Denis Milani Streaming

Leaving (behind?)

Today, when longing to share, and no frills, eminently a time, objectively nostalgic departure.
So now, two years have passed, we advance, and to paraphrase my friend Souchon, "was not enough gas to make the journey in the opposite direction", so at the end of an era Well, go, you're going, to nest under other skies. Without knowing which also ...

The end of an era is this strange moment where what was the most mundane daily, the accessible and "always at hand," is preparing to plunge into the past. To enter a very specific chronology, the narrative of our own existence, what makes it unique. Bordeaux now will not be where I am studying, "yeah, it's far, 6am train, but it is a nice city, I love", but a step defined by my path, which I will come to speak under several labels: years of master, or, when I lived in Bordeaux, or the period-Science Po ... Yes, what was the general atmosphere, the constant of twenty months, will close such a large bracket.

It never leaves a definite place, let alone the people who are associated, for example, I know I'll come back next week in the summer, a month in September and will keep contact with people encountered significant here, and we have many opportunities to meet again in different circumstances ... and yet there are times when one feels that "one part", it's for real. That moment when we feel powerless break the "it's over." Why now and not next time? What is lost is precisely that moment? What determines this feeling confused?

What we lose, they are neither the friends nor the house and the room we occupied: it is a lifestyle that is abandoned. A self associated with this environment that will never really like any other part of the changes that we are known, there will always be linked. We give up one of these little lives that make great, and because it seems necessary to go without saying, it does so without much difficulty. With perhaps a back imperceptible we its wing think we do "not carry". Perhaps because that would make things much harder.

So, bye-bye Bordeaux ... rain rugby, the corridors of the IEP courses Darbon, the indoor climbing Villenave d'Ornon and courses Dominique Hall on Thursday evening, the evening discussing with roommates in the frame of the door of my room, post-its on the fridge, up the stairs to the apartment of Joel and mataba, shopping spree to catch the tram, smaller neighbors who squeal and their parents shouting at each other, stupidity college students coming and going, the games of badminton. And all these elements form a system for a while. A transient configuration the center of which, however small it is, I had my place.

The Training Of O.streaming

Little things

Tonight I just wanted to say stupid things without knowing to whom to say really. Who cares? Who is affected? That would be (good) height? The little things are fragile, they do not survive well in contempt, they do not survive well the great difficulties of life we are experiencing, we believe, valiantly. The little things are there for the eyes that see them by searching the horizon for idle thoughts that crawl from tree to tree looking for a little bit of what merry.
Tonight I ran into the park, there was the smell of wet grass, flower petals and white crushed into the sand of the road and the water dark and shimmering this kind of pond, disturbed occasionally by the circles of fish coming to drink air. And the sun was a little on my face, and leaves of this tree form so strange and so clear, so green. A maple tree?

I like the obliquity of the evening sun, and the texture of plastic when fresh grass tangled his fingers along the stems. I like having the feeling of escape time - I like being able to succumb to the illusion. Walk in swinging his arm leaving a lot to the side and watch his shadow flicker on the curb. Small things look all stupid when they are stacked; likely to live and do say very little. But they share and for a moment I felt really sad to be alone to collect them.