveille belle à crever, qui donne envie d’écrire toute la nuit des destins brisés et des moments de révolte complètement avortés, violés, euthanasiés.
J’ai remis la main sur mes fichiers d’écriture laissés pour compte pendant plus d’un an et demi, et le moins que l’on puisse dire, c’est que j’ai matériel à aller loin. Comme si j’avais archivé méthodiquement des sujets et des personnages, allant de cinq à près de cent pages, en leur promettant de revenir un jour…
Je ne sais même pas où commencer. Peut être en libérant mes idées et en allant au bout du bout de ce que je souhaite faire. En renouant avec mes premiers amours, l’écriture d’horreur. Mes fans de Stan sauront exactement de quoi je suis capable.
Curieuse constante, enfin…Curieuse, si on veut, l’omni-présence d’histoires tristes et la fin oppressante qui refuse totalement le happy end. Même pas écrites, elles hurlent toutes la même chose.
Les thématiques sont parfois très proches, parfois en grand écart. Toujours des nanas, toujours à la première personne. Je hais de tout mon coeur la troisième, que je trouve deshonnorante, en tant qu’auteur. Je trouve qu’on tente de nous la refourguer comme étant une sorte de passe partout, mais entre nous, les émotions ne passent-elles pas mieux quand on dit “je crois que je vais mourir” que lorsqu’on nous présente “il se pourrait qu’elle meurt” ? Peut être que je suis trop investie, trop émotionnelle, trop débordante et trop débordée.

Dans mon micmac à foison, j’ai trouvé un certain nombre de pitchs qui méritent qu’on s’y attarde. Certains me laissent avec l’envie de travailler avec une collègue et amie dessus, certains méritent d’être passés en anglais, et d’autres demandent juste à vivre, le gueulent, le crient de toutes leur forces. Si je voulais, je pourrais ne pas avoir à chercher d’idées pour les dix prochaines années tellement j’ai semé d’histoires derrière moi.

Alors où commencer ? Reprendre l’histoire des jumelles fusionnelles qui vont devoir apprendre à vivre l’une sans l’autre ? Partir sur cet amas de sang quand on trouve un homme a moitié mort dans son jardin, qui nous accuse de l’avoir assassiné, et qui se trouve être celui dont on va tomber eperdument amoureuse ? Continuer sur mon histoire de gonzesse lambda à qui on va offrir le pire et le meilleur en même temps ? Développer cette histoire quasiment écrite de médecin brisé qui a perdu son grand amour entre ses mains ? Tous les personnages semblent reclamer l’attention et le temps, mais je ne sais pas à qui l’accorder. Ce que j’ai envie de faire, ou d’écrire. A qui j’ai envie de salir les mains, chez qui j’ai envie de décrire l’horreur et l’indicible, qui j’ai besoin de pousser à bout, au point de cassure, de non retour, d’horreur absolue sur tous les points. Qui je vais poser en successeur de Melinda.

Je joue à dieu. We all do.

J.J.Abrams is my new hero…

Accusé de sexisme pour avoir “osé” montrer Alice Eve en sous-vêtements dans Star Trek Into Darkness, J.J s’est armé d’une réponse absolument majestueuse à toutes ces conneries…
Ceci dit, on va accuser tous les réalisateurs avec lesquels Ben travaille de sexisme si c’est pour finir avec comme contre-argument le bel anglais sous la douche…

Quote of the day

“One time I went shopping for shirts and suits, but then I found the most beautiful pair of socks and I thought, “I just have to buy this”. So when I did, and I was at the counter, the cashier told me, “You can get another pair of socks for a half off since we’re having a special sale.” So I did, I went and got another pair of socks and then they told me, this time, that if I buy another pair of socks, I’ll get another pair of socks for free…And so I bought another socks to get another pair of socks for free and they told me again that if I buy another pair of socks, this time, they’ll let me have two pairs of socks for free. And I did. So by the end of the day, I had bought about 7 pairs of socks and no new suits or shirts. And I thought to myself, “This is my life now. Spending money on socks.”

Ladies and Gentlemen, Benedict Cumberbatch !

HEADSHOT

…Jeeeee croâ queuh mhon étéroséksualité haaaa fé hein reuthour an feaurce.

 

Scènes coupées de Star Trek Into Darkness. They. Better. Put. It. Back. On. The. DVD.

Ca fait du bien les noeils, hein ?????

THREE. FUCKING. WEEKS.

Avant…
A) que quelqu’un ne soit forcé de me lourder son coca, glaçons compris, à la gueule, pour s’assurer que ma température corporelle reste en deça de 41 degrès
B) que je ne finisse, au mieux jetée dehors, au pire en cellule de dégrisement, pour cause de sons inhumains ayant perturbé la séance
C) que je ne fasse des enfants avec un personnage fictif, terroriste à ses heures perdues MAIS EN 3D DONC BON
D) que je ne remette en question tous mes principes humains en décidant de rejoindre corps et âmes le clan du super méchant qui défonce la tête à tout le monde
E) que je ne trouve, forcément, le très sexy Chris Pine TOTALEMENT POUILLEUX A COTE
F) que je ne remette totalement en question ma bisexualité, calmée par le costume MORTELLEMENT MOULANT DE SUPER MECHANT DONT HOMME DE MA VIE® EST AFFUBLE

G) que je ne finisse assassinée par mes voisins pour cause de comportement digne de belieber/directionner
F) que je n’atterisse en HP pour avoir demandé en mariage un écran de cinéma (en permettant a Pine & Quinto d’être demoiselles d’honneur)
G) que je ne sois contrainte lors de la deuxième vision d’être baillonée au gros scotch crime scene
H) que je ne joue à cache cache avec l’ouvreuse d’une séance à l’autre pour réduire les frais collatéraux en passant ma journée dans la salle
I) que je ne hullule comme une chouette à chaque apparition de super méchant
J) que je sois contrainte de renier tout mon passé de non-trekkie en érigeant ce film tout en haut de ma liste des pétages de plombs cinématographiques
K) que j’envoie une lettre d’insulte en navarin à tous les cinémas qui persisteront à passer le film en VF
L) et aux responsables du massacre aussi
M) que mes hormones ne décident de se suicider toutes les unes après les autres en profitant de la voix de super méchant
N) que je ne sois contrainte d’apprendre à mes voisins comment on écrit C-U-M-B-E-R-B-A-T-C-H
O) quitte à leur taper dessus
P) ET NON C’EST PAS “LE MEC QUI JOUE SHERLOCK / LE CONNARD DANS ATONEMENT / LE TRUC QUI RIME AVEC CONCOMBRE” C’EST BENEDICT MEEERRRDDEEE
Q) que de toute évidence, je n’ai à calmer mes nerfs une fois que mes voisins auront épuisé toutes mes ressources et persisteront à croire que le super méchant de star trek est joué par un cucurbitacé anglais
R) que je ne pourrisse l’ouvreuse / la femme de ménage en restant jusqu’au bout du bout du générique pour compter le nombre de fois où dieu® sera cité
S) que Jess ne me trucide parce que le film ne commence pas encore ? Comment ça dans dix minutes ? C’est TROP dix minutes ? Et là ça fait combien ? QUOI ? Que neuf ? Neuf minutes ? Nan mais nan…Et là ? Comment ça TOUJOURS NEUF ? T’es sûre que tu retardes pas ? Comment ça que je me calme ? MAIS JE SUIS CALME ? ET LA ? ET LAAAAA ? ET LAAAAAAAAAAAA ? attends je vais aller gueuler c’est pas possible que ça traine autant.
T ) que je ne parvienne à rentrer dans le guiness book comme étant la chieuse la plus chiante de l’histoire du cinéma
U) que je ne sois contrainte de remettre en question toute mon existence pour décider de devenir une super méchante moi aussi
V) que je me prenne en photo douze millions de fois devant les affiches

genre ça ou alors ça 
W) que je ne finisse par en faucher une ou deux
X) que j’insulte de tous les noms de canidés, félidés, batraciens, reptiles et oiseaux chaque gonzesse qui s’approchera de près ou de loin de huitième merveille du monde®
Y) que, vaincue par tant d’émotions, je ne finisse par clamser, tombée dans un cumberbatch overload de stade quinze avec ECG plat
Z) bref, que je n’aille enfin voir Star Trek Into Darkness

Même chez Sherlock ils s’y mettent…Tsssssss

Morgan Taylor Reid – Where Do I Even Start

Je peux faire confiance à mon cerveau pour toujours tomber amoureux malgré lui des chansons qui cernent toujours au mieux ce que je pense au moment où je le pense…
Chanson qui s’écoute les yeux fermés, le coeur en bandoulière, l’âme vagabonde et furieuse.

[en V.O 1]

First post in english out there. This blog’s been alive for eight solid months now, which is, as far as I recall, a great big miracle. In a few weeks, I’ll reach a hundred articles and two thousand readers. Not so bad, for the random musings of a rather confused mind.

I don’t quite know why the sudden urge of writing in english. Probably because I sometimes drown, sometimes swim in an english spoken world lately. Maybe because while I try to hold underwater until they die my thoughts, my fears, my battles and my defeats, they are slowly taking over me, and it is so much easier to express it in english. Don’t ask me why. I don’t know. Every single word, every emotion, every breath, every whisper, every shout, every cry seems to be far stronger if in english. Which is odd. I mean I’m apparently living in a country of arts (well, as far as the humanity until 1980 is concerned) and words and plays and books and writers, so I should, as a writer, find a comfort into those billions of expressions and possibilities. I just find them impressing. Too impressing. Too rich and too tricky and too big for me to wrap my characters into it and feel completely satisfied.

I’ll probably rewrite my first novel entirely in english sometime soon, providing I have the time to. I’ll probably be much more happy with the final result, because whenever Matt kisses Melinda, he won’t feel the urge to let the whole wild world know about it. He’ll just kiss, and every one will understand what he means.

So, yeah, english and a so very strange time of my life. Actually, saying it is strange is already a statement that ain’t true. I’m in the middle of a what the hell time of my life. Things falls apart, yet some are promising, and opportunities are as obvious as dead ends and no one knows what is good from what is not.

I don’t know. There. One hell of a statement. How are you, axy ? I don’t know. What do you want, axy ? (aside from spending my life somewhat with my favorite english person, on screen or for real, his call) I don’t know. What do you feel, axy ? (aside from jumping up and down with the idea that STID is finally going to be released soon here) I don’t know.

I don’t know.

I wish I was angry enough to tell some people to go and get fucked by flesh eaters penguins with sharp purple teeth and a violent tendancy to devour their prey once fucked, but I don’t. I postponed the revenge. I refuse to take back what’s mine for some stupid reasons I ignore. I mean, hell, I have a bloody form to fill up to just slap my mother in the face, and I do deserve more than a slap on her, I don’t even dare. Is it weakness ? Am I being a coward ? Nope. I’m just being too nice and too scared. I need to…I don’t know, grow a fucking pair of balls and punch her in the face the way she needs to be.

Maybe it’s easier for me not to do anything. That way, I’m not responsible ? It’s far from me, too far for me to reach it ? If I could, I think I’d just take my computer, my luggage, my best friend and my jack, and I’d just run away from everything, and I’d make sure no one will ever remind to me that she existed. She’s not my mother. She’s barely a surrogate who gave birth to the most unwanted child that ever existed. My face wears her mistakes, my shoulders carries her lies. I think I just want to get it over and done with her. Never hear about her ever again. Never think about her.

I guess that means that I have to fill up the bloody form. I guess I should do it. I guess. You lot have no idea how it feels to be the result of this kind of…Yeah, misery. It is misery. A father I will never know, a mother that hates me, and an adoptive dad she took away from me. I’m seriously considering the fact that this really fucked me up so much I will never get a normal life. I’m running away as fast as I can from normality. Sadly, the only thing I know about my father is that he gave me this sense of abnormality. Being so stupidly sensitive, having an IQ high enough to rot my own brain, having this ability and wish to go help the world without being settled down enough to carry about my own life first…We’re the same. Somehow, I hope, no, I wish he’s looking after me from wherever he is. I’m his only child, let alone daughter. How I wish I had the chance to know you. Even for a minute or two. Would have been great.

Thankfully-yes, sarcasm, irony, and every kind of cynism you may want to find in there-I’m not stuck in the middle of nowhere only by that. Nohoooo. I have no bloody idea as to where I’m going. I’ll start very soon a triple degree in sociology/philosophy/history, look forward to add a splash of psychology in there, to become a teacher, or work into a research lab, or even become a social service worker, and it looks damn exciting, but where am I going to end up ? Things never goes as you plan them to be. Never. So, yeah, great big doubts. Maybe I’ll get published. Rolling the dices again. Maybe not. Facing terrible moments of self inflicted mind wounds caused by endless questions. I don’t know.

Should probably have entitled this article like that. I don’t know.

On the I don’t know subject, there’s those stupid signs my body is sending to me. For a long time already. Probably…Well, yeah, four months. Head messing around. Memory running away. The terrible feeling that my brain’s electric network is being switched off for a tiny second, but enough to feel it. Spots on my eyes. Heart racing, then slowing down, then racing again for absolutely no reasons. Dots, sometimes big, sometimes not, appearing everywhere. Right lung’s not working properly anymore, gets blocked and send a nice, lovely stabbing pain on my right side. And this list gets longer by the day. Giving me warning I still refuse to see. Actually, I see them. I don’t want to hear them. But is is making a fool of me that I chose not to catch the science’s answers ? I could. If I fail at being a strong stubborn idiot, I can call them now, end up in the ER, finishing the night being cut into pieces and becoming their puppet. When you get sick, it’s like you have no other choice.  Either you let them do, or you’re too stupid to be taken care of. And what if it was my choice, to trust m own body to avoid this mess ? I’d still make the same one if I had to do it again. I’m still convinced that the first cut will as well be the last. Perhaps I’m wrong. I’m not in a hurry to figure it out. Even if it is coming my way faster than I want to.

I’m still focused on the very first words I heard once the culprit was found. You won’t last two weeks. That was on August 27th, 2007. Almost six years ago. I don’t feel good, but I’m never going to complain. I had a lot more than I was supposed to. And I am not giving up. No way. Never. That, for sure, I do know. There are a lot of exciting things out there. And exciting people. I won’t be mad at some of them forever.

Proof ? I miss Muse quite a lot. I reall really do. I don’t miss the mess, I miss the band. One of the reasons why I absolutely want to get better. I want to see them getting back my trust and my love with the next album or tour. I want to see them act like the fucking Muse phoenix, reborn from their own burning ashes. I really really really want that. And believe in it.

I want to slap Charles Cave in the fucking face too. And hug Tommy and Jack and Rob. And Harry once he cut his hair in a decent way. I miss them. Not as much as I thought I’d be, but still. New songs sounds pretty decent and nice, I’m looking forward to hear them in a proper way. Plus they’re…White Lies. The are a part of my life too. They were here in my worst days. I held her hand while they left the stage at Wembley knowing this moment would be the toughest of my entire life. I was not wrong. I was heading to a world of nightmare straight after. So, I need them to come back and make things easily back again, and to become back this adorable band and the creators of such perfect music. Make things better.

As for The Killers, hell, I don’t know. Amsterdam was my best concert. But I am so, so mad at them for behaving like assholes. I tend to hate people that are making me feel like I’ve spent my money the wrong way.

Needless to say that in this blurry ocean of unkept promises yet undying devotion, I have something to rely on quite strongly, and I’m so glad he’s there. He’s like the red laser dot on the horizon you have to follow to stay out of the blue. Even if it was meant to happen, and I was supposed to fall for those pretty and insanely beautiful blue eyes, I am just eternally grateful for it to be now that I’m just tied up to a rock in the middle of a storm. He’s just there whenever I need to drop the pressure inside my fucked up head, and the further I go, the wider my own creative perspectives goes. It is boiling, now, it’s like I’ve just kept all of those ideas stuck up there until it’s going to explode and end up into something that will undoubtedly be the best I’ve ever done.

So, see. Maybe I don’t know, but the things I do know are keeping me afloat. Which is good. I guess I just need a bit of time off to think and took strong decisions, life-changing ones. That’s why I deserted all of the social networks lately. Whenever you’re standing in a twitter timeline while feeling lost, it’s like hundreds of thousands of people are shouting all at once, and you’re trying to hear and decipher one message from one voice only in the middle of all this. It was just too hard for me not to decide to back off. Now the question is : when will I come back ? Not too sure I will, actually. I’m always, in a very selfish manner, amazed by how quick you can dissapear without people noticing.

And dissapearing tend to freak me out, lately.

Enough for tonight. Or I’ll be feeling like I relate to a character who’s probably initiated this storm a couple of week ago, and, as much as you’ve been such an incredible encounter, I’d rather stay away from your path as of now.

Ooooh. Oh. Noticed ? My blog has changed. Who would guess that I can’t wait anymore until S3 ? No one, right ?