We present this work in honor of Morocco’s Proclamation of Independence.
I don’t love myself although I am my closest neighbor.
The image of a man leaping on the Moon is no more extraordinary than the immobile stone.
This man is ill. His illness is social. His illness is called hate. He lives, but takes care of himself by hating others.
This comic copies someone who doesn’t exist.
It’s the barque shows the waves in the sea.
Peace is not for export, war is.
There are curtesies rendered for lack for nobleness.
She brings me a glass of thirst. She drinks it with me.
My hands complete, O wonder, the stone in her breasts!
Rock drawings await me at a young girl’s. I must copy them onto my life. Whether she knows it or not.
Steps, sparks on the journey.
Silence, a side effect of the infinite.
Funny: the raindrop fallen on a tree keeps clinging to the branch before dropping to the ground.
A certain poet withdraws into the world.
What I love in this Flemish painter: he paints the inaudible.
A stone: feet planted in silence, head in immobility.
Inert, the stone can face the absolute.
Inertness rises from the stone like the very first dream.
For the stone, immobility is work.