THE WAIT

From my seat in the cafe, I see Coluche frozen there on the other side of the glass, laboriously preposterous. I find him to be idiotic to the second degree: idiotic to be playing the fool. I am cold.

“Am I in love? – Yes. since I’m wailing.” The other never waits. Sometimes I want to play the part of the one who doesn’t wait; I try to busy myself elsewhere, to
arrive late; but I always lose at this game: whatever I do, I find myself there, with nothing to do, punctual, even ahead of time. The lover’s fatal identity is precisely: I am the one who waits.

Adorable!
adorable / adorable 
The adorable is what is adorable. Or again: I adore you because you are adorable, I love you because I love you.

The nature of the photograph is not to represent but to memorialize). This scene has all the magnificence of an accident.

Everything is suspended: time, law, prohibition: nothing is exhausted, nothing is wanted: all desires are abolished, for they seem definitively fulfilled.

The image is perfectly adapted to this temporal deception: distinct, abrupt,
framed, it is already (again, always) a memory.