Memoirs of Crisis
Jean-Philippe DENIS
Smashwords Edition
Copyright Jean-Philippe DENIS 2010
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(I)
RAM – EXIT
I am a living memory.
I'm born like that, not only memory, no history, no real consciousness of passing time, nor my ancestors. It's probably a disadvantage. But there is one advantage: I mouline information faster than my shadow. I'm not totally ignorant. I have a minimum background, I am able to line up three sentences about the past even if the runaway can make me stammer. I even have some memories: school, beaches, first stirrings. But all of these are just pictures. They are flat, featureless. From time to time, I remember. And then, like world hunger, I forget. What is essential however, is that nothing determines my choice. I'm totally free. I see no shame in that. No, I'm just like that. I do not know if it's serious, but there it is. I am able to grasp the complexity of the world in an instant. I am not polluted by any previous reference. I see the future in permanent reconstruction, entirely contained in the present.
I am able to incorporate everything, everything that happens. In the second. In milliseconds. Anything that happens. To put it all in one set. All things seem related to each other. Each interacts with the other son and I see that link. I guess I probabilistically, I see what happens. I want only the best. If sometimes I envy those who have opinions, those who believe in something, those who fight on behalf of something, I find them pathetic too. What a waste of time, even when everything goes so fast ... I am reagent. Totally responsive. Totally flexible. I'm fluid. Here today, gone tomorrow. Without mood. And even if I let a few tears in passing. They had to survive natural selection. My natural selection. Or rather my ability to deselect when trouble occurs. Apparently it's what makes my charm. My side elusive, never where they expect me, unpredictable, mercilessly. I'm an adventurer. Always in search of new, the next adrenaline rush. The next departure. What I am doing no longer interested. I want something better, faster. I'm progressing every day, I'm sure. I climb ever higher. I'm sure. I do not poses. Ask yourself, you die. Then I move, I'm "aware", in motion, always.
I do not understand those who turn constantly. I envy them sometimes, they seem to know things hidden from me. But I do not care, really. Anyway, I know the only thing of importance which awaits us all, is death. So, all things considered, I prefer to be like me: it pays some dough and that, that makes traveling by private jet. All the people I see at the head of fortresses, who built patiently, strength of wrist, I pity them. Simply cut these heritages, to carve, to make certain pieces, parts to others. All these songs and these parts separately, potentially worth more than this fortress that the types hope eternal. When you cut up, by the way, you can get your hands on some of the loot. Diverting the river of liquid, even a little, it can represent thousands, even millions. You can do this with houses, with buildings. Selling the garden nearby, turn floors into apartments, refourguer the ground floor for a doctor to make a cabinet. Undoubtedly, when one thinks like that, there are things to do. No doubt, the walls can spit out the liquid. And with each sale, commissions are to be collected. Any look back is to me a mistake. It's a waste of time. While there are so many things to do, so many opportunities to discover and capture. It seems that some have no plans. They are sad. Even they depressing. They are idiots. The future is open, full of opportunities for those who want to see them, and have a little energy. There is nothing more unbearable than the absence of movement. They should however realize. When you move, no trouble. And when everything is moving, how could not move? Move, never two days the same, when one has no memory, nothing in which to recharge, as do others? So, I move, again and again. I study events, I see what I can do, how to transform them into opportunities.