Diary entry, august 16th 2013

Strange, very strange summer. Its start was pretty badass, with London and Star Trek and Andrew and all, July was rather quiet, and August is fast and tough.

You may-or may not-have noticed that the last few posts were all about pesting and moaning and raging against fandoms of all sorts. Musers have lost it, the Benedict surroundings are being pretty fucked up too, and as for the latest addition to my very reduced list of beloved actors-Zachary Quinto-it has been quite bumpy and stupid too. And don’t get me started on White Lies fans…It is like fandoms feels the urge to misbehave at their own rythm and style, eventually. And it is really, really exhausting.

I am walking on a thin line, lately. For several reasons. My oh-so adorable mother has decided to fuck me up once again, wich is something I can fight and battle alone, but added to a whole lot of other things, I don’t fucking know. And my health is slowly but surely getting worst, feeding with stress a condition that didn’t needed that to be worrying already. So it is kinda hard to get my head out of the water on a persistent way. I’m taking things one day at a time, and figure things out like this. The past three months have all been stained with pain crisis and external manifestations of what is hitting me. More than it has in six years altogether. I knew it would happen, I would not get cured magically, but it does not make it less scary or less painful. A lot of things are going on inside of my head, and I can’t quite get it tidy and ordered.

I am lucky. The most important thing of my little world is being a fantastic addition to it, thing that I knew already, but he’s been a very good companion so far, and my love and faith into him is only growing stronger movie after movie. He’s possibly one of the funniest, most interesting human being, and I have been getting the feeling that he follows me lately, since I work a lot with the fantastic team of Cumberbatch France on several interviews, and drowning myself into it and laughing and adoring him even more line after line is quite a delicious feeling. Since I am surrounded by extraordinary fans, those with a strong head and a smart heart, things are going easily, smoothly, and I don’t really care, personaly, about the dramas and all. I am with the best bunch of fans ever and it is a bliss to evolve and get to know him without the constant fandom parasite. And even when he’s not making the smartest of choices, I don’t really care. I’m mentally shaking him a little before running back towards him and digging more and more his talent. He is this year’s gift, and if things goes well, he’s my decade’s treasure.

Yes. Finally. I had left my blissful discover of his talent away for a few weeks, but I came back to it last week, and I’m going for something like one per week. And last week was Hawking.

Why am I going so slowly ? Well. Let’s just say that I am often left speechless and moved and facing an ocean of emotions, and it is not that easy to handle. That is why he is *that* important. Not anyone can do that. Actually, no one else can go this far into the feeling process.

So, yeah, Hawking. Even if I was a bit lost with an edit that was, in my opinion, a bit rough, Benedict was beyond fantastic, but it can’t be a surprise, not anymore, can it ? I don’t know what I’ve loved the most. Probably his way of showing that beyond his condition, Hawking was and still is one hell of a brillant mind, and you can almost guess the storm in Ben’s eyes. Actors are usually liars, they are paid to make you believe they are someone they aren’t, but Benedict is one of the only actors who are not lying. He is absolutely into the character, and that’s when the magic happens. And with him, magic always happens. That’s why it is so great to have him around. He’s a constant surprise, a permanent delight. His talent is not only a matter of work, intelligence and luck. It is an actual gift.

I have watched War Horse too. Well, the movie was a bit dull, nothing quite unexpecte or surprising in there, and clearly, 15 minutes of Ben are not enough for me. It was a nice movie, but not one that will left me shaking and breathless. Spielberg should have used him more than just the few sequences shown, and I was clearly pissed we never knew how the character ended. Prisoner ? Killed ? No idea. Not without taking a little bit the piss, I heard myself saying “well, he should have given to him the horse’s part”. He would probably have made a better horse than the horse himself

Well…that is one other side of the story of this month, and it is not the best part, to say the least. White Lies.

Big TV is five days old now, and half of it is genius (first half). The second one is a bit…Meh. I will probably get into it later on, but as of now, it is like the album is a six track EP since I have those six tracks on repeat since monday.

As expected, the charts are tragic out there. 211 for the deluxe edition and 294 for the regular on itunes. There was one only interview on Obskure, and that’s it. But I don’t worry anymore. France never made a difference, and it is not going to start now. They don’t do anything to help, mind.

Things would go quite easily if I did not thought that they are turning into a stubborn bunch of spoilt idiots. What happens on twitter lately is pointless and give me the feeling that they don’t give a flying fuck to people, like, true people. Fans. And it’s not even the feeling of being royally ignored here (and not having one single reaction when you tweet them their face on the front cover of a french magazine is quite ironic), there is also a matter of them fucking up the oldest fans. They encouraged people to beg for a follow, tonight. I just feel like they need to grow up and mature a little bit, and I am bittersweet because I know it is just a matter of years and settle down. I’ll just be patient, and hope that the fandom is not going to go more off the rails that it already does.

Yes, yes, yes. This is Zachary Quinto, latest and very proud addition to my own top three of the best actors ever. Providing Ben is out of the top three since he is a living miracle, Zach is on his way to reach the highest position. He is ridiculously good.

I mean, he and me were not really meant to be friends, but thanks to Benedict, I’ve seen Star Trek, and noticed that he is one hell of a Spock. So, we’ve been catching back on his carreer, and the least I can say is that he is amazing, both as an actor and as producer.

No need to come back on AhS, the long article earlier this months betrays me on the subject. As Oliver Thredson, he is absolutely fantastic.

We got him on short movies here and there, sometimes as a comedy role, sometimes not, but he is always great.

We’ve started Heroes too. Sylar is one hell of a villain, he’s bloody scary. I love how he can go from being a good idiot to a bad smartass in a second.

 

And we’ve seen Margin Call, his first actual movie as a producer, which was one terrible yet perfect experience as a watcher. Story how about traders fuck this world up, with some of the best actors ever in there (Kevin Spacey, Jeremy Irons, Paul Bettany, etc…) I just could not advice people enough to watch it. An incredible movie.

It is nice, and I like the character too. He’s a charity man, like, he does a lot for the gay cause and for animals too, he is pretty sweet and fun, and he is very straightforward and honest, which is rare. Plus his instagram account is the nicest collection of daily captures I’ve seen in a long time. It is a delight. The pretty cherry on top of my very Benedict cake.

See, as ever, things are floating, sometimes on troubled waters, sometimes not, but the one thing I am sure of is that I keep fighting really hard to make sure things are going the right way. Well, maybe not the right way, but one way anyway. And it’ll be the right one, eventually, because I don’t have that much of a choice.

Life goes on [en V.O 6]

Well, haven’t posted in a little while, have I ? I’ve reached a hundred posts, job done.

Not that easy. Anyway, I’m back !

Had last week and this week end a rough patch. My mood is rather fabulous, it is my health that is going off the rails quite badly, but I did warned you about it all, right ? So no tears or insane worries. It’s just the way it should be. I’m celebrating the brave and freaky sixth anniversary of the “I give you two weeks top” thing next month (yes, it is an actual anniversary of mine, I’m *that* creepy within myself) so once again, telling the story, but not complaining. Aside from pain. I complain a lot about pain, but if you never had a twisted ovary, then you don’t know how much this thing can just dry out everything, energy, will to fight, even strength to think. I have people I genuinely dislike a lot, or even, for some of them, hate, and even to them, I would not wish this thing for the world. No one deserves this.

During major pain crisis, I still wonder what the hell did I do wrong to deserve this. I’d give up for surgery in a second, dropping therefore all of my fears of not waking up and dying on an operating table. Which would be one hell of a loser’s death. I am sick and I carry on the consequences it can drag with it only during those moments. The rest of the time, I simply genuinely forget.

So, yeah, tough week. I think I’m back from it, once again, one more time, and I fight hard for it not to be the last one. I have a couple of tests to make in the foreseeable future, and I can’t and don’t expect them to be good. Where I am now, I’m just hoping for a not-too-bad issue.

 

Aside from that, I’m back on a writing mode. First time in months…Actually, first time since the storm has put one hell of a mess in my life.

vi, c’est toi la tempête. Pardis.

Once more, I was planning on speaking about something, then I illustrate my thoughts with him and therefore screw up my own concentration, feel like someone has turned the heater on and if I keep on playing that game, at some point there will be shivers.

It’s been months, now, since I figured it all out, and it’s still having an effect on me that goes wayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy beyond anything normal. And I don’t even play a freakin groupie game, nope, too old for that shit, no, it is th actual state of “this guy has so much talent we will NEVER have enough time in ONE LIFE to reach a tenth of it”. And the worst part of it being…That I did not went further into my treasure folder. Nope ! The only thing Benedict-related (aside from breathing, which seems to be very Ben related lately) I have done since London is Star Trek take 4. And for the fourth time, I was stunned, mind blown, and ended up the thing half alive, trying to convince myself that he is not fucking human to have such an indecent level of talent.

Tu l’as dit, patate.

The thing is : I ALREADY KNOW THAT. So now I am in the absolutely thrilling moment where I have to decide where I am going next. And the mass of emotions, possible tears, and general body failure facing such a fantastic talent. It’s a wonder how my brain still works, after all, I spend my days being slapped in the head, a slap worth a coma.

On the human side of the subject though : look at that.

Incognito a Glasto. Et ça rime.

 

Moins incognito et toujours aussi fluffy aux Rolling Stones à Hyde Park. Fanboy, va.

I totally adore those pictures because they are just illustrating my point. Despite that insane level of talent, he is so normal. No weird behaviour, no pretending to be someone he is not, no expressions of an oversized ego. He is so…Boy next door, it is extremely comforting, as a fan. I’m done with oversized egos and twats and people behaving like the world owe them something. Benedict is not perfect, and that’s what is making him so perfect for me. Plus, seriously, how cool does he looks like ? Seriously, look at him. You got to love him even more (if it was even possible, which I sort of doubt)

sisisisisisisi c’est le même mec. Il est fort, hein ?

 

One day there’ll be a Ben-less post. I swear. My epitath, I suppose ? Not even, he’ll be somewhere on there too. He’s just something in my life that is both so logic and so exciting. Something I can really, blindly, rely on. A blessing.

 

Oh.

Oh.

OOOOh.

You know, I have this crazy deadline, the one with crazy requirements in terms of signs number, and I was due to make a cut.

Well, I decided not to make a cut, but to rewrite a large part of it. So that’s why I’m awake at 4 with my current shaky health. I was with Matt and Melinda. I’m rewriting their story. And it is crazy. And absolutely extraordinary to do. It’s like I have learnt from their lives what I should not do, what need to get deleted, and how things needs to be rephrased. So, without changing their story, I just feel like I’m giving it the best impulse, not just a good one. And it is thrilling and exhilarating. And fantastic. I love it so much.

Un morceau de la nouvelle version. 

See, things are going pretty well, after all. If we forget the fact that from tomorrow on, I won’t be able to see STID on my local cinema anymore.

And that sucks

 

 

Looking a little bit further [en VO 5]

On June 12th, when I was there, sat at the Subway across the road, just in front of the cinema, one hand on my ticket, one eye on the poster with the evil dude no one would recognize but that my heart was already attached to, I was excited to see my beloved favorite actor of all times on a big screen, finally. I really could not care less about the actual film, let alone the actors.

On June 16th, when I get back to do it all over again, it was for the film in general, Benedict’s performance being the added touch that just smashed the whole thing.

On June 20th, I was already considering getting to know a little bit more the two others actors in there that caught my attention, somehow, despite being lost cases to my eyes. Lost cases are probably meant to be found.

 

What is the first thing you notice about those two ? They’re handsome, right ? They both give a life to two of the most famous characters of SciFi of all times, and they got it right. They both are americans. They both are famous, and you don’t even precisely know why. Just because they are.

Zachary Quinto isn’t a case as tricky as Chris is. He’s gay, openly gay, he is free and makes his own choices, that, often, are surprising and challenging. He is known now as an American Horror Story thing, as Spock, as a dog lover, as a cutie pie, as a meanie in Heroes. Pretty various, eh ?

As for Chris, and this is where I’m heading to, well, it’s a whole other matter.

I mean look at him. Look. At. Him.

 

Last time hollywood brought us something this bloody perfect, his name was Brad Pitt and women all around the world were losing it. Chris is the most handsome, charming, gorgeous man we’ve seen in a while. In a very cold way, he is just made out of Jupiter’s thights.

And I would not dare to say that he does not make my heterosexuality kicking in. He is eye candy as its best. Looking at him only is a sensual ravishment.

But you know me. Beauty is this world’s biggest and saddest form of boredom, and I’d get bored of Chris if there was not something else.

I mean, don’t take me wrong. To the best, he’d reach the leading role of my actor’s top ten of all times. Yes, leading. And that’s because Benedict will never, ever have such a place on such a top ten. Or twenty. Ot three.

Benedict is from another universe, his effect on me is a hundred thousand times better and bigger than all of this planet’s actors put together. He is not my favorite actor, he is my favorite human being altogether, and he is an inspiration on so many levels I don’t think I will ever quite reach half of it. Ever. He is not important, he is essential. Breathing is essential, sleeping is essential, there, Benedict is essential. He is the freaking light at the end of the tunnel, and I will never, ever say enough how grateful I am to count this incredible man as my idol. Never. It would take billions of blog pages to do so, and in every single language this world has ever spoken.

Nevertheless, I like to check out new things, and to extend what he eventually brought to me to a level where the link between both things is so tight it is becoming impossible to tell. And unlike the B. stamped things that will always drag me to endless feels and thoughts and emotions and to a sort of sensitive overdose, I enjoy watching innocent things. Just for the pleasure of having stories told to me, stories I know won’t find an echo deep down inside of me. And I have been so, so moved by “that scene” in Star Trek Into Darkness that I wanted to know more of this young handsome man.

And I did. Not that he’s done much, though, but he’s done quite some things that I was curious at. Couple of movies. One that is a light hearted romantic comedy, and one that clearly was a drama without added violins, and very sensitive one too.

There is one thing that you are forced to notice, it’s that, so far, directors, and even my beloved JJ, are using him in the same range of characters. I mean, James Kirk is pretty, stubborn, talented and somehow gifted with a luck in saving his (cute) ass off crazy situations. And he is pretty much always used like that, pretty smartass not respecting much of the rules and suddenly meeting the definition of what a human feeling is.

 

I disagree. Hugely. And I’m growing frustrated because I actually feel that there is a whole lot more to catch with this young man, and I am growing one hundred percent sure that a great actor lies beneath. And it is sad that hollywood has already overused his looks rather than questioning his talent, which is what I am now doing. I’m not questioning it, mind. I’m affirming it. I have sensed things here and there that makes me pretty sure of what I’m saying. And as much as I love sometimes to reduce Benedict into the most beautiful thing I have ever seen because his talent is blinding, I now chose to turn Chris Pine into something I will have faith in because there is so much more to look through him than just his perfect body and face.

And I am sure I won’t be dissapointed. He will soon be a better actor than he looks like. I’m just calling to any director that is not shy or afraid to challenge people to give him a dirty, disturbing role, and to let him just play with it. I hope it’s going to happen really soon.

In the meantime, I’ll enjoy my captain Kirk and my Mr. Spock on big screen a couple of times more. Or so.

Oh and Khan. Indeed.

 

[en V.O 4]

Right, world. I appear to be able to write only in the middle of the night, which is both unsurprising and very strange. But then again, I wrote a whole 700 pages long novel in two months night’s time. I suppose I am some kind of a night owl. Without the feathers. So, 4.48 am.

Guess what I’m listening to. I have There Goes Our Love Again on repeat for 24 hours. I shall switch onto Giacchino’s latest masterpiece soon, just to get into the mood.

I’m having Harry’s voice flooding my brain, and Benedict’s alien-ish, very Khan expression almost monitoring me on my background as I write this. I am going from the global White Lies universe to my little Cumberbatched planet, back and forth endlessly, and it’s absolutely exhilarating. Maybe the key is there, aiming for two “fandoms” (dooooon’t get me starting) that have absolutely nothing in common (aside from London, maybe) and to find a balance between the two of them. And I’m very happy with this scheme. I adore it that way.

Getting back this band is such a treat. I’ve been going through so many dissapointments, in so many levels lately, all around bands and their shenanigans, that having them back so powerful and so strong is a huge relief. A real crazy sighing towards the future and the trust and faith I’ve always had into them, that I may just have burried on the way, or forgotten a little bit. I’m already creating new memories with them, slowly deleting the pain surrounding the most recent ones, and having now a blurry overall vision of what was linked to the last tour.

I’m astonished at how I am making my own heart healing faster just by constantly moving forward. I don’t and won’t say that it is easy, cause it is a terrible day-to-day fight, and I have my weak moments, but I’m having my head out of the water now, and I keep it strongly as such. And that was anything but a fight won in advance. I was aiming for a complete drowning, and I did drowned a few times. Strangely enough if people were to ask me how I cured and am curing my broken heart, I would not be able to reply. I have no fucking idea how I did that. And how I am doing it. I suppose that I worked out the hatred I had, and got rid of it as fast as I could, because this feeling is not “me” at all. I’m a very bad hate spreading person. It’s a bad feeling. One that ruins this world. I’m having perfectly steady relations with my ex now. I don’t know if the feeling got killed, I’m just not checking out my brain’s archives to see if…Because if there was actually something out there, hidden, putting my hands on it would most probably kill me at all. And thanks, I love life way too much to do such thing. I got rid of all of my demons without any medical trick or chemical help, and I’m too proud of it to fall back for the slightest thing that would damage me more.

I can’t quite believe how far I’ve come. How many stupid shit I’ve been able to throw away. I’m strong, now. Even in my weakest days, I’m still pretty strong. I may not know where I am going, and when I will end up there, but I’m enjoying the treasures on the path.

I’m so positive lately, I’m almost annoying myself.

Anyway…Ohhh guess what I’m doing tonight !

That’s correct. Has my 5063 words review (the longuest article on that blog, ever) given you a definite clue ? I am indeed going to see Star Trek Into Darkness for the third time, and this one has a significant difference. It is in english. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love the french one, it is extremely well made and all, and even Benedict’s french voice is actually decent, but hell, nothing, ever, will match the intensity of my british gem quite like what he is capable of doing all by himself. With what could be the most amazing voice ever. His, indeed. And I’m building up a relationship with his voice too, as in an almost separated dimension than with the rest of him, since I have discovered this week that England does radio shows too. And pretty good ones.

 

Well…

I don’t want to have any of those four in the same plane as me. Ever. For nothing.

This is something so terribly british, but then again, they have the BBC which is a paradise for anything that can come into the serie form. And they have radio shows. Something I thought existed only in the past century, and the earliest times of it. But it appears that I was wrong. So, ladies and gentlemen, can I introduce you to the funniest thing I have ever heard from the BBC ? Cabin Pressure. Which, as the name kinda give away, is about a bunch of “professionals” supposed to make plane fly, land and take off. Supposed. Within the first episode (and the actual tears of laughter running down my face), you pretty much figured out all by yourself that there aren’t people less able to handle a plane than those four. Benedict plays the most annoying captain that has ever put his hands on a fucking plane (and had to pass his licence seven bloody times), but he is absolutely hilarious. And so are they all. I’m playing with my own fear of flying (wink wink) and have loved this thing so far. I just need to laugh a little less louder, or I’ll be in trouble with my neighbours.

It acts as a total newest discovery of what he is capable of doing, and I would never have bet on such a natural comic talent. But I think that I’m never, like, ever, going to be not surprised by each new things he is willing to bring me to. It’s kind of like being stepping into a whooooole new world, with different rules and different ways of doing things, and each new thing I discover through him is going to be pure and absolute bliss.

So, yeah, Star Trek in english. I so look forward to it. I’ve been counting down hours since I let go of a scream of joy when I figured out that I’d be able to have it in english, about four days ago. I feel lucky. And this one is pretty much almost only for Benedict, since I really don’t care about whether Chris or Zach’s voices are correctly dubbed…

Oh, see, last week, prior to the release of the movie, they were still Quinto and Pine, and I could not care less about them. Now they are Zach and Chris. They won over the movie, and I did fell in love with their characters. I even watched the first one, and loved it to bits too. A little less than Into Darkness, but then again, there is Benedict into this one, and that is one hell of a decisive thing. But, yeah. Actually, Chris had been a pretty good surprise for me when I watched the Graham Norton a month and a half ago (for Benedict indeed) and I realised he was a pretty cool guy. The real surprise is Zachary. He’s one hell of a sweet guy, and one that is engaged into all of the fights that are close to my heart.

So yeah. Can’t wait till tonight, and I know that I’m going to get once again slapped violently in the face by Benedict. I know he is using his voice to make Khan more scary and threatening, and I can not wait to experience it. 7.10 pm tonight.

 

This week end is the great big stadiums shows week end. On my left, Muse is playing both times at le Stade de France, and on my right, The Killers are playing at Wembley Stadium. I’m excited for the people coming, I hope the setlists are going to rock their socks off, but I am so not concerned personnaly that it is almost scary to think about the time I was, actually, one of the most concerned. It seems like I’m watching their week end as it will happen, and as I know it will since I know how it works, like an emotion less version of my own experience back in 2010. Strange, innit ? That’s for Muse indeed. Cause The Killers, I don’t really give a damn to it. I’m not past the anger and the dissapointments yet, I will, but not now. Not today and not in those conditions. Actually, if I had to chose one absolutely, I’d go for Muse without a doubt. But I’m not really sure if I want it or not. And I think I need to want it to enjoy it to the full. I just hope that everyone going, whether it is london or paris, will have the time of their lives.

 

Am I missing Muse ?

I think that it is a subject that deserves a whole article just for it. The answer is probably yes.

 

I’m fine. I really am having a pretty good time, but I have hints telling me that I shall enjoy it while it lasts, because there is one massive dark cloud just circling my horizon. I don’t really want to sound alarming or anything, but I’ve had for a week now several body warnings, and one that, I’m afraid, will lead to some pretty bad news. It’ll be all cleared out next months, cause I really, really don’t want to spoil the precious few days ahead, and I kind of have the gut feeling that this time, it won’t be nice and easy. I can be wrong, I may be wrong, I hope to be wrong more than anything. I have to be wrong. I’ll be just fine, within days it’ll be gone and I’ll be playing that russian roulette game once again. It has to. I just wonder, if it is not ok, about how I’ll handle it, and it is a little thought in the back of my mind, just wandering around from time to time and reminding me of something I really want to forget. Can I postpone fear ? Is it something, like a flight, I can delay ? I shall try, at least for a few more days. Early july will come early enough.

Don’t worry for me, I’m fine. There is nothing out there I’m not able to live through and fight. I’ve done so much already, I’m ready for anything. Life is incredibly amazing, with its highs and lows, and I’ve learnt to appreciate so much the good thanks to the bad. I can’t complain, that makes out of me someone so bloody powerful. And that definetely turns my good into even better.

 

[en V.O 3]

Warning : ce post contient des éléments photographiques en haute résolution, qui, à très court terme, peuvent générer des effets secondaires : tachycardie, sueurs, tremblements, envie irrésistible de regarder Sherlock, etc…

This blog is nine months old now. I’d never thought I’d reach this far with a story of my own life.

And so far, I’ve been dealing with losing Muse, replacing them by The Killers, living with a heart broken in so many ways, getting back White Lies. It’s a band’s story, never the same, some have dissapointed me greatly, some are recovering, one has never changed since the earliest beginning. It’s a music story, I’d say. My life is a song, my head is filled with music.

See how I avoid the troublemaker of this quiet little place ? He’s there, standing in a corner of this post, laughing at me trying to refuse what he’s brought me already.

Calm down, you english…Perfect…Thing. You know where I’m going, and you know I’m following you before anything else, now. Or anyone, as far as I’m concerned.

This is actually my point. This blog, and this life has turned into something I would never, ever have expected in any way.

I could say that I am surprised. And I am genuinely surprised. Totally. Yet…Was that really such a shock ? No one was surprised when it finally rose up, most of my friends were like “Axy, it is hardly new for us”. Was that obvious at the beginning ? Was I already completely under the spell of the fabulous-actor-with-the-tricky-name ?

Was I ?

Providing this was supposed to happen, and I absolutely believe it was, the true surprise in there is how far I’m going, and how defenseless I am. I have dropped the risk of being dissapointed, entirely. I have not a single doubt about the fact that he can not let me down. Which is the strangest feeling ever. You just reach out new things, and at some point, very early in the process, he’s just winning it over. I suppose that it is what a favorite actor is supposed to do…Granted.

But this goes even far, far beyond that. This one, this particular human being has now reached a point that was a no man’s land. Something no one ever touched, or even came close. Not even Muse. No one.

It is so strange, and so hard to explain. I’m afraid of violating the feeling if i try to describe it. I won’t, but it is such a precious, unexperienced thing, and I’m having such a blast exploring it.

I am absolutely overwhelmed. Not by what he is doing only…But by him. 

The past things I have discovered, the movies, the TV Shows, the short films, even a freakin commercial he’s the voice of… for dogs shelters for fucks sake ! Everything eventually left me crying my eyes out, not only because I am moved and touched and absolutely messed up each fucking time, but also, and this is where things get a little strange, by the actual realization of how bloody lucky I am to be able to connect with someone like that, and how it is a permanent flow of emotions that are waaaaaaaaaaay bigger than I’ll ever be, and how good it feels to be sent into this extraordinary world painted with his colors, that are, quite strangely, matching mine.

It’s just an actor, for god’s sake. Nothing more ! I should be terrified with the mess he’s made so far inside my head, but instead…I’m thrilled ! And I even have to slow down the process or I’m going to end up with a damn Stendhal Syndrome. I can not handle more than one new thing a week (aside from Sherlock, but Sherlock is home) or I’m going to have some serious troubles getting back to reality and dragging my own self out of the world he has created all by himself. And even those I already know, like, for instance, Parade’s End, are hitting harder the second time.

So I’m just there, contemplating the dozen of things he’s done that are going to fuck me up yet fix me, not daring to reach them now because I don’t know how it is going to end up, and how devastated in the most perfect way I’m going to finish it. And I have a whole world ahead of me. And he’s involved in dozens of others, to come, so, I’m going to have years and years and years with him, just being absolutly mind blown each time, and i have blind faith in his choices.

How good is that, eh ? I’m like…Standing up in the middle of a storm, and feeling more alive than I’ve ever been. In a constant flow of emotions, able to catch everything and feel it the strongest I humanly can.

So, Benedict, you’re standing in the way of a lot of things that matters to me. But, honey…I’m afraid you are more important than any of those. Please, stay. I have known my world before you, and one thing is sure : I hardly believe there will be one after.

For someone I had chosen not to like before Sherlock, the least we can say is that you’ve made your fucking way up to the top.

Bloody english talents. They’ll be the death of me.

P.S Holy crap, Star Trek tomorrow. Call 911 already ?

Inseparable

Tentée de décrire.
Ne vais pas le faire.
Prenez dix minutes pour apprécier le talent de ce mec…Deux fois ?

[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.

 

[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 ?