#quintes

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Dicen que las cosas más bonitas y bellas de la vida surgen de repente sin avisar, sin darte cuenta, de forma natural y espontánea, como si llevasen años haciéndolo, así que disfruta lo que la vida te da porque todo lo maravilloso se compone de momentos... #asturiasparaisonatural #quintes #atardecer#feliz#estoeselparaiso #reflexionesdenoviembre

F Bon                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            Marcel Moreau : L’écriture à bras-le-corps par André Velter                                 © LE MONDE DES LIVRES, 03.11.05                                                                                                                                                                                                  En littérature ou ailleurs, les monstres, au début, font toujours un peu peur. Surtout, ils dérangent, ils encombrent, ils empêchent de laisser filer le temps, les rêves, les amours ou les lectures comme si de rien n’était. Avec eux, pas de repos à attendre, pas d’insouciance à espérer. Le plus étrange, c’est qu’ils restent sur le qui-vive tout en débordant de vie. On dirait qu’ils ont dans les veines un peu du chaos initial, une sorte de germe hérité du big bang qui les tiendrait en état d’expansion constante et les pousserait à proliférer sans cesse, à créer à tout-va.Dans la catégorie des possédés du verbe, Marcel Moreau occupe depuis plus de quarante ans la place de l’accidenté miraculeux. Etre né fils d’ouvrier, en 1933, dans la région minière du Borinage en Belgique, avoir quitté l’école à 15 ans, après la mort du père, avoir exercé des emplois ingrats et ineptes sous la férule d’une mère abusive, tout cela semblait interdire non seulement un destin d’écrivain, mais jusqu’à l’idée même d’un tel avenir possible. S’il dévorait Zola, Dostoïevski ou Nietzsche, l’adolescent n’imaginait pas échapper un instant à cette condition, déjà imprévue, déjà enviable, de lecteur forcené. Il tentait bien d’arracher quelques mots, quelques phrases, quelques bribes langagières à l’interminable nuit qui cadenassait son existence, mais c’était une tentative de damné, un exercice au forceps, un enfantement qui pensait ne jamais voir le jour.Pourtant, page après page, dans la douleur, il sortait littéralement de lui les orages, les fureurs, les désirs si longtemps brimés, bridés, blessés, pour les jeter dans un livre creuset, un livre volcan, un livre au comble de l’exaspération. Là il s’en prenait frontalement, comme s’il agressait une entité palpable et sensible aux coups, à cette "réali té qui joue aux arpenteurs autour de l’homme et lui dicte ses mesures". Avec la prodigalité d’un sans-le-sou ou l’inconscience d’un affamé qui donne sa main, sa rate et son coeur à manger au premier venu, Moreau se livrait et amorçait une effraction pareille à une sujétion ardemment consentie. L’écriture se révélait soudain le refuge et le gouffre, l’échappée et le miroir, le sang et le ciel : la naissance où renaître sans fin.Contre toute attente, Quintes, ce roman composé à la manière d’un sauve-qui-peut, suscita l’enthousiasme de Simone de Beauvoir, de Jean Paulhan et d’Alain Jouffroy. L’auteur en resta plus abasourdi que grisé, humblement persuadé qu’il s’agissait d’un "accident", à défaut d’une méprise. Cependant, pour être sans vanité, le monstre ne s’en trouvait pas moins à pied d’oeuvre désormais, avec une fringale énorme et une soif si inventive qu’elle naufrageait toutes les ivresses. A peine reconnu, et en quelque sorte estampillé "écrivain", Moreau allait aussitôt déborder du cadre, dériver furieusement de livre en livre comme s’il était à la fois le navire et l’océan.Il confiait ainsi à Anaïs Nin : "Ce n’est pas assez que l’écriture soit un chant, encore faut-il qu’elle nous intoxique, qu’elle nous drogue, qu’elle provoque chez le lecteur ces somptueuses titubations sans lesquelles il n’est point d’extrême découverte. Mon but est d’inonder de vin le langage de France, d’écrire un livre qui se boive, qui se danse plus qu’il ne se lise." Et ce but, Moreau l’a si fastueusement poursuivi qu’il en a étourdi et submergé plus d’un. Autant de récits menés à bride abattue, autant de passions qui mettent le tumulte entre extase et torture, autant de corps en majesté et d’âmes en sueur, comment suivre les pages par milliers d’un galop si effréné dans la vie et les mots ?La réédition chez Denoël de quatre volumes publiés jadis par Marcel Moreau chez Buchet-Chastel et Christian Bourgois a immédiatement force de réponse. Quintes, L’Ivre Livre, Sacre de la femme, Discours contre les entraves, proposent un parcours que les titres, à eux seuls, suggèrent, et qui est une fête, une fièvre, un festin de rythmes et d’odeurs, de jubilations et d’effrois, d’insurrections et d’enchantements. Jean Dubuffet, dans l’une de ses lettres données en postface, énumère, avec la verve ferroviaire qui n’appartient qu’à lui, l’ensemble des sensations qui saisissent tout lecteur consentant : "J’ai reçu le livre en pleine poire, on a de la peine à s’en remettre. Une transe frénétique. Tous les gonds sautés par le mouvement de l’hélice. Une chouette purge. Tout à fait salubre. Hautement tonique. C’est incroyable que vous puissiez mener pareil train sans reprendre haleine."Mais l’élan, l’énergie, la course qui garde en partage l’abîme et l’infini, ne sont pas tout. Ce charroi de phrases, qui porte certes le chaos de l’existence léguée aux êtres et aux choses, invente aussi la parole qui libère, qui ouvre brèche sur brèche et traverse l’ordre meurtrier du monde comme l’ordre normalisé du langage. Moreau creuse encore et toujours la voie de l’évadé, la voie de celui qui veut échapper à ce "passé de contre-lumière" qui s’apparente toujours et encore à l’horizon de suie du Borinage natal. De là ce qui le rend irréductible, réfractaire à toute mode, à tout embrigadement, à tout jeu littéraire. De là, sa singularité, sa route solitaire dans le paysage, et qui se moque d’être carrossable.Aujourd’hui, avec trois rayons de bibliothèque derrière lui, il offre un roman qui n’en est pas un, une romance au jour le jour qui se vit et s’écrit, qui se traque, s’exalte, se célèbre et s’efface, qui parie sur l’impossible, qui avoue : "Nous nous sommes attirés par aimantation chancelante, maladresses magnétisées", et qui s’intitule, points de suspension compris : Nous amants au bonheur ne croyant... Récit d’un troubadour qui se voyait sur le retour et qui soudain retrouve et la Dame et le chant, et qui "se sent pousser des ailes, inconnues jusque-là dans le monde des ailes". Eblouissement, résurrection, hymne, sacralisation ravivée de la femme, sans que soient passés pourtant par pertes et profits les éclairs noirs et lucides qui peu à peu ravagent.C’est un brûlant message qui place l’amour si haut qu’il le condamne à une foudroyante terre d’exil, où la question n’est pas d’être heureux coûte que coûte, mais de rester digne d’un pur et inaccessible mystère, de ce que Moreau nomme le "secret de déraison fertile".Ainsi, la danse du monstre s’égare-t-elle pour mieux rejoindre sa quête, son obsession, sa délivrance : embrasser l’univers tout au fond de soi, s’octroyer les mots d’une création liée à l’inouï, prendre la lumière à bras-le-corps et ne pas renoncer aux effets, aux exigences, aux commotions d’une terrible joie.            © André Velter _ Le Monde Les livres parus chez Denoël : réédition : QUINTES - L’IVRE LIVRE - SACRE DE LA FEMME - DISCOURS CONTRE LES ENTRAVES nouveauté : NOUS, AMANTS AU BONHEUR NE CROYANT...

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zackmerrlick is the author of this one shot. Sadly, she is over post limit. So, I am posting this one shot for her. It is Kellic. It is based of a song by Mayday Parade. __________________________________________ Justin walked into his living room to see his father sitting on the couch reading a book. Justin had finally decided that today he was going to ask. Justin cautiously walked over to his father and sat down. His dad continued reading because usually Justin would turn on the tv and they wouldn't talk, but something was different. His father felt Justin looking over him and he snapped his book shut. "Yes, Justin?" The boy knew that his father loved him very much but he knew he didn't give his dad enough credit to what he's been through. Justin looked at his father with sad eyes. He wanted to know so badly. He's been wondering all his life. Especially since he was seven when he asked his dad why he didn't have a mommy. Which his father replied, "You wouldn't have a mommy, but your papa died a while ago. I miss him," he remembered the way his fathers eyes glazed over with sadness just by saying 'Papa'. Ever since Justin has wondered who 'Papa' was. Justin, now being sixteen, knows that his father is gay and he is adopted. But he doesn't mind, he loves his dad anyway. He just wants to know why he never dates. He wants to know what was so special about 'Papa'. "Dad, who was Papa?" Justin just thought he wouldn't beat around the bush. He would just go out and say it because he just wanted to get it straight out there. His father rubbed his palms over his eyes and he sighed. "Why are you asking about him?" Justin knew that his dad wanted to avoid the question as best he could. He remembered once when he asked about Papa and his father told him not to ask. His dad began crying shortly after, Justin figured it was hard for his dad to think about Papa, let alone talk about him. "Because you always look so sad and I want to know. You would mention Papa all the time but now you don't. Every time I say papa you get angry and you get sad and start crying," Justin could feel his bottom lip quiver. It was true; his father had become distant. He missed the way they always talked and laughed, now he's just always reading, sleeping, or at work. His father sighed again. "Papa was the man I loved, son." Justin could already see his dad getting more upset as he started to talk. He didn't want to make his father upset, he just wanted to know. "Please tell me who Papa was and why he was so important to you and to me." Justin pleaded. His father leaned back in the sofa and looked at his son with a soft smile. Justin followed his actions and leaned back and relaxed. He knew it was going to be a long story. His fathers smile grew and he giggled a bit. Justin's eyebrows knotted in confusion, "Sorry, I was just thinking of how he and I had met. I think I should start there, right?" His dad suggested. Justin nodded for him to continue. "Well, first, by the time I was your age I would give anything to fall in love. Silly, hm? Only being sixteen and wanting love," his dad paused and gave his son a hard look, "Now, son, I'm only telling you this because life can do terrible things. You'll learn one day." Justin started to get worried. What did his dad mean? Now he was afraid to know what happened to papa. Justin nodded again waiting for his father to continue. "Papa's real name was Victor, or Vic, as everyone called him," his father smiled again at the mention of Vic's name. Justin finally knew what he could call papa other than, well, papa. "We met in high school, we were both your age..." ______ Vic looked over to the boy he'd liked since elementary. He found the boy with black hair and blue eyes stunning. Just because of this boy Vic figured out his sexuality at a young age. Kellin was a boy that every girl would be smitten for, and he knew it too. He loved to tease the fuck out of the girls at school by blowing them kisses or playing with their emotions, but of course he didn't roll that way. Kellin was very much gay. And he was very much gay for one boy in particular. Kellin had liked Vic since the beginning of freshman year. They were both sophomores now, but that annoying crush wouldn't seem to go away. Kellin didn't mind, though. He found the other boy fascinating. It was like fate was on their side their sophomore year when Kellin and Vic got paired in a project. Not just any project, a project that had to be done outside of school. Vic was absolutely terrified. He didn't want to mess up in front of Kellin and have him start hating Vic. Vic always thought Kellin was straight by the way he treats girls but Vic caught Kellin's eyes wondering on Vic when they were sitting at their group tables. Vic would always blush slightly and try to ignore it. Kellin found this extremely adorable and would blush himself for being caught. When it came time for them to start working outside of school for the project the boys decided they should do it at Kellin's house since normally no one is home. For the three weeks the boys had to work on this project they both were horribly distracted by one another. They would always catch each other starting at the other and would get embarrassed and apologize. Kellin and Vic during that whole period of time grew on each other. They became good friends, having a lot in common and such. Even after they finished that project months ago they would hang out almost every day after school at Kellin's house. Both of their crushes growing stronger. On Vic's birthday they had a party. Arranged by his brother, Mike. They had a whole lot of people over and got a bit tipsy with all the alcohol being consumed. Vic felt extra confident tonight and decided to actually blurt out literally everything he wouldn't say sober. Or at least be cocky about it. When Vic and Kellin were in Vic's room the Mexican boy caught Kellin staring at him, just like always. "Hey, Kell, can I tell you a wonderful thing?" Kellin just nodded and giggled a bit at Vic's word choice. "I can't help but notice you're staring at me, I know I shouldn't say this ," Vic paused and looked at Kellin with worried eyes, "But, I uh, I really believe-- I can tell by your eyes that you're in love with me." This left Kellin speechless. Of course he was in love with Vic. It was hard not to fall for someone as perfect as him. Kellin walked closer to Vic and kissed him. It was a soft kiss at first but since both boys had wanted it for so long it turned into a make out session. They stopped kissing after awhile and just held each other. _____ Kellin told his son how he met Vic and the first time they admitted their feelings. It was very hard for Kellin to talk about Vic because it brings up those old feelings. The feelings that should have been forgotten but he could never forget how Vic made him feel. He couldn't even put into words how much he loved the other boy. Kellin could see how stunned his son was. "So why do you call him my papa?" Justin asked. "Well because he was your papa. Vic was Mexican so we made it a joke that he would be papa and I would be dad. We both adopted you, Justin. Vic just wasn't here to see you grow up." Kellin could feel his heart pumping inside his chest. Oh, he wished so much that Vic could be here to see Justin grow up like they always planned. "Oh," Justin left his mouth hang open in an 'O' position then went on, "Okay so what happened next?" _____ Kellin and Vic had been dating for a long time now. They're now twenty-five and still happily together. Living with each other and still very much in love. One night Kellin took Vic out to a scenery where they could star gaze. He found it peaceful and beautiful. Kellin was very nervous tonight because he planned something he's been wanting do for a long time now. As Vic and Kellin were staring at the sky and laid close to each other and feeling the cold all around them. Kellin turned his head to look at Vic and smiled, "Hey, Vic, can I tell you a wonderful thing?" Kellin was being sarcastic using the same words Vic had told him such a long time ago. Vic giggled and nodded. "I made you a present," Kellin sat up and Vic followed. Vic was happy and confused by what Kellin said. Kellin got into a knee position and whispered, "You know that I love you, will you marry me?" Vic gasped and jumped on Kellin throwing both boys back. Vic kissed Kellin and whispered yes while sliding on the simple silver ring from the box. _____ "So you were married?" Justin asked. Kellin nodded and felt a tear slide down his cheek, but wiped it away quickly. "Yes I was. And I loved him very much." Kellin raised his eye brows and rubbed his eyes to hold back any tears that were threatening to fall again. "B-but, why isn't Papa here now?" Justin whispered. Kellin looked at Justin and frowned, "I'll tell you why." _____ A happily married couple for three years now, Kellin and Vic decided to adopt a child. They absolutely adored babies and wanted one so desperately, but being both male obviously it was hard to get one. After a few months, they were finally approved by an agency. Kellin and Vic said they wanted a baby because they wanted to actually raise the child. The day they brought home their new baby boy was the best day of their lives. They were happier than they've ever been. Vic woke a morning to a pounding head ache that wouldn't go away for a week. It felt like he got smashed with a hammer. After him being done with Kellin pestering him to visit the hospital he gave up and went. That night Vic came home looking drained. Kellin walked out of Justin's room after putting him to bed and went over to Vic. Kellin lead Vic over to the table and sat him down because it looked like he wouldn't be able to get there himself. How he got to the house, Kellin didn't even know. "What happened?" Kellin whispered fearing the answer. Vic took Kellin's hand and held them tightly. "Kels, can I tell you a terrible thing?" Vic looked at Kellin and was so close to tears but held them back for as long as he could. Kellin nodded and walked over to Vic and hugged him against his chest while Vic still sat on the chair. Vic looked up to the man he fell in love with so long ago, "It seems that I'm sick and I've only got weeks," Kellin felt himself stiffen. He just stared at Vic. Kellin couldn't believe it. Vic couldn't be sick. Its impossible. It's unfair. Vic cupped Kellin's face, "Please don't be sad now, I really believe you were the greatest thing that ever happened to me." And he kissed him. _____ Justin stared at his now crying father. Papa was sick? Justin could feel a pain in his chest. He didn't even know Vic but he missed him. He missed him a lot. "When did Papa die?" Justin asked just above a whisper. "He died about a month after he told me that," Kellin replied. He couldn't stop crying now. Justin didn't mind, though, because he felt like crying himself. "I miss Papa." Justin admitted to his father. Kellin opened his arms and Justin hugged him tightly, "I do, too." After about a minute or two Kellin let go and have Justin a serious face, "Don't fall in love, there's just too much to lose, I can't bear to see the same happen to you," Justin nodded and felt tears begin to fall, "Now, son, I only told you this because life can do terrible things."

Me:tis the fangirl struggle