Today, that has already been yesterday, I live between the atelier and the street - and the order is indifferent - without knowing where I was first born. Of course I existed already, and impressions that are inseparable from the exercise of a line of thought capable of renewing a possible stability have accompanied me, steadfastly between the atelier and the street. There is a personal history, a time of succeeding occurrences that involve people, situations and places, some nostalgia and sorrows, but we will leave that for some other opportunity. Today, freed from illusions that belong to the past, I keep doing something instead of nothing, to now state that another ME does not consent to silences, leads me to finding answers I should have about myself, and tells me to swear whenever necessary, no risks involved, without receivers, or to all of them. I can keep from saying whatever it may be, a few fashionable banalities, but the opportune word and the sideways glance are, in the atelier, a motive, because it is imperative to always persist in finding the analogous other, a third party, not necessarily conciliatory; and, at the threshold of that fundamental meeting, prepared in vain in the day before, I leave it in the lap of the gods. It is due to an inappropriate functionality of ideas put forward in the raw, and due to the parliamentary impossibility, that I silence myself underneath a smile or irony, with forward and backward moves of a body that is not I, on the brink of the decisive step.