When the bell rings i'm in the back of the flat, taking refuge in my cozy corner which i can encompass in my two arms building a circle, i greet with a timid smile and a gaze already turned on the inside, i wait for the start, the perfect moment to speak about what moved me those past days, i know i have to endure all the plain civilities and i inquire like a good host about the last gossips. The time passes, i feel less tense, my passionate self places outbursts of reasonings and stories, parcels of what stayed in my mind in the flow of images and words i consume each day; the room is sober, no one feels really confortable under this economic light, smothered by oldfashioned insipid walls, the most courageous ones sit for a couple of hours, hardly revealing their worries and thoughts as i'm so focused to contain myself, never impose, i feel i'm doing an entertainer job in those situations, but my best is only a sad clown or worst, a lecturer. Arrives the time to let go, swiftly reassemble the belongings and like a butler i'm behind, without a word more than "bye", to close the door on the miserable guest.
Can't they guess in my eyes my begging call.
(It seems when people plan to see each others, they await to be entertain, maybe a program of the festivities, the fake costumes and the fake smiles, i'm not a fucking tv show, i only ask for honesty and simplicity; here's a good ironic quote : "come as you are... and i swear that i don't have a gun")
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