#extraits

No matter what road you take, no matter how beautiful or ugly, smooth or rough, cobbled or riddled with holes, it's your road. What matters is the destination.

I Saw Sonic 2

Extraits :

"Ce recueil d’apparitions, autant de féeries, retrace la venue d’un temps arrachant. Ses rapts et ravissements sont semblables au frêle glissement du pied de la jeune Europe sur la surface écumeuse des eaux : tandis qu’elle s’accroche fermement aux cornes et aux flancs haletants du taureau blanc, divin ravisseur, le sillage crépite. Et comme une aile dans les ramages réveille le pollen et les particules endormis, les recueille et les sème à son vol repris ; ainsi quelque chose continue à se déployer dans l’échappée. Le ravissement céleste se retire, mais un appel lointain bouillonne encore, une trace argentée se devine sous les ondes mercurielles ; parfums, couleurs, vapeurs, chants et voix débondent au sein de cette silencieuse parade. Rémanentes offrandes qui, dans le sang de l'encre, s’articulent et s'illuminent en lettres et mots.

Quelque chose qui a eu lieu vibre et s’étend sous la peau, dans le cœur absolu ; quelque chose d’aussi simple, je l’espère, qu'une phrase musicale." p.10

“Manet peint avec une matière nouvelle, fraîchissante, d’une sonorité spéciale ; la matière dont il (s’)est lui-même créé et pétri ; matière coulée dans des noirs d’encre, de carbone, de houille et de peau grasse d'anguille, bleutés et violets, infinis et profonds ; des gris de cendre, de perle, de tintement de métal et d’écailles, de figue, d’huître et de houle ; des blancs lilas, de beurre frais, d’écume, de sel et de draps ; des bleus soyeux, mousseux, d’iris ou de myosotis, de cobalt et de Prusse, laiteux roi céleste ou d’outremer ; des violets purs, de clématite, mats, changeants et empourprés ; des verts de prés buissonnant, de pomme et de raisin, de coque d’amande fraîche, d’émeraude et de clairière, de feuilles de lierre et de chêne sacrés ; des jaunes pâles et crémeux, de citron ou de poudre de pollen ; des terres de Sienne, d’asperge et d’arène ; des ocres brunes, de cuivre bourdonnant, d’or brioché et de miel ; des rouges éclatant en rubis grenade et corail, cramoisi, cardinal ou coq de roche, vermillon de grondin ou de rouget ; des roses de pivoines bouillonnantes, très veloutés, de pêche et d'œillet, de saumon nacré, poudrés, argentés, de longs baisers sur des chairs superbes ; les couleurs de la vie.“ p.142

"Si les choses de ce monde semblent affluer, passer, se heurter pour enfin disparaître dans une indifférence et une surdité effarantes, un regard, celui d’Édouard Manet, s’arrête sur un corps, une vie, et cela n’a rien d’ordinaire. Le peintre du Déjeuner sur l'herbe démontre que ces choses-là, ni objets ni images, sont en vérité des manières, chaque fois uniques, de convoquer et de recueillir le déploiement du monde ; qu’une matière noire, patiente, invisible et inouïe, œuvre sans discontinuer à l’éclosion de ce même déploiement.

Or Manet travaille cette matière noire autant qu'elle le travaille : dès l'instant que son regard, « hanté de certain noir », et passant immédiatement par sa main, rencontre et aimante le là de son modèle, c’est-à-dire l’événement étincelant de sa venue en présence, dans le même temps, sa propre présence s’y enveloppe, s’y contrescelle. D’où ce noir Manet, si lumineux, si singulier.

En ce sens, Manet n’est pas un ténébriste : il ne part pas du noir mais le regagne comme un point, substance d’une mémoire qui s’épaissirait ; comme un retour après un long voyage en soi. Une énergie mystérieuse, poétique — à la fois expansive, puisqu’elle délivre et dispense l'immense opulence du visible, la vision jaillissant à chaque touche de pinceau, et répulsive, qui préserve comme sacré l’inapparent dont tout paraît —, traverse la toile devenue infinie, allusive, perpétuellement nouvelle.

Aussi G.Bataille verra-t-il dans Le Balcon « une peinture hallucinée » où « le sujet est, dans le même temps, donné et retiré » ; ou bien encore, parlant de la douceur insaisissable de La Femme au perroquet ou de l’apparition spectrale de l’Angelina, que « quelque chose dans les plus simples de ces figures se détourne, se dérobe ».

Le plus important, ce sont les petits soleils. Les petits soleils de chaque jour. Un sourire, un mot d'encouragement,un échange, un petit plaisir ou un grand, tout ce qui nous rend heureux, joyeux, vivants. Tous les petits soleils qui illuminent nos journées, à côté desquels il ne faut surtout pas passer.

ღღღ

Fuck if I would knew.

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«HELENA!!» a single word, an name, was being screamed from somewhere within the Castle—echoing through the walls and sounding dangerously near—. Everyone in the hall froze, abruptly stopping their fight. Confusion clearly written on some faces, who wouldn't be when there was an sudden scream from someone unknown. Especially when the only thing being screamed was the name of their Mistress.

Trevor lowered his whip, blinking, glancing from right to left, mouth turning into an frown and furrowed his eyebrows. He knew to who belonged that voice, has heard many different versions of it; be it from anger, sadness, happiness and so on. He heard them all and Trevor was more than anyone confused as to why he was here.

He didn't want to really know the reasons though, because as far as he could tell, he sounded so fucking pissed that even the walls of the castle seems to quiver under the voice volume. Never a good sign, Trevor knew that all too good—himself had witnessed the brutal force more than once.

Helena raised an blonde eyebrow, looking expectedly at the Trio before her. The whole council, which stood around them, turned also their head to them.

«Is that some cavalier of yours to help you in defending me?» asked Helena in a rather nonchalant voice, boredom mixed in as she glanced at her long nails, painted in a scarlet red.

She suddenly grinned, bared her pure white fangs once she spotted the newcomer. If she was honest with herself, it was kind of a shame that she didn't recognise his voice right away. The voice of her new captured toy.

Oh she really should have locked him into the cell, instead of his room.

«I will send you to hell. No, I will personally send you to God's Judgment.» Trevor almost let go of his whip when he saw that it was really [Name]. Voice empty of all emotions and eyes so dead that Trevor got shivers down his spine. What shocked him more though was the whip in [Name]s hand, his Husband was a person who liked to fight either with swords or bare fists. Fighting with a whip was something he didn't expected.

Another thing what was shocking, was [Name]s appearance; an almost knee length nightgown—white with laces and some golden decorations—his chest seductively shown. A collar around his neck, shackles at his ankles and wrists. Bloody scars littered his complete body. (h/c) disheveled, skin almost sickly pale and body thin like a Helenas. Painted red lips and eyes hollowed.

To sum it up in a few words, if Trevor didn't knew that this was [Name], he probably would be in someway terrified. Wait? Was that blood pouring from his ears? And eyes? He also could faintly see a trace of blood from his mouth down to his chin.

What the fuck did happen to him? Who the fuck did this?

Trevor felt anger rising in his chest.

Helena laughed as if this was just an joke, «Does my lovely toy wants to fight his dear mommy? Me who gave you practically a new life? A bit ungrateful don't you think?» toy? Mommy? In the name of God, what the fuck is going on?

[Name] stepped more into the hall, walking so far till he stood in front of Trevor, Alucard and Sypha. Not sparing them one single glance. Now that Trevor had a good look at [Name]s back, he notice that the family crest—which has been once burnt in a long time ago—has been deeply craved. Still fresh and dripping with blood.

[Name] swung his whip, creating cracks on the stone ground and making a small hole. Some council members took a few steps back, not wanting to feel his wrath. They weren't really scared of his anger, not at all. What they feared was the Crest, the family he belonged to.

«You fearing the Belmonts, who wouldn't of your kind? But if I were you, I would be terrified of the [Surname]s!» taking a step forward he swung the whip again, the whiplash streaked Helenas cheek and sliced her pale skin, blood dripping down like raindrops.

Trevor could barley follow the fight between his husband and Helena, they both were way too fast. Though he was impressed by [Name]s fighting skills with the whip, when did he learned that?

[Name] stood at some point again, arm raised high and Trevors eyes widen—he knew that attack, he himself has used it a few times—shit.

Trevor stretched his arms out, shielding Alucard and Sypha. He took more than one step backwards, pushing them both backwards as well.

«Get down!» said Trevor and could barley escape the whip himself, stone pillars cracked and begun to crumble.

«Milord Belmont! Over here!» called Elijah and waving his hand behind the door from where [Name] had come from. Why was Elijah here?

«Oi! Dumbass, don't just stand there! Do you have an death wish huh?» and there was Lizzie, friendly as ever. The Trio was quick to run towards the two.

«Could you please explain me what the fuck is happening right now?» Trevor narrowed his eyes at them, wanting answers.

«It's a long story Milord and if we gonna survive the young lords wrath, I will tell you. Now we just should stay hidden and not to get accidentally killed.»

«You will pay for what you have done to me!» whip long forgotten on the ground, almost if not all council members were being wiped out from it. A few could flee and one was being captured by Lizzie and Trevor.

Both Helena and [Name] looked already beaten enough, but that wouldn't stop them to continue their death fight.

Helena rushing towards him at an inhuman speed but [Name] simply stood there, totally calm. He made and roundhouse kick, successfully hitting her in the face and send her flying into the wall. Trevor was sure he saw a teeth flying, gasping of shock was being heard. Seems as some council members were still alive and watching.

Helena stood up again, wiping blood of her face and spitting some to the ground. Blond strands of hair falling in her face. Her expression matching that of [Name]s.

They faced each other, ready to strike the final blow. Helena was panting, holding her left side, trying to stop the blood from oozing out. She gritted her teeth's or what was left of them. Her once loyal council members, who were still alive of course and watching the whole spectacle while hiding, were already whispering about her—judging and scoffing. If Dracula or Carmillia would see her like this, she surely would be a disappointment.

But she was the only one who dared to do it. A proud moment in her life and a moment of everlasting sorrow for him.

[Name] walked towards Helena, starring into her eyes. With every step he took the ground cracked more and more, as if he was weighting a million of tons. Something was different now, they could tell. Air seemed to surround him, faintly visibly though. He stretched his dominant arm out and Trevor could clearly see the expression of pure fear in Helenas face.

Helena hands were clasped together, almost in a praying way. Maybe she was praying.

«No wait my dear! Please! Have mercy with me, mercy with your creator, your mommy! I beg you of mercy!» Helena begged, completely terrified. Trevor couldn't understand why. Helena was a overconfident and cocky lady, having no fear and regrets regardless who it was—maybe she feared Dracula, but who wouldn't? So why was she suddenly terrified of [Name]?

«Praying won't save you. Enjoy your staying in Limbo.»

[Name]s hand was now touching Helenas face, he gripped it and with one push slamming her head into the ground. The air which had surrounded him grew into an enormous ball and while she was being slammed into the ground, the air seemed to explode—pushing her further into the earth beneath her—leaving a gigantic hole.

Trevor saw them and couldn't believe it. Small fangs in [Name]s mouth, his husband has been turned by Helena.

The Castle begun to shake, crumbling down into pieces. Trevor running towards [Name], who finally collapsed after finally killing Helena and picked him up.

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