Another life form alive!
Last weekend I went to my foster home family, catching up with the new baby delivered by my cousin, sister. I don’t know, we grew up together that’s all. See why I hate categories and labels? Always fucked my life up.
I never can do anything there. I’m just back. I’m just there, like I started. I legally have not direct connection, culturally feeling so much wider but staying in the picture. Like she told me “you are here, you are in Paris, Hollywood, you can feel comfortable anywhere!” I guess it’s true, I am a chameleon man. But you need to be a bit invisible to do that well, sometimes it’s weird to be in the background, Bruce Wayne was once again crying on the phone the other day about that.
The thing when I go there is that it’s like playing with the radio, moving through frequencies from left to right. I get to see or go by my past from being a kid in a village, to driving to parties with a girlfriend to a city I used to go to skate all the time, memories jumping in and out let’s move the slider to the right, fast forward to hopes and desires of “making it” in France, the bitter side of realizing that it’s not going to happen because we’re all stupid.
Then I’m back at my parents to park grandpa’s car that I use and which also, contains memories. Then it’s dinner time with them, the kind, sweet and horribly stuck up parents. Then I’m back to the crib, English resumes. And the internet, the world at my fingertips.
Twice a year. It’s fucking amaz-hausting. The dreams I get from all this shit? Priceless.