 
Memoirs of Crisis

Jean-Philippe DENIS

Smashwords Edition

Copyright Jean-Philippe DENIS 2010

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(I)

RAM – EXIT

I am a living memory.

I'm born like that, not only memory, no history, no real consciousness of passing time, nor my ancestors. It's probably a disadvantage. But there is one advantage: I mouline information faster than my shadow. I'm not totally ignorant. I have a minimum background, I am able to line up three sentences about the past even if the runaway can make me stammer. I even have some memories: school, beaches, first stirrings. But all of these are just pictures. They are flat, featureless. From time to time, I remember. And then, like world hunger, I forget. What is essential however, is that nothing determines my choice. I'm totally free. I see no shame in that. No, I'm just like that. I do not know if it's serious, but there it is. I am able to grasp the complexity of the world in an instant. I am not polluted by any previous reference. I see the future in permanent reconstruction, entirely contained in the present.

I am able to incorporate everything, everything that happens. In the second. In milliseconds. Anything that happens. To put it all in one set. All things seem related to each other. Each interacts with the other son and I see that link. I guess I probabilistically, I see what happens. I want only the best. If sometimes I envy those who have opinions, those who believe in something, those who fight on behalf of something, I find them pathetic too. What a waste of time, even when everything goes so fast ... I am reagent. Totally responsive. Totally flexible. I'm fluid. Here today, gone tomorrow. Without mood. And even if I let a few tears in passing. They had to survive natural selection. My natural selection. Or rather my ability to deselect when trouble occurs. Apparently it's what makes my charm. My side elusive, never where they expect me, unpredictable, mercilessly. I'm an adventurer. Always in search of new, the next adrenaline rush. The next departure. What I am doing no longer interested. I want something better, faster. I'm progressing every day, I'm sure. I climb ever higher. I'm sure. I do not poses. Ask yourself, you die. Then I move, I'm "aware", in motion, always.

I do not understand those who turn constantly. I envy them sometimes, they seem to know things hidden from me. But I do not care, really. Anyway, I know the only thing of importance which awaits us all, is death. So, all things considered, I prefer to be like me: it pays some dough and that, that makes traveling by private jet. All the people I see at the head of fortresses, who built patiently, strength of wrist, I pity them. Simply cut these heritages, to carve, to make certain pieces, parts to others. All these songs and these parts separately, potentially worth more than this fortress that the types hope eternal. When you cut up, by the way, you can get your hands on some of the loot. Diverting the river of liquid, even a little, it can represent thousands, even millions. You can do this with houses, with buildings. Selling the garden nearby, turn floors into apartments, refourguer the ground floor for a doctor to make a cabinet. Undoubtedly, when one thinks like that, there are things to do. No doubt, the walls can spit out the liquid. And with each sale, commissions are to be collected. Any look back is to me a mistake. It's a waste of time. While there are so many things to do, so many opportunities to discover and capture. It seems that some have no plans. They are sad. Even they depressing. They are idiots. The future is open, full of opportunities for those who want to see them, and have a little energy. There is nothing more unbearable than the absence of movement. They should however realize. When you move, no trouble. And when everything is moving, how could not move? Move, never two days the same, when one has no memory, nothing in which to recharge, as do others? So, I move, again and again. I study events, I see what I can do, how to transform them into opportunities.

Long time, I preferred to hide, I played cat and mouse. Because I quickly realized that my unique characteristics made me dangerous when the others were aware of my true nature. That was enough for opening my mouth to frighten those who had, in their words, an awareness of time passing. Indeed, it was not my case. But deep down, I vomited all they despised me. For outward-looking, I saw elsewhere, there was one there. What opportunities might exist, they could be seized. And they could amass fortunes overnight. Here at home, I long remained poor. Those who know, as we said, laughed at me. They were lucky to come from somewhere, enjoy what they had left their legacy. I saw them take the places that matter, remain, to place their offspring. No way to get them down. When I'm moving, I always felt the same condescension. It took me for a poor guy. It made me feel that I was not worth much. But they did not realize that I hated. One day my turn would come. But I had understood that all truths are not good to say. That even if we end inside, it is no use being right too early. That, otherwise the risk is to be reached, fucking outside, non-race, off. Nothing worse for a memory: it means death.

I, who was nothing, I who was empty, I would make my greatest strength. No past, it gave me a mad energy to want a future. And I was sure I was going to have one. Because I could see, slowly but surely, the elements fall into place. They, they stayed screwed on their convictions. Me, I noticed more and more that what they described had nothing to do with what was happening. With their goggles, they became increasingly blind. I was at the lookout, ready to pounce. I learned to keep quiet. My predisposition, as schoolteachers, these proponents of the ROM, continue to believe a stigma is now definitely a quality thanks to new technologies. Because the sources and opportunities have multiplied. Because I found that the conditions are put in place to objectively promote the Rams. All the cards were reshuffled since the computers were improving the computing power and communication capabilities. Where before, it took days, weeks, months, time is shrinking. More and more. If only the political boundaries obsolete fall, the world could eventually become no more than one. And that's exactly what happened. Each in his own little place, with its small legacy in his small village, it is found reduced to the level of what it really was a ridiculous block, sure to be the center of the world, but that floated over more on an ocean which he understood nothing. The opening goes well with the RAM, much less with the ROM. Opening the windows open, it brings out the energy, it called freedom. The opening drummed the game she created other rules. And these were consistent with what I was. All those who had been lucky in the past could shake, I did make a mouthful. And they would see that there's fire. And when they eventually would account, I am also, as always. Flown. Everything worked perfectly as I had expected and as I wanted. In twenty years, advances in technology have been such that one could consider allowing people from the poorest countries of the world, less than two dollars a day to be permanently connected to the world. Even better, underdeveloped countries have become in less than twenty years of tigers ready to swallow anything, produce everything, consuming everything. Two billion they are, is that you can just imagine? And from time to aspire to, finally, they think anything other than slug it out, or hit us over, they want their share. I understand that those who were able to take much afraid to see their island and overwhelmed from all sides. Take water. But for me who had nothing, I who was attached to nothing, what joy to see them yelled their throats hoarse. Are losing their Latin, as they said. Me, I do not care, Latin, do not know, never known. Very quickly, I saw that what commentators called "new economy" was a radical change in my favor. No need to read only memory when everything is stored, accessed by a click of the mouse, as they say. What is this condemning the value of memories. That the Rams were called to take the levers. That could not be otherwise. It took me more time to really understand the places where people who were not willing to work like crazy to get involved with the crumbs of the same logic. From a whole new world. Leveraging opportunities. That was enough to be smart. To blame as possible, as quickly as possible. To have the hunger deep in the body. Want to eat. No time for losers. All the better if the Chinese were ready to sacrifice their kids. Each of his shit and God for all! The new technologies have therefore finally completed the work of nature for me. They feed me all the time, give me new information that perpetually feed the machine. And information, there is! Always. A cloud of ash into the sky, a strike-related plant closings and the latest Apple: the peregrinations of Lagardère who prefers tennis to the management of the inheritance; China that grows between 8 and 10% per annum, India continues to grow with its billion people, the Americans who stop to repay loans from their houses, and the rates of central banks to look for, the implementation of Health Reform in the U.S. ... People are stunned every day to talk to the other end of the world, for free. To have the sense of access to the world for almost nothing. Me, it changed my life. Totally. Because one day, I had the idea of the century. This is not an expression, it was really the idea of the century. My great, my pride. My greatest coup. Playing on the illusion.

People are so stupid that they believe is more important than what they live. Damn about what they have or what they do, what matters is that they (themselves) dream. A sentimental crowd said a popular singer, was a time. They are dripping with good feelings. Then they must give to these morons. People do nothing more than believe. VIP they are their shitty life. Give them a square, some refuse to return, and you will see others become crazy. You'll see them ready to fight, to beg you to be on the list. They will be ready to drop everything, while farting, puking their relatives just to experience this, one quarter of an hour. The good old principle of Warhol, the fourth hour of glory. Nothing to say except: good light. Since ancient time, hold a lottery, made an election of Miss t-shirt, kids paste in a loft, and especially in the light made them think they could be a new star. They darken all, as one man. They are idiots. They are almost endearing, so they are idiots.

And illusion, I have given them a max. Best. The idea of the century, certainly. She came from there. In this visceral attachment of morons in their bloated egos. This ego which they believe to be the center of the world. The essence is there. Whether the center. Put them in the center. No matter that their world is a world of redneck, what matters is that they believe the center. Believe they possess. Whether they feel. Every day a little more. If possible with the prospect of having a little more the next day. For this, for this feeling, they would be willing to do anything. The queue for hours outside a store, to have something in limited series, or because it is displayed on promotion. They are even willing to do for thirty years to pluck just to have the feeling of being home, albeit in a rabbit cage. Better get them back into a cage HLM, then give them access to a piece of half garden, they will always be grateful to you. Better yet, just let them believe it is possible, and they will follow you without a hint of mood. That's where I got this brilliant idea: debt. Need anything to access the dream immediately. Of the remainder, we will see later. And we will see with whom the accounts are settled. As long as people want their share of dreams, it will work. And potentially endless. There will always be more unhappy they will be happy to enter, in turn, in dance. Who will do anything to it. Touching it with his finger. Feeling winner. Feeling in control of his life. Feeling better than your neighbor. A game without end. Implacable logic. With a minimum of risk. Because no one dreams broken with impunity. Everyone hesitated because you do not dare to do that with impunity: those who do not still have fists. And the more they feel they had done for them, the more they want to use it. Endearing, these nags, but still potentially dangerous if they start to do more illusions. Nobody never dare take such a risk. So, go ahead with closed eyes, buy the concept: the mortgage, there is nothing safer. And that's how I began to reap commissions and bonuses. Over millions of transactions involving as many dreams and illusions, exchanged many down-and-hungry. It began to represent billions of dollars. Dizzying. And I saw how well it would all continue. Because the tour of europe was coming. Obviously. And then one day, the Chinese and Indians. Since tasting the delights of the dream, they could evolve that way. So when Americans are dry, they would take over. I wanted the martingale. All I succeeded. And then one day, everything was deregulated.

Like any memory, I am sensitive to the virus. The bug. In something unthinkable, which has an infinitesimal probability to occur. Because there is a bug that sleeps there somewhere. Who one day appear. And there is the black screen. When this idiot out of his den, it happens. Where I never thought it could happen. I was a victim of my success. My theory of the illusion worked millions of times beyond my expectations. Everyone started to want my ideas. To purchase. For finger on his dream. These bastards were even more stupid than I thought. Their lives, even more empty than I thought. This is also why they spend their time looking china dogs. That occupies them. It probably helps them to forget that their life is useless. They are all, sooner or later, doomed. They will eventually stiff as posts. So they search for meaning. And they see the first hour of deluded them about their dreams achieved, without realizing they have already turned to the next. So they already want it, and immediately. You do not see what I mean? Are you trying to simply drop a note, even if only ten in the midst of a crowd. You will immediately see what I mean. And they all wanted to buy. And they all rushed at Val Mart to pay less. And they stood in line to get into debt. Again and again many more. They started to run the engine at full throttle. And drudges who had no connection with the manip have also wanted them to fill their pockets. They pushed the wheel to the flock, who asked nothing better. And they turned it all in 3 / 8, H-24. It gave a real binge. All stuffed like wedges, now be persuaded. To be part of winners. They realized their childhood dreams. They laughed louder. It became more and more noise. Inevitably, it attracted more and more people. Everyone wanted a place in the VIP area of the property on one side, the saps of the other cheap. From the desire of possession, they all become possessed. In search of hard drugs next. Even the memories have begun to wake up, claim bonuses, and seeing the camp of RAM swell perceptibly, seeming so happy. Above all, there was so much wheat, it did so much to say anything, I let him. After all, why not, as I climbed.

The problem is that the flood did not take long to arrive. It was enough that some are starting to get scared. As always, it started with the most malignant. Those who had benefited most. They began leaving the arena. They felt that it was beginning to turn to overheating. Whether it was going too fast. They started getting scared. So they have liquefied the solid, motionless, for the shelter. Hats off guys, always there lil smart. And as always, the mass, huge, shapeless, has been slow to react. But as always, she ended up doing. And ten years of fluff, fiesta, of sacred cooked, it leaves a hell of a hangover. At the edge of a coma if help does not arrive on time. So when the first death happened, I had a moment of great, great, enormous stress. I really thought that those I helped put the levers were panicking. Damn, the price at which they were paid, they had no right to be as zero! I committed myself! They wanted me to find myself with a gun to his head or anything!?? They realized that without reaction, I went down and bring everyone with me in hell. However, the signal was not clear enough? They still wanted? But what they wanted, then?

God thank you, they have become reasonable. They realized they could not let the world collapse, they would suffer if real panic there must have been. It appears that at the time of my grandfather, they had already experienced something of the same type. I do have some memories of childhood when I heard tell that the old and guys were throwing out the window, and then they had taken up arms. There is nothing worse than having nothing to lose, especially when you got used to dream about having a lot, especially if we believed that we would always have more. It's called a depression, it seems. A de-pressure. After the pressure. When a muscle is stretched and it relaxes, it is clear that cramps can hurt. A scream of pain. And then you get ready to swallow anything for it to stop. You are ready to pounce on your neighbor. You want the whole world. That, apparently, what happened. Hatred, as they say the little ones young rap like me so much. Real nice rams, too. The only option they have understood, it was to put myself under perf '. After EPO, I had larger number of me giving back, again. With, they said, the idea of reducing the dose gradually. To make a soft landing. Since everyone knew now that the spell was broken, it was useless to think that dealers continue to provide me against my promise to pay later, that commitment had always held elsewhere, they are substituted for dreamers. They said they all knew now that I will not pay, but they would address the note. They offered an open bar, so we could continue to supply. And they started to actually pay for everything, on the nail. Of course, a bit of magic was broken, people started to become more suspicious. They realized it was all very fragile, they began to be afraid. But the massive infusion, the illusion has been partly recreated and we managed to push them back into the dance. Of cars by the millions rather than homes. I knew the day he would pay the bill, it would be salted for those who ran the perf '. One day they would have difficulty in feeding. But I did not care. I was so far the happiest in the world, I had enjoyed full and I had multiplied the crap, and not only had there been no consequences, but I pursued instead of perks ever. I began to climb. Already almost as high as where I was in top form. I knew, of course, that all this was very fragile. They could not support me forever like this. I could not do anything but fall. And this time, the risk was that it be for good. But the good news is that it was not conceivable. Because, if it were to happen, it would be absolute chaos. All benchmarks in smoke. People would realize that what they have in their pockets, it's only paper. They would realize that the only thing they possess, they are titles, not land, not things. And that, it takes so that everyone accepts the rules of the game but it is enough that losing a little confidence in the value of that piece of paper that says "it's me, 'and then all can spin. From the ghettos of south central through the slums of Rio or Tremblay-en-France, it is always the same story: the barbarians are those who have not been educated to the elementary rules of politeness. Which are like me, who have no past and, especially, do not see any future. Consuming, here and now, and defending their territories. You isolate youth as the police force is on your side, but it is still necessary to pay those who are supposed to repel outside areas where people live in good company. RAM, I felt it coming, it could crack everywhere. That was enough of anything to set fire to the powder.

It did not take long for the panic models. I started having regular spasms. As always, very quickly, the weakest, that is to say, the recent arrivals in the race, were the first affected. The pigs, PIGS, as they are called in my universe. Those who were already under perf, even before the bravest not waver. The Portuguese, Italians, Greeks, Spaniards. A series not more people, but this time subprimées nations. And who knew, very fast, exactly the same stresses that families need to turn because they could no longer pay. Because it helped them make up their balance sheets, submit receipts arm of honor and spending in free fall. To fit them into the dance. They feed, too, commissions and bonuses received each time as soon as possible before we realize the deception. Without those who have never had a cash in euro, or nearly out of their pockets. Very quickly, the PIGS have started having problems refinancing. Yeah, a big, very big, very, very big stress. Because when it comes to refinance, you're never sure to find someone who lends you. Or crazy with interest, which puts you deeper into the mess that you were there, which merely defer the resolution of your problem. Revolving credit, we can not say better, some have really meant by the phrase. As always, I was promised the earth. That would be like nothing before. That people were going to tighten their belts, the revenues were to go through the roof. That, oh, never ever, they would cheat again. I did not believe one second. I was scalded by those who stood in their house when they realized they could never escape. But I knew that side, just next door, there were still some not too sickly. They promised to help. Above all, I pretended to believe, that made up the curve after it has dropped sharply. At the speed of sound. And that's the best way to make huge profits: sell high, buy low, sell high, buy low ... The ups and downs, there is nothing better, it's my dope.

So I continued to pretend, taking more and more safeguards and asking more and more expensive, because it could only end badly. I was checking all day, every red light in large cities. I knew that when people feel good, joyful, happy, they are willing to drop a coin in the bum waiting to have enough to buy his next bottle. But when they are tense, they have their minds occupied, they are concerned, the bum may be lying on the road in the process of dying, nobody will lift a finger. Nobody. Those to whom he remained some ways from the past that it had performed better than the others, would do exactly the same thing. Stay in their cars. They could always promise, I do not think two seconds. But their promises were not without interest. It could continue to maintain the illusion, to live Industry Council, to reap commissions. They were all doomed, I knew it perfectly. They would eventually be hit in the face, I knew it too. But anyway, they counted for nothing. There was the Eiffel Tower stirred to believe in tomorrows. It is so like me as I was screaming with laughter. I also encouraged him, and he was heading headlong. Must say it was a great opportunity: those who had been at the helm saw nothing. They allowed themselves to take right into the wall without saying anything while he continued to wash his friends to do exactly as I had done before. He was just thirty years late. It was not for lack of wanting to take orders before, but it just seems that people were more clever. And as always, as with a flirty pushy, they were left trapped in his dreams kid. They would see whether they would continue, they showed signs of beginning to see clearly. But since no one likes bad news ... All this, anyway, for me, did not matter. I knew that the continent that had occupied the small country that he had never supported - probably too full of memories, no doubt - would sink into chaos. He could not be otherwise. I'd actions since a long time. The only thing that mattered was to know when all this was going to collapse. To get out before the disaster, and try to scrape a pass to Max, to play the ups and downs. His death was inevitable and the only question was really important to anticipate when it would happen, even to hasten it.

The only thing that really interested me was the country that had made my philosophy guides his eternal fate and the other at the other end of the world where the sun rises. The grace with which I could have, since the mid 90's, climbing to the sky like never before. And I matter. Because human beings are so made that he may reveal some surprises, be able to produce the unthinkable, pure and simple. As at the head and legs of a type world came out of nowhere, which he probably reach the summit was about as strong as for the Peking way to win the jackpot lottery. This thing unthinkable, which created what I hate most: uncertainty. On paper, he presented himself as my best friend, ready to save me, "he said. In fact, I immediately understood that he would become my worst enemy by claiming to have because of my foolishness. He started playing on the heartstrings: solidarity. In proposing to extend health coverage to some of his compatriots who do not enjoy. Above all, he was smarter than the others rather than to moralize, to say that I was mad, he attacked the heart of the engine. Those who pull the strings, those that make me go up and down, rather than myself. The general belief in my intrinsic virtue had always been their business to take the most interesting places and went to fill their pockets. It was tricky: it has maintained and confirmed the belief, held sacred and sanctified my role, to better address those who abused the general credulity. With a persistence greater than anything I had seen so far, he has stubbornly. He has not released the song. Damn determined, the guy. I was more accustomed to seeing the types turn their jackets at the first opportunity, especially if we knew lubricate the legs where they were needed. Not him, he persisted and signed. This would have almost naive to doubt myself and my assumptions. He seemed to have such faith in what he believed in what he believed in what he said, the adequacy of his fight .... It fed his fighting spirit. And he wanted because of my faith in myself and in my tendency to destruction. He said that it was she who created constantly, relentlessly, the movement that fueled my ups and downs. These jumps that could make or break a night sitting in the best types. They wanted to make me start again, gradually, reasonable. He asked that the crimes do not remain unpunished. He identified the troublemakers, the big winners, and he ran after them relentlessly. Everywhere, he has hunted. In all places and all times he has ventured what I thought impossible. He recreates my operating mechanism, but conscientiously, consciously, with an unfailing determination. He went to account. He demanded compensation. He said we would leave to the dealers. Let the sheet would, one behind the other. Again, it was the exact opposite of the French boy: this is not south central he is gone for the Karcher is in upscale salons that fetched types. He has appointed. He has brought before the courts. He asked them accountable. The guys from the bank of the gold men are still not revenue. He came from nowhere, but he has drained the crowds. He contrasted the values to mine. Above all, he has succeeded where all others had failed, too weak people. Him, he seemed invincible. His every step was thought. Every word was weighed. Nothing in him was sweating even though this is my engine: cynicism.

I rebelled. I, infusion, it was fine. I even had the distinct impression of getting better than ever. There is nothing like a good fall, because it can raise. These are changes that interest me, speculation. No stability. Even at the highest. Down is the promise to go back. Sooner or later. Bet on the speed, the slope of the curve. A downward or upward, regardless of the merits. He himself had in mind to treat those who found themselves bled white, and seek quarrels with those who had done too well. Everything that I must not. He was able to mobilize the masses by using these new technologies that I had been so helpful. But he has to take in another sense, to make a mayonnaise to me, however, completely foreign: he waved a universal consciousness that was to use something other than the pleasure, the only enjoyment here and Now, the only reflection in the mirror.

Of course, I told him the war. Naturally, I tried everything to prevent climbing. Because if I knew it would eventually make me die. And I know how life would be boring if we could not shake a few animal spirits. How the taste of blood and victory is important to avoid dying of boredom. But, and here again he was smarter than the others, he moved the playground Put yourself on stage, looking for respect, you go over, but not like that. This means that having more each day than the day before, especially more than the next. He, he said yes, want more. Yes, always more. But school, memories. And this thing is culture. This thing which I have always been abroad. He acquired the habit of pushing them to grow, to emancipate themselves, rather than run behind the obsession with ever more. Gradually, he urged them to stop pandering to the mere possession, that which made them run all day, never to rest, and after which they finally exhausted, rinsed, excess pressure. Shreds. He spoke to roots, surpassing the war of races, back to basics. And he wrapped them, neither one nor two. That's how he got elected. It really surprised me. To work the body sensitive areas. He seemed to know that I was a decoy. A myth. He began running when they should, to those benefiting. I've seen lots defend myself, want to accuse my skin. It was clever. He has been told. And he was unmasked. Beyond the more obvious cheaters, insurers, hedge, investment banks and their committees. All summoned. All charges, one after the other. He taught me almost on myself, on my mode. It was unbearable, made constant reference to the past that does not pass. I do not really understand what he meant, this troublemaker dancing in circles.

But me, I still wanted, and there was the matter. Because, on the other hand, there were the Chinese. And they were hungry. Very hungry. Very, very hungry. It does not leave you starving and living in misery for centuries without adding a few desires. Then there was scope to make a good profit, to make it even deeper pockets. And even for those who remained on the floor because of offshoring. That was my strength to go to heaven, without qualms. Without any qualms. I was very successful when the wall fell. I fully enjoyed the opportunities posed by these hungry and the business that went with it. Commissions to death. It had nourished and well fed. And there it was looming again. There we said things which fitted me well. I could understand. Need they want more. More properties, more "material". They consume. That was essential. I shared their opinion. All the winners that I paid historical wealthy would be even more valued. It was perfect. But on the other side of the world, smart guy continued to attack me. He demanded respect for human rights. He asked them to do their word that I loathe beyond the individual: the responsibility vis-à-vis others. But why piss off like that? It would have been content to emphasize the fact that they had to play the game, period. They eat, period. Save them stop, period. They spend, period. No need to go to risk offending them by talking about things they obviously wanted to understand. A good dictatorship, sometimes there is nothing better. It keeps people rights in place. Needless to want to do good in the world. No problem. They evolve as necessary, consuming, they would ask more. That was the joy of ownership. Owner, we fight for their rights. It was my belief. It was enough to let it go. He did not look like decided to stop there. He continued to piss. He told them he had, indeed, they evolve. They take their responsibility in the great global game. Including in terms ecologist. It was impossible that the world supports the same level of consumption than that allowed full and my development. My super growth. It started to become tense, very tense. In any case, he could not impose. It could just explain to them that all this would end badly if there were no alternatives considered for the future. And that his people should keep jobs. But it was not as much as the others to leave. He could still lead his war trenches to create a universal consciousness, as he said. He seemed convinced that this would be where we would pull through. That this would be where the future may eventually become pink. He even worked at the same time as everything else, disarmament. He was smart, really smart. The kids loved it.

I do not know if it will succeed, but one thing is certain: by opposing anything that ever the here and now, as opposed to the unbridled consumption, calling for prudence, efficacy and to true, that is to say long term, he wanted the best enemy of what he called my madness. But deep down I knew he was very naive. That since the dawn of time, it works like that. That always gets the strong over the weak, it operates. He had less and less capital and less and less work. That it was written, and it was going to end badly for him. It's true what, for whom he took, this arrogant?

(II)

ROM – Loyalty

I am only memory, a real hard disk.

It has some advantages. The boys have always been astounded that I remember with such detail events, dates and places, characters and stories. But it is especially a problem: I am generally unsuited to the world around me.

Locked in my bubble, as they say, sometimes I can spend hours with his nose in the stars before I realize that I'm sitting there like that. I look at those who are agitated, running, still, still. They seem to know where they go. I want to believe, to successfully move forward, to think that their future is before them. For me, this is not the case, it has never been: since my birth, my life was like pre-programmed. Pre-programmed to take place within a radius of several square kilometers. And I spend my time waiting. Wait until something happens.

I have always the same dream: I rush headlong, I am a "winner" and I finally managed to everything behind, to cast off, I am going to live on a sailboat or on a desert island, at the other end the world ... Of course, none of this has never happened. Because I'm heavy and every movement of a hardship to me unbearable. Because I'm weighted down with chains on their feet. Because my arrangements have always prevented from advancing. Certainly quite a handicap in a world that goes so fast.

Today, I feel like an old car, abandoned at the bottom of a garage, old before it even begins to roll. Perhaps because I spent my life in the repair and collect them. I do not know. But it is true that finding a new Dinky Toy Remote in a flea market, I sometimes made hundreds of kilometers. The car is in fact the only thing that made that I am sometimes out of my lair, I am occasionally out of my traditional area of action.

I live in a world before. A world that no longer exists. This world, my world was that of memorable shouting matches. When at table, with parents, it just laughed. When was there, trying to make a little noise. And a few good pairs of slaps me in the right handed way.

When it left, the shouting matches, it was better that I stay at my place. I clenched my buttocks, and waited until the storm passes. Above all, I prayed not to say or do something stupid. Because the pie could happen coming straight in no time just before the stroke belt, "one who does not do much harm to him who receives it and so good to him who gives." And then the belt, it was nothing compared to the basement beneath which the bogeyman would come and get me if I continued like this ... A real nightmare.

At school, I was never very bright. I was not zero either, I had a hard time especially interested in what was said. And my old at the time, I put the damn pressure. He wanted me to succeed better than him, so he spent his time calling me lazy. But I was not lazy, I even read a lot, everything that came into my hand. That made me dream of other lives. It seems it was a sign that I was rather brainy ...

Fortunately, Mom, Dad to bawl me that she told him to look first, with a father like that, he had hoped that I would become? "Paf, take it in your mouth, you old fool ..." is what I said to myself inside. She always defended well, Mom.

Mom, I have always adored. I even posted up in my room, long, pictures of his avatar: Marilyn. And Mom, she reminded me often that she had not had a chance to meet him, Dad. She should have married the cousin, himself, was a doctor. It would have been happier. But volition, I had fallen there, like a fly in the soup .... And that's how she found herself stuck, Mom.

Mom, since any toddler, I was proud of her, and since all bushel, my obsession was that she is proud of me. It was my happiness, it was my drug. Whenever I heard the compliments from her friends, I felt the same chill run through my veins. I looked at my shoes. My cheeks were red. I was very small.

Once Mom was around, I was extremely polite endless. I knew when and how it should be the right word. I wanted only one thing: bring satisfaction to Mom miles. And by dint of hard, from watching all those who could be appreciated by society, by dint of imitating the way they acted, I finally found all the tips and tricks that set off the admiration and pride Mum. It's even like that I became a real hard disk of all the attitudes proper to adopt.

Without transition, I went from adolescence to the responsibilities. Because my father died when I was not even twenty years. Death from lung cancer. Too much smoking, too much stress without doubt. I must say it seems he chained doing overtime in the chain. But to die, it was finally his best idea, Daddy. Because Mom was able to rebuild his life. And judging by what she has always said, disappearing, it was ultimately the only true sign of elegance that has never shown.

I did not retain many memories of him, except for those famous shouting matches. And the fact that it took, after his death, I take up the family garage. Because after Papa's death, he had to work fast. Because there was no question that I am a burden to mother who would have to rebuild his life and that it was sufficiently complicated that. And then there was the garage that he should continue to run, because it was the only true patrimony of the family. So, with my brother, we took it back.

It has been possible thanks to funds provided by Mom. And thanks to the guy with whom she quickly rebuilt his life and has made some grants. He said it was to help us, but I was not fooled: it was first a good way to get rid of me and Mom to keep to himself. Finally, good ... One thing is certain in any case is that this is how to deal with cars has become essential to my life.

At first it was fine, the garage. Because there was nothing easier than a car. Flushing, platelets, belts distrib ', some minor body ... Nothing complicated.

And then with the owners of cars, especially the ladies, I assured a max. I did laugh, I made jokes. Then they brought small sweets to thank their favorite mechanic. It was perfect. From time to time, when the day was really good, I could even send me a landlord on a back seat. There was never hurt, I was just very, very gifted. I learned later that the ability to meet good women in the middle of the plate was in fact a trademark hereditary ...

Seduce, to me, was an irrepressible need. It was like a drug. See them dropping like flies for me, ready to see everything behind, it sent me to Nirvana. And with each new adventure, I felt I escape, that everything was changing. In those moments, I felt like those heroes of which I was reading the adventures since I was a kid. I felt that the redneck wanted to be in my place, be as charming as me. He himself was a discreet, reliable, honest and above all less well than me. That was all I asked.

My week was well paced, wheat was returning well. I must say that my innate talent seduction allowed to extend the bill without anyone find fault. And that's how I started living as a nabob, to develop the garage a thousand times better than had ever managed to do the father, to be progressively more beautiful heritage district. I was able to borrow without concern over twenty years to buy the house and house wife, children and cars. Right next to where Mom was installed. And then on Sunday, I was to find Mom.

Some girls are really hooked. I pretended I was going to make them believe everything behind. And then when I feel guilty too, I rationalized by telling me that I did not want to hurt them ... For a nicer than others, I even almost did one day, all plates. It was something exciting, tempting. I felt like becoming amuck Zweig, and as the characters in these readings that I sent me to escape the world and find some friends.

But Mom had known me back down to earth. I was a man, it was normal, it was necessary that I live. She herself had experienced such things on many occasions. She understood me. But not at the plant garage, house, wife and children, no no. It was a matter of honor. And then "what they have told people ...!?? . No question of him doing that to her, she said. Then, head down, like when she came to fetch me in the basement as a kid and had made a big bullshit, I continued as before, I went home where his wife and children were waiting.

My wife, it was ultimately not what I fell in love in their late teens, just before the death of my father. This was not the one that I never dared to declare my passion seriously and this was not the girl full of life, that everyone had in mind. No, it was not her because she was too dangerous for me. Because I knew very well that I will never succeed in mastering it. This girl, sooner or later would have asked me to choose between her and Mom. It was the kind of girl who could not make my misfortune, as Mom told me one day.

No, my wife was the one that ticking all the boxes. Rather nice, always smiling, very pleasant ... Above all, it had grown enough in the gutter to make sure it does not leave me. Because she loved me. Because I was the promise of seeing his dreams come true. Because she thanked heaven every day to have a shed, round, kids ... And I felt that the neighbors to salivate, it made her mad. It was fortunate, too, loved it. So it's true that Mom was right, as always, drop all that was pure folly.

And then my wife, she also had another huge advantage: it did not shadow Mom. And that was imperative. Because this, I never will have it supported. Because my greatest moments of happiness I have ever experienced when Mom was happy. And there she was, undoubtedly.

Happy to have grandchildren. Glad I took the garage and it helps him finance his lifestyle. Happy to see that the garage was developing well. Happy to see her son ensconced in a life that everyone would have wanted. Happy able to actively contribute by sending all her friends to keep their cabin with us. It must be said that Mom, everyone loved him. That she was beautiful as the day she had a pep's incredible. I never tired of looking at it constantly. Such a distinction, that left me speechless.

One day, a friend of hers who came to fix his car at home, she said they needed to take advantage of, all. What I would do something else. I was smart. What I would do other work. That work on your hands dirty, it was only the beginning. Because it was necessary that I work soon after the death of his father. But we'd see what we would see. The garage was going to grow. I was going to be in an office. That workers would floor me. What I would not have dirty hands. They needed to do it, friends of Mom: very quickly, it would not be me, but employees who fix cars. Of course, everyone would regret the good times when I was fixing my own cars. But it was like this: when it was so beautiful and intelligent than the son, it was necessarily called for a great future.

When I heard that, I blushed, as always. And then I panicked. Because I knew that I would not be able to do that. Because if I could take jaywalkers miles round the world, the idea of ordering such a me however unbearable. That I do not know how. I was scared deep in the body, and it was stronger than me. I was afraid of others if they do not wear skirts. Guys, I do not mastered.

So I went in search of an idea to meet Mom without losing control. And that's how I started to diversify the activities of the garage. To grow up without an order to give. And that's how I started in the garage sale of used cars. Because my instinct seducer made me say that I could not be too bad in there. Indeed, it worked with the fire of God, I'm proven to be a super salesman, well beyond my expectations.

Note that quickly, I realized that people are happy if they feel they make a big deal. That was enough to inspire confidence. And succeed in giving the feeling of doing a deal, get a nice discount from the price of a new car, I was very, very quickly, make many, many customers. And sacred margins.

How did I do? Nothing simpler. First, I explained to a customer's garage that maintenance would cost him now as he approached the candy 70000. Then I made him understand that his car had already downgraded so that it would already struggling to finance a new one. That was a pity he did not think to change it before, only now it would be sunk because repairs were chained ... Fortunately for him, I was able to find the solution, I had ... digging up a great opportunity!

I ransomed her car 20% below the listing and he had only put a quick end to leave in a car as new. And so the trick was done. Because I refourguais to another type revised and lightened the car 30,000 terminals 30% I had to resume. The round was played, the margin in the bag. Yeah, no doubt, a golden age ... A guy who I told about it later said that without knowing I had put into practice something fundamental synergies between activities.

The only problem in relation to the aspirations of Mom, was that made me dirty hands dirtier. Even if I did everything I could to not let me mess with this crap, it was leaving less and less. I just rub, rub, rub again, there was nothing to do. It was worse every day. And I could only see the damage: the black accumulating under my nails, encrusted in my skin. Every time I was washing my hands, I heard complaints in advance of Mother ...

So, I started spending my time to hide my hands. I certainly did not want it to be ashamed of me. So, I kept more hands in pockets, and j'arborais ever before my angel face. I was a good kid, I was a good son.

The winter passed, it has however begun to be increasingly hard in the garage. Since the winter, business was on the wagon: people preferred to stay cloistered in their homes. And when we began to approach zero, to go towards the negative, my fingers were tightening. I suffered, even with my gloves. I had more and more difficult to seize documents, to assemble them. But I wanted good at saying it was temporary. That better days were coming. That was enough to continue, until the following spring. And that everything would return as before, that the pleasure of dealing with cars and win lots of wheat outweigh any difficulties. I really wanted that nothing changes. What weeks are identical. Until the summer, this beautiful moment in which I would spend a little vacation with Mom, let me pamper and soothe like the good old days.

And then one morning my brother told me he was leaving. That was a tempting proposal to become responsible for something, for a manufacturer. That dirty hands, he was exhausted. What should I do the same thing. No question, I replied ... The departure of the brother, it was the beginning of the end.

Gradually, I have seen others get away. More and more friends were missing. They changed their job, they advanced in their careers they said. Me, I saw mostly away. One after another. When they returned from time to time, I could tell they were starting to have more cars and more beautiful, more homes and bigger, they had more corn than me.

And I began to take refuge more and more home Mom. The expedients as were the various adventures with girls and varied began to become increasingly rare to have all the same taste. While Mom, every time I was with her and I saw her laugh, it felt good. I laughed to see her laugh. That triggered me the same thing, a real thrill. True madeleine of Proust. I wish it never stops. I stayed with her for hours. Me had taken to get excited about all these U.S. series that looked constantly. These series, they liked to Mom, then they began to please me too. With them, I made my escape.

If I found myself spending more and more time with Mom, it's also because it was less and less. Things moved, permanently. Following the departure of brother, I began to feel overwhelmed, more and more overwhelmed, and strangely the money came less and less. Because the cars were becoming less and less cars and more cars. For me, the car, it had always been a dream. The pampered, cared for, it was an absolute necessity. My first customers, I shared with them that dream. The ultimate happiness of the beautiful car. To hear the roar of the engine. To feel pumped up, energetic, driving a nice car.

But when I saw out of the new model builders, I felt that something was happening. What cars were less scrap, more and more plastic. Need that we hear less and less noise inside, people wanted less and less being disturbed, they were better and quieter. And then they fell less down ...

Because the electronics did everything switch. It flourished from everywhere, but this crap. And when they delivered the equipment in the garage, I felt that I have hands less dirty, but at the same time, I was getting less and less work. That was enough to trigger the mess, press the button, and do what the machine said. I became a single performer. Certainly, it went wrong this story: justify inflated grades became more and more difficult ...

I saw it coming when he would have to put on white gloves to repair cars. That people not only wanted their cars to be repaired, but also that they are served on time, that the premises are perfect, they bore less and less remains of the past that these traces of grease had embedded in my skin to force repairs, again and again.

And then the manufacturers had the bloody brilliant idea: to offer maintenance contracts. Suddenly, people are increasingly unwilling to pay for repairs, they began to talk more and more. And it became increasingly difficult to convince them to be tempted by a sale and repurchase.

Some second hand cars to have even started to stay on the arms, more and longer. The types were not the same, they talked about everything, they said that websites allow them to see that the same model was proposed third cheaper than 100 terminals from home. They even showed me the pictures. And me, I began increasingly to feel sidelined.

I do not particularly talking to Mom for not to worry. But obviously, the business went less well. I traded more and more stuff to maintain turnover and I felt reassured by finding that many of my old customers still have much still needs to be reassured. And at that game, the mechanic had the palm, with the physician and the veterinarian, the easing of angst. Then somehow I managed to hold on through repairs overpriced. And a few old people that I did continue to smoke for their sell my models: they, at least they did not spend their lives on the Internet.

But it lasted so long. And the problems of the garage went from bad to worse. Because all the electronics that had made the garage into debt more and more to buy the latest innovations. Equipment costing more and more expensive, and there was no choice but to equip or not being able to repair some models. I felt it needed was a nothing that I am completely exceeded even that Speedy had just settled in behind. "

Finally, when a manufacturer's representative asked me to sign an exclusive contract, I said yes. I had no choice. If I do not want to die, he had to accept evolution. And it was the only way to have a little protection from the behemoths that abounded, and who practiced price 40% lower than mine. My only solution was therefore to stick me in the name of a great brand. It hurt me, but I realized that people were willing to discharge less old-fashioned they were cheaper and they could not resist the call savings. Even if they knew me a long time, even if they were in the garage since the dawn of time, it was necessary that I align myself because they were all leaving. And that's how I've been under the thumb of a boss, I had to take me to see my line imposed, while continuing to buy on credit units required.

Soon, the only way to cope, it has been mortgaging the house. I resisted tooth and nail to the appeal of real estate agents who told me that the house was worth gold. That was the time to sell the damn booth paid a pittance, twenty years ago. The shack that could now cover me with gold. Because it was still my home. Because I had invested so much in there, I had worked so hard that the departure was impossible. And she was right next to the garage, and mostly just next door to Mom. Besides, I swore they scatter my ashes in the garden, where I buried the dog.

But he had to maintain the lifestyle, follow the neighbors who had already changed twice, three times the house, who were telling us outperform. So yes, I ended up mortgaging. Fortunately, the banker assured me no problem, the market worked so well, climbing so fast and so high that it should really be the last idiots to not take advantage. He told me that I was right to upgrade the garage, I did not have to worry, he was there to support me. "And then one day there will be the legacy ..." he dropped me a wink.

In the garage, everything went from bad to worse. I found myself making more and more interviews in the context of contracts offered by the manufacturer. It became very difficult to lengthen the notes because it was more customers who paid, but I charged the manufacturer. And that auditors and other inspectors as these bastards, they were not tender.

They started coming more often. They also asked to do more and more amenities because the garage was not "luxury brand", he should match his "market positioning". They even threatened, if I was changing anything, to break the contract, to sign with another "partner". They said that the garages in search of a protective umbrella, it was not what was missing. So, I complied. And I go into debt even more ...

To survive, I finally accept fresh proposal made to me to be a "relay-package" for mail boxes. Day after day, when I could not see a car and some people came to pick up their packages, I really did not know who I was, where I lived, what I did, what had really been my job. So I am more and more withdrawn over myself. I spent my time watching old TV installed in the back room of the garage, and I found myself not even make the accounts of debts to be paid, to let the bills pile up.

When I heard from the brother-in by Mom, I learned that he had succeeded in his field, he was commercial director. That he played well because he had sold his shares earlier and that he had bought his second home just before the market rises. He was happy, it seems. And his boy was now well established, "where it was happening. After London, he was now in New York. I, New York, I saw it only through the post, when I watched the series with Mom. It is true that they looked good out there, they looked more beautiful than us.

In light of everything that was going awry, clients who deserted the garage, which increased debt, scenes of jealousy of my wife counted for nothing. For it is quiet, it was enough that I shoot a good gueulante, I enter a trance like that happened to me often. Of course, cold, I feel guilty to make her suffer. But I also reassured me that after all, she could thank me, that without me she would still be in the outback.

With children, it was more complicated. I understood less and less. I saw them hanging on their phone, obsessed with the latest news from their life on screens. I, who was just beginning to understand how to print an invoice ... And above all, they were demanding, so demanding. Nothing seemed to satisfy them. I did not know then they would run, but I saw that I was more for them the image of what should not be.

Our relationship had never been rosy. They criticized me often rumble sessions to make them listen to reason, for them to keep hair like Mom taught me. But then, our relationship was becoming frightening. I lost all contact with them. I was no longer able to follow.

It must be said that the malls bloomed everywhere around the house, there was always something new happening at the pub that on TV, it just kept giving them desires. It drove me crazy when I saw as I toiled, when I saw as I was in the red, when I saw the time I spent searching for promotions. They, they want lives of rock star, they walked with trousers down more and more down to the buttocks, they sought new phones, "nike" for adidas, MP3 ... Always more, always more expensive.

Not to mention the dopes they smoked, they ate or that they are stuck in the nose with their buddies. I was not fooled. And I saw that all these things, it was not going in the right direction. Just as I realized that some of their pals managed to do in one day what I put for a month now to win with my contracts and my parcel. And already they drove in cars than ever now, I could not pay me.

My only real refuge, when I was not with mom, it quickly became the back of the garage on Saturday. At my old pampered acquisitions. As the old coupe WB. Hours and hours, days and days working on it, since I could not afford to pay me a new one.

When my son started to join me, between two crap, I saw hope as a form of transmission. It was not too serious, but he was influenced. And then he had an unfortunate trend: grow the wrong crowd. Nothing to do, as stubborn as a mule, he would not listen. I was just yelling, screaming, yelling in, hit him regularly when he was a kid, I never managed to do anything. He did everything his head. A head as hard as stone. As he threw the stone, one afternoon off a bridge on a highway. This beautiful shit that could kill someone and brought me a ride to the police, and a good scolding by the cops. I knew that I had to respect me more, I will make him listen to reason. But I had thought of knocking louder, there had been nothing to do.

And then one day he told me he was going elsewhere, over there, toward the sun. Because here, for us, the air was stifling. He wanted something else. Let the chestnuts to football games against the rival fans, it no longer amused him, even when he came to leave some bronzed lying on the ground. I envied him. Me too, I wanted to leave. Everything behind to go to the sun. But with everything I had built with the garage, the house and all the rest, this was clearly not feasible. And then there was Mom. I might have done better to take to their heels with him rather than watching it spin. Yeah, I might have done better to follow. But I could not. I never have considered seriously.

When I learned that the wife of my son the flattened, I realized it was everywhere that people are separated, they divorced. The competition, obviously, did not play between the garages. Market forces also necessary to couples. And girls were more afraid of looking elsewhere, they even dared to go there if the grass seemed greener. This fucking market, which was right in my garage, yeah this damn market was really merciless. Not so much a family garage, she would have said. It was the least dream that the types of new series, bronzed and bodybuilder, we saw in the post. In the bloody TV where young people were locked in houses for three months. From where they stood out famous. It was what she wanted her. Life of a star. He could never give it to her. Then she was gone. It was a spoiled child. This trail, she will not even attempt to save face. This trail.

Yet it was for her that he was gone. For her, saying he did not like the suburbs of Paris. Too much violence he said. Too many blacks, too many beurs. How could grow children in this mess in this shit? It was his words. Me this question, I'd never asked me. I was there, because Mom was there, that's all. Of course, I saw that from year to year, it got worse. I knew I had to spend a whole weekend scrubbing to remove the tags of the city kids next door had made on the portal. I knew that today we could not go shopping without the risk of being robbed. Whether the cars were more likely to burn the evening festivities, July 14, Dec. 31. And then some other times too. In any case, now he was well advanced. Now, dropped, like an idiot.

Gradually, the garage began to take water from anywhere. I was unable to repair the tiles. My hands were just black, they were simply having been so abused. To force them to work, work more and harder to earn less, just to manage to pay at least some bills. Tears came to my eyes so irrepressible. I had less and less work and I did not know what he had to do, what to do, how it should read these instructions which I understood nothing.

When the manufacturer has terminated its contract with the garage following customer complaints, I was told that the garage was definitely more presentable. He no longer met the quality criteria expected by the constructor and, anyway, the benchmark with other "partners" was not in my favor. I'd probably not sufficiently invested in the renovation. I had to tell them that I just could more, nothing is done. And they broke the contract without qualms, for breach of my obligations.

The usher tie that came to visit me shortly after I said that, given the market, the walls were to be sold and he could not count recover much of the business: Maintenance cars in a small garage like mine, for sure, it had no future. There was nothing to see Speedy next door who was the demonstration that there was no place for small craft to the former. He just had hoped that the sale is sufficient to meet the debts, he would be sad for me to take home.

The day they finally entered the garage, because I did not pay the bills and invoices for over a year ago, I heard one of a kind that a buyer plans to raze the building for any housing. Because there was still a strong demand. Because the interest was tax-exempt borrowing. Because with the Scellier could gain enormously. Because under the recovery plan, it could be subsidies.

And then they launched into speeches incomprehensible. With the crisis of today, everyone was looking for savings. What the Chinese and Indians rode into power, it was becoming a bloodbath. That it was not all bad, that now it could dress for almost nothing with small hands who works for bowls of rice. And then, with electronics, anyway, there was need for fewer people. And then we were even sure we would still really need cars in the future, with the Greens on one side, and the rise of a barrel tied to the depletion of oil reserves from the another, the industry had no good news.

They also said that Europe had no future. That it was the market at issue. That equity portfolios plunged. That the houses in the United States, were not worth anything and people left their homes without honoring their loans. That there was a risk that it does the same thing with shopping malls. It was getting increasingly tense. That was enough to watch the Greeks, Spaniards, Portuguese ... and all the others, even the United States. That everyone was taken by the throat. That notaries must also dismiss because there were fewer and fewer sales.

Me, I do not understand much about these stories. But I felt more and more that all that went straight into the wall ... And here I thought back to the banker. He told me that when I was worried was a time that it was best to wait. That "until we have sold, it has not lost Sir! .

In no time, although I did not see it coming, so both times had changed. Now everything was planned, and guys like me, it was no longer anything. The finding was more than friends after I rinsed a lifetime. And now they announced that the retreat would be later and later, he was expected to work harder and longer for less. Because we no longer lived in an area of growth. They had all lived on credit betting on a brighter future, when everything was going well and now everything was going wrong, the aftermath, finally, had second thoughts. Rumor has swelled from around a 20% discount on all pensions promised to be, that the state could no longer pay, he was also bankrupt. There were too many gaps, that everything goes.

And then, as if all that was not enough, Mom was dead.

She was gone. She was gone like that. It was the age, it seems. We had to move on the priest said. I had watched, stupefied. I had always been hers, clinging to her, not go away. And now she was gone. And my son was also blocked.

When Mom died, I went to the notary to touch the inheritance. Since the time she talked to me almost every Sunday, I went to see what I see, I was curious. This legacy was his obsession. It was his favorite subject of conversation, Mama.

This legacy, she had recorded in a will she had written, rewritten and rewritten again and again. Because qu'ellle wanted to manage at best, be sure that everything is under control. She wanted a party back to his grandchildren, and since those who had betrayed all be wiped off the map, they receive nothing, or the least possible.

The amount announced by the notary was not ultimately much, much less than what Mom had always suggested. It is true that the care of his end of life had been expensive, very expensive. And then, as noted by Mr. Notary, the market crashed and the savings it was felt. Halved by the crisis.

I lost twenty pounds in no time. Since being placed in Mother Earth, I could scarcely stand. And I did not even go to the garage in which to take refuge. I even had hallucinations. I heard the father of my wife, "Mr. Teacher" as he called himself. The old man, who gar, loop, his vision: China would invade us one day. It was his obsession. The grandfather of my kids spent his time repeating that, he did not want children. He never wanted to give birth to kids in a world as degenerate, rotten to the core by the money. He had remained tenant, all his life. He said he wanted to take to their heels at any time, without having to account to anyone. He said that owning was a myth invented to make people feel important. That was a way for bankers to fat. They used, has always been poverty. Go figure now that everything was collapsing, I thought of him like that.

While the camp did not care, I was increasingly tired and I could not see what it rhymed continue like that. I got a guy who told me he was thinking of selling the house to pay off the debts of the garage, and that I could consider myself fortunate because I should have something left to retire. With the crisis, my situation was almost enviable, because many had nothing, not even a roof. And as home prices continued to fall, things did not work out.

He said that in the upper spheres, even considering more seriously the possibility that all this ends up in a bloodbath. And even if it was not the case, anyway, the future was in the East, they were crazy, that was working for nothing and they were more than a billion. Let us face it ...

So it was better to recover its bearings, and quickly, so it was time. Sell the house as quickly as possible, possibly buy gold and hide well. That way I could settle the debts of the garage, finally get rid of the gangrene and even have a nest egg for the retirement home. I looked at my wife. She had articulated two words, but I did not understand. As always.

The only thing that mattered was to know what Mom would have thought that. This she did. What she would have told me to do. Because Mom, she always had the answer, she always knew what was good or not good. So how I do now? Eh, no Mom, how could I know what to answer? Because Mom, she was gone. And then my son, either, for that matter. Since he was dead too. A trip that ended badly. Like what, Mom was right, he never was away from home.

It was at this point that I got the idea. Because, finally, I had nothing to lose. Because anyway everything was ruined. So yes, I asked myself before the agency where my account was held since time immemorial. Where the family had always placed all his assets. All this stuff was now in tatters. I waited for the smoke break, because I knew he was smoking. I had noticed when he came to the garage. And I knew that today we had no right to smoke in the banks. I waited patiently in the BM that I retyped. Convertible it was, and more beautiful. All black. She shone in the sun. And when the error appeared, I asked myself any questions. I fired.

Because you told me, bankers, in all that was really responsible. Because they were done for them all, full pockets on the backs of honest people. On my back. Then he would pay for all others. And it was not very white, so it was a just reward, I was doing a double hit. That pays for all those bastards who are always put it full searches on the backs of small people like me. Who ended up breaking my life. Who took everything. Like all politicians these bastards with their promises and, especially, their missions to 10,000 euros, according to their apartments, their cigars .... Like all these guys dressed too well to be honest. Even those of FN that I went to see my map by taking a few days before, I had more confidence in them to solve problems. They were too soft.

When I shot, I had a thought for those who had the right to have a gun at home. Because me, I struggled to find the gun. So they, they had to avail. In their wardrobes. They had to hurry to do the same, enjoy the sale of weapons was still free. Because we do not know how long it would last? Yes, they had to hurry. Because the black who had elected them might eventually remove it, too. Sure it would happen someday. Fortunately there were good pockets of resistance, it does not yet drawn off really what awaited him on the side of Texas!

Well, Mr. Inspector, you know everything. Where I sign my return?

(III)

Operating System – VOICE

I am uncertain memory.

Being an uncertain memory, is, apparently, a common point that unites all children born with the umbilical cord around the neck, all survivors of drowning, all the 'survivors' income from coma from the moment crisis they experienced, they have the unpleasant feeling of being in suspension.

This has a direct consequence stunned at the idea that everything could end at any time - since it might never have started - they are first spectators of passing time. Then, unable to do anything else, they watch, see it grow with a curious feeling that things walk takes place without their being possible to take an active part directly.

Often, they pass their lives. They are like misfits. They spend their time to offer comments. Some make it sometimes works, be it for them to marvel at the beauty of the world or from denouncing what they see ugliness.

There is nothing scientific in that case that those who develop worldviews have in common to be approached death - physically, morally, socially, identity everything we want. Recognize, however, only read authors as diverse as Kerouac, Brautigan, Foucault, Deleuze, Girard, to try to pinpoint one thing in common, we quickly tried to find it.

Among these big names, Deleuze argued that the feeling of shame was the most powerful motive for philosophizing. Shame in relation to those known buried. Shame, perhaps, lucky to not be so that we would logically have been. Yes, indeed, the spring of shame is powerful. And if we do not have the audacity to rank among the great minds, however we accept willingly placing themselves in the category of "stay in" shameful.

ACT I - START

I was born in 1983, when he raised his arms to heaven. And I cried. When I told myself that if it was not feel that way, to do something like that, so it was not worth the shot to continue. I have come down in the garden. It must be said that there is probably not much worse than grow in the Paris suburbs.

I went down and I looked very carefully the wall. I very consciously bounces the ball three times. It was not to miss. Finally the chance was there. A double fault and it was over. It was all over again. When we touch so closely the goal when the moment of release appears so close, the prospect of being unable to conclude is unbearable.

So I squinted and looked straight at the wall. He had that ace password. I slightly tilted my racket on the right, jammed the ball well there, just between the handle and screen. I gesture perfectly head start in the right arm as his left arm, finding the right height for typing is perfect, and start the arm as soon as possible to increase the impact rate. I did not know at the time that I was among the proponents of I do not know what psycho-sophrology bazaar.

Still, it worked. The gun alone, the fairer speeds, and the ball went crashing to the exact spot I had chosen. He looked down at the same speed as my arms are mounted to heaven. The cat probably thought I was crazy. It is true, how could he imagine how it feels to beat Wilander in the final of a tournament of grand slam ? And not just any Roland Garros! And I was not anyone: I was that kid came from Cameroon, Métis black father and white mother, for whom the promise of the future were not rosy, except to have that thing secret, and everyone envied: talent.

Between the vision of my success in the late afternoon of Sunday, and its implementation, things have not been simple. But no major goal is only achieved with some crossing the desert. Mine had started a little after this May 1983. It was a Sunday evening. And, although this seems surprising, it is worse than Sunday evening. There was the Sunday evening of defeat ...

The life of a child is governed by certain immutable rites. One of these rites, it was tennis on Sunday evening. Who decided? I confess that I do not always know damn nothing. But it was like it was the hour of tennis. And I do not know what whim, my father decided I was ready. Ready to enter the big league. Ready to come fool the hard floor and exchange some bullets with the older generation already.

Let's be honest, I'd put him an earful. The few times where he was at home, I told him my fevered parts, hours spent compete for a grand slam final, and exchanges sumptuous which lacked the cameras to capture the moment. In fact, I suspect he wanted to see with his own eyes. On wanting to judge by photographs. And if, after all, the kid had something? And if, after all, was an athlete? And if, after all, he could do something with his life?

When I got back on court, I immediately felt that the weather conditions were not favorable. It was cold in there. And then those covered courts, with their lights that were to take your mouth full when you throw the ball to serve, it was still not what one could dream for a better professional debut.

In addition, I immediately felt that I was not welcome. All these guys, more or less affiliated to my family, who all shared a taste for cars, some of whom had professed to be repaired, they were not there to laugh . Tennis Sunday night was when we had emptied his frustrations, which is torturing a ball and forget. And I quickly realized it was me who was going to be the scapegoat.

It is true that my presence was a bit incongruous and could be in all cases, that unpleasant. There were indeed only two possibilities. The first is playing like a God, as I rather cleverly, suggested to my father. The direct consequence was that these types the forties would have sounded found scraped their poor tennis. And so I broke the myth in this room, we do not played a tournament of ATP, there was no international stars.

Alas, the second possibility that has been favored by fate. The one where I played as a handle, and even worse. The one where no ball, even service, would fall on the right side of the net or at least three meters from the line opposite. The one where, with knowing smiles, the old could no mood to continue their lives back after showing little kid in what was going on when we wanted to play tennis. They got married in the same surely returning home.

With my father, not a word has rocket on the way home. On returning home , I even thought that there would be no storm because I knew that when he was bad, he could go hard. And there it was rather quiet. I would have thought that if he does not enervated, is that the situation was serious and that I pay a high price.

It happened during dinner. He dropped a sudden, like a bomb.

"- If you knew how he got ridiculed. Ah, ah! I looked smart! I told them they would see that it was the seed of a champion! I was imagining that he ordered clapped! And what? Unable to return service. None. But no more than zero. Completely void ". And then he looked me straight in the eye and he launched murderer: "It's not just bragging when you're bad, it's worse than being just bad."

I left the table by suppressing my tears. I heard he handed off layers and layers, because now he was really upset. And when he was like that, he could charge for hours.

I returned to my room and I took "100 tips for playing tennis," Borg. I do not know how many times I have read and reread, but I know perfectly however for how long I plate: until I take my revenge.

It happened at home this time. On my land. And although I had prepared my blow. It was agreed to meet again in 13 hours. And I had taken through feelings by telling him how I'd love to a game of tennis with him. I was certain that the events of some time ago were ancient history to him. He had forgotten, too busy with his problems at the garage and bickering with my mother stories that do not interest me. Not me.

For days and days that I was training. I had even planned a training the morning of the meeting because there was no question that I reach the court without being heated. And everything went well. I beat my partner in two straight sets and he could take me a few games. I already had a pretty good experience and I knew the shape I wanted right now - trust the famous tennis players who speak with successful as those who complain that she has abandoned - could vanish within hours . And so it was time that the meeting ends.

He arrived on time and we started. An hour wiper and the trick was done. All he could take only four games. We returned home together . I was pumped up. He himself had taken quite a blow of old. I at once became an adult.

So my tennis career could now be left behind me, without regret. Learn my success in secondary school certificate completed by returning to brighten the day. It must be said that a proposed doubling the previous year had earned a scathing: "It is not bad, but what we gonna do him ...? . Two humiliation washed in a few hours. A really good day considering that events of this type could lead some forty years on television. History attempt to settle such accounts. Me, I had to do. And I had to barely fourteen.

ACT II - GROWTH

I had been trained and educated. And so I was convinced it was a necessary stage . Whether they had no choice. In sum, only to enter on the highway, it was pay toll. And in this early 1990, when the Internet was not yet what it is now, while the Pixies were not yet separated and the Red Hot Chili Peppers would finally find a global success The price was on a tear. In that game, I found not to be too bad.

My life is summed up thus, as for hundreds of thousands of students at the same time as me and hundreds of thousands before, to boredom. So to celebrate, very regularly. Every night to be exact. The excuse was that beautiful moment that is student life and where it comes to profit as the result looks less encouraging. These evenings are very watered encouraged because they are supposed to solder the connections, to have adventures together a little extreme, just to cement the succession of fine networks of elders. So the opportunities, more or less planned, multiplied. Disciplined, I took advantage, full.

The city was calm place to live, with a small downtown that provided opportunities for a life on foot. Unknowingly, my mother helped me choose a room just above the bar where he had to be if we really wanted it to your heart's delight. I decode later that what I was living was not unique, that I would just be very willing prey for conventions like particularly to young people in their nets student with public complacency borne of great teams management of large schools or universities.

A formula, however, nagging me relentlessly "negative working life. Was by one of these days sweltering early summer. Stopped at a traffic light in the car next door was standing behind the wheel, tie a guy in a car gaudy advertisements. He was burnt out. Not even sure that it felt compelled to take her option clim. So I went home and I was released at the meeting - which had been hypnotized - a final "negative for active living! . Ruin his life should not be inevitable, I was certain.

The question facing all adolescents beginning to turn so seriously obsession: what to do? How to avoid a life like that, not to sink into this trouble there? I quickly realized that if bathtubs alcohol not allowed to ask it too, one day or another the clock might be difficult. Therefore, the absence of any vocation or a demonstrated ability for any activity that is becoming really problematic.

It's out of a dinner party I went to justify the monthly contribution from my grandmother to my binge drinking, as I walked quickly into the pedestrian streets deserted when I had the moral more than ever in socks, Grace struck me: a writer!

If I would have been quite unable to say whence came this idea, make that answer to the famous question "what to do? "Had many advantages, however, which imposed with the force of evidence. The writer still enjoyed a good reputation, operation remained respectable and, like cocaine and unlike alcohol or heroin, the writing activity was consistent with any form of social life. It could not be said of other activities that I considered more or less seriously, to escape the famous and active life he had to quickly abandon the idea.

So, if becoming an actor was a nice track for a teenager in search of meaning, I was sure that doing so would have meant to call in various competitions which I had no idea. Moreover, if successful, this amounted to lose anonymity and there was a significant risk to go wrong and end up on TV. On this last point, I very quickly gave me in ridiculing some stupid game shows and found that it could not seriously consider spending their lives in circles like idiots.

The other route, traditionally worked by teenagers in search of certainty for the future, it was music. Problem: this requires a learning technique that I felt unable to properly except to pay the singer of rock band. If the latter approach might seem at first credible in view of my quickdraw, I was well aware that she was unlikely to remain viable over time. The probability of being the new Mick Jagger tended so asymptotically the zero.

Certainly not \- but how did I not think of that? - The choice of writing that could not win. No specific learning was required, nor that any investment. Better: I could already tell that I was a writer. It was fine. I could even invent, to drop a girl, the pages I'd written ... and burned. Because a writer cursed, even better writer.

If the prospect was enticing enough, it lacked credibility, however, when the reading had never been my favorite pastime. Apart from reading the classics required, it was dead calm. It was therefore necessary to recognize no objective not allowed to feed that inner conviction that I should become a writer.

And then one evening, on a shelf, I saw Cursed Manege Djian. When I realized it was the result of 37 2, I've borrowed. I devoured in one go and I said, the image of Kerouac that I discover a little later with Djian: That's it!

Djian had managed to embark on his adventures. It inspired me. I read slowly because I wanted to savor every way. I horn the pages that I found captivating. I loved this book. Djian had managed to express what I felt, to say anything I wanted to scream, so to make everything perfect I could only gibber. It was good to have for the first time a true friend.

With this book, I began developing an obsession: to swallow all the work of a writer who has touched me to understand who he is and where it comes from, what he was able to become what it has become: this type can see what others perceive it. So I continued: 37 ° 2, then blue as hell, Loin, 50 against one, Slow Out, crocodiles ...

Between Djiane have slipped a few friends of my friend: On the Road, Doctor Sax, Satori in Paris, Big Sur, The Monster Hawkline, Revenge of the Lawn, Black Spring, a private in Babylon, Hollywood, Naked Lunch ... Kerouac, Brautigan, Burroughs, and others of the Beat Generation. In literature, no doubt, the adage is working perfectly.

Quickly and spontaneously, so I reduced my involvement in the celebrations for students to experiment with writing. It's a Saturday morning I had my first time. This week, Saturday was the day I had always preferred. It was when we had already congratulated the evening before the end of the workweek. It was where we had already spruced. He was the one who announces another weekend to come. It was where those unlucky enough to work while others rest allow ordinary people to resume normal life after a week artificially inflated to block appointments diverse and varied, numerous and generally useless.

I think I always loved as much as I hated Saturday Sunday. It is also probably why I always wanted my life is a succession of Saturday. We should all reflect on our favorite day of the week and one we vomited. It would help us to choose our path. That would avoid many tragic mistakes of orientation.

So one Saturday that I dutifully prepared the coffee table in front of the window. What I'm kneeling. And I felt really unscrewed for the first time, my fountain pen. I thought this grandfather I never knew and that other that I do not know. No doubt, this was the importance of writing. Let the children know who their great-grandfather, their grandmother, their father, all those who have preceded in life. Let them know, simply. I do not want my life, this is only a twenty pictures which ten are missed. I wanted people to know who I was. I wanted to offer it also to many others that I did not want to forget it. Maybe I was the last chance to resurrect Raymond. And do not forget the others.

Quickly, so I started writing a lot at night usually but not exclusively. I wrote about writing. In the sense that each word seemed to me like a dead leaf. They came to settle. And I wrote about this feeling, this strange feeling that it was not possible to write twice the same thing. What if I had posted before my notebook half an hour earlier, all the sentences would have been different. Without exception.

These words seemed to me to follow their own path, leaving the brain or elsewhere, to leave the option of carrying blood to my fingers before being flattened for ever, like a leaf that leaves yellowing between two pages of a big book. And I always had this question: would look like this paragraph if I had written yesterday? Would it have been the same? Certainly not the kind that leaves only showed a once stood and it was immediately followed by another which, even if it resembles it, is different. Perhaps prettier. Maybe less. Later I understand that I was right to ask me what kind of metaphysical problem by discovering that Chinese proverb that you do not bathe her twice in the same river. Or this poem by Machado who said that there is way point, that is not the way, nothing more. That was, in fact, essentially a Piagetian constructivist.

Naturally, I do not know if what I wrote was good or bad. If it were literature or just a few lines of a diary. But I was convinced he had found something: a sense that finally something was happening in my life. As if I touched the fingertips after which had run for twenty years. I was sure that something important was there, being played.

A feeling of evidence took me sometimes. When I had coated my first words on this book, everything happened as if I had always known. I was good at this beauty before me swoon word aligned, and try to approach me. Because a single moment of happiness, I mean beautiful fall on a book or succeed to write a long and beautiful page, one of those moments gave the courage to face everything: the feeling of lost time moments unnecessary steps required. Read, write, all this gave me the impression that I could swallow mountains of snakes until I can devote myself entirely to writing. In fact, this feeling of obviousness was to have the impression that everything had been decided long before. That there was a destiny. I had a destiny. We all have a destiny.

Of course, all the moments were not peaceful. Some issues could lead to the gates of insanity. One must ask if it is not, at bottom, a single deranged mind. As this evening, sitting in the kitchen that choked me, I heard the kind of grunt that drove the respiratory fridge and oppressed. During what was akin to real crises, I felt in my head like little men who preyed on my brain. And whenever I could reach in a violent kick, there was always another one just over balaise me swinging a big punch in the back. There was nothing to do. They were always more numerous. They scared me. I was sweating. My forehead was dry but I could swear I was sweating. I was sweating drops of anguish. And I was left to a handful of hair and less.

So I tried to extinguish the light, put myself into a ball as well to protect me under a duvet hotter. I waved my brain in all directions so he decided to sign the armistice. Or so I loaded a few dozen good lines in my notebook and they could come, I knew that at least this part, they have not. I wanted to put my life free of the strongest safes, with all the latest metal alloys as a wall. And these anxieties could still try to drill, they were expected to firm up. I did not grow up. I did not become what I promised, every day society: a kind of idiot who spends his life missing them, without realizing it. I knew the risk was great, everyone was pushing me to become a horse in a race track, launched as a fury. I had to be pure blood, from the start, rushing to be in front. Before the herd. But still inside. But I do not want to, I could not imagine passing the finish line, exhausted, with the others. I had escaped me before the fatal moment. Before the arrival.

And then spent a few weeks ago these delusions What probably known lately our kids too facebookisés, our young people in distress a lot of dust in the nose where smoke into the lungs, the question of my future had suddenly reappeared.

For the assumption that I can remain credible profession of writing, and it continues to be likely to allay my doubts, he should engage. Release the books, drop lines fugitive, trying to write a chapter of my first book. It soon proved impossible. Paragraphs cold, lifeless, without interest. Unable to tell a story. So I consoled myself by saying I was too hasty. What I did I go too fast. And the questions I tried to stay away reappeared. That meant writing? How to write? Was it a pleasure, work, duty? Should I write to be read? I stamp my growing while the question of the damn book, still in neutral, became more and more sensitive. How is it constructed? Is there a beginning and an end? And if I could ever release it?

During peak times of doubt and distress, I imagined my kids in reading it. And my grandchildren too. I wanted that when they ask who was their father and who was their grandfather, they know what to say. It had been a writer. Not someone who had spent his life pissing others. Not someone who had watched his life go by, arms crossed . And they are proud because he lived the ancestor. Because it was a good person. And they can explain to everyone that it was not very serious if someone had not been what counted ... What basically is that he was simply a good person .

And then late one afternoon, I realized that I was becoming really crazy. I had mice in my house, there. Whether frolicking under the mattress. There were mice in my home sweet home. And I had taken months to realize it. No doubt, so I was very becoming crazy.

I was less and less deceived. This story writing was becoming more and more a huge cooked, and I was leaving for good hangover. Nothing was moving. I was unable to write the damn book , so I took myself to my dream of lights. Of course, I defended myself. I said I was sure that if one day there was a book of three hundred pages I had written would require people to be well hung in their seats so as not to swing by the window after ten pages! And there would always say that I had described the difficulty of creation. And they'd be right.

I actually sank deeper into depression. I do not touched the machine. I was unable properly. And I felt progressively life overtake me. Their lives to catch me. As if they were likely to be angry with me not be like them. As if trying to put me a kind of fluorescent pink arrow to the eyes and black all around. To show me that there was nothing else to do. That truth was there. need to become positive life force. I never had to tell my mother that I wanted to be a writer ...

But good God, my life could still not be that! I do not consider could look back and see nothing. It was really that I attack my book. This was vital. What I ask in the face of the world. To not let me eat, like so many others before me. I had to keep me law. I do not let them take me. What I do not let all these bastards guide me straight to death, frankly. I felt like death row inmate enters the final corridor, surrounded by guys in charge of checking that did not flee. That does not deviate from the road that he has drawn. It was good it did me, anyway, every time someone told me: "So where are you in? What you gonna do next year? What are your plans? .

But what they wanted me to become a merchant? What was the cash? I was not completely con. I knew he had. And it was better to have a lot. But is that it made sense? Is it enough to fill a life? Is it enough to be proud of yourself? Do not be ashamed of wasting hours behind a desk doing useless stuff? Then I thought back to my book. When we come hang onto the collar and pulled me by the sleeve, I thought of him. There was no one answer. It had to be addressed seriously. Asking the buttocks to the machine and enter into conflict with it. But every time I put, I feel kneeling before the toilet bowl. When I was typing a key, that I was putting fingers in the mouth. Deep. So I howl against the whole world.

A stay of graduation in the United States has offered a welcome interlude: black leather jacket purchased at a market in Lisbon a few months ago T-shirt V, red convertible, San Francisco, major parks, LA one night in four at the hotel, past the other sleeping in the car. In Malibu, it was lucky we had been able to take a shower on the beach .

And I came away with the firm belief that it should now be serious. That these three weeks of travel were amply sufficient to be sure I had nothing of a backpacker, and therefore not necessarily much of a writer. He would therefore have to find something else. So I decided to go for a ride to the University. And thanks to college, thanks to our beautiful French University, I discovered "Discipline and Punish." And I've finally been cured.

If those who are really risky one day to an author as Foucault may never be completely the same, because they are saved this evil that we all know: that the quest for meaning. Because those who have actually read the know precisely that sense it is not. Or rather that the meaning is always imposed by some service of some, that the meaning is fragile and that the result of confrontation and force fields. That simple fact of wanting a sense, to ask, to demand it is to risk becoming the prey of those who seek nothing other than to give. Those who, coincidentally, have the dominant places of power.

When I read Foucault over the shoulders of Deleuze, I immediately shared the idea that a snake rings are more complicated than the holes of a molehill. What Foucault is primarily useful as an example, to work, again and again. Not to be locked into its listings readings. If you are changed by Foucault, it is first by this, that way. By idea that the only way to look is in the construction of its own future. Eddy is one through which I learned that everything we take for granted as obvious is in fact a defeat of our ability to redesign our future.

I walked away from all this reading and rereading a few good principles and concepts of operation and functioning perfectly. You can pick them up around some propositions forces, although useful to be guided daily.

Proposal 1. The exercise of power is the essence of human life in society.

No society without power relations, without government men by other men. The power is exercised, it does not have. That same rather the opposite: the risk is still very real that the intoxication of power who has exercised, the converse is false. The exercise of power is a matter of seats occupied, and capacity for action on the actions of others. A society without power relations can only be an abstraction condense Foucault brilliantly.

Proposal 2. Knowledge is a source and target of power.

There is a dialectic relationship, even dialogic between knowledge and power, since both feed off each other. There is a ground "positive" our knowledge from which emerge the trunks and branches of power that in turn sow the know. Knowledge distributes seats, finally organizes exercise positions of power and their relationships. Sometimes, but only sometimes, power relations may degenerate into relations of domination. But power, basically, is thinkable only in its confrontation with forces that can potentially resist him.

Proposal 3. Power relations are all the more powerful they are hidden.

Quite the contrary, since the goal may even be making them invisible, like the famous panopticism Bentham. This is what Bourdieu often so misunderstood, but can sometimes be a little too carried away by itself, has devoted his life. Understanding the logic of social reproduction and distinction, habitus giving their effectiveness in these phenomena. And always in the objective of helping those who suffer this habit to emancipate them. No doubt, even if you do not agree with everything, be guided by the example of Bourdieu, it gives ethics.

Proposal 4. Needless to hope to contain, men are so made that when they are together, they create things that are beyond them.

Myths of course. Most importantly scapegoats Girardian recurrent can relieve tension and continue after these moments of madness, to continue to live together in a mimetic desire infinite self-referential. J.-P. Dupuy has called this thing created by men despite them when they are together: self-transcendence of social . Relentlessly, this self-transcendence to be recalled to service the practice of enlightened catastrophism Dupuy calls for.

Proposal 5. Knowledge, finally, is always a matter of resistance.

Resist, whatever the means or the way it existed. In resistance that is forged identity. Not that it always assumes the rebellion, but because it simply refuse to resist the evidence, reject the world as presented in its evidence. Resisting can lead to accept the arrangement of power relations if it seems fair or unfair less than others. But in all conscience, without ever taking the easy way. Resisting therefore assumed to be a hard knowledge. Since these track down what is behind the obvious whose property is, by nature, not to let flush easily.

With a mental blueprint and armed watch flow past decade has revealed an activity quite exciting. This led me one day to produce a oeni, an object written unidentified, whose overall problem was the abuse of trust.

ACT III - MATURITY

It was obvious that what we were going through could be widely anticipated ...

I was invited to dinner my oldest friend, whom I always by my side, who inspires me constantly, towards the Luxembourg gardens. I had sent a first draft of the book. They had remade the world, as usual. The kids were destroyed by a devastating mimicry, is what he argued . And it was from the school they sank. And Paris is now working as a ghetto. The kids were relatively preserved, but the barriers certainly stood everywhere. Paris no longer allowed to enter. And around, it was going to spin. So yes, the social body was under high, under very high tension. "And if Sarkozy announced a cut pensions 20%? And if half of Europe was burning? Hurry up and get out your text, release the horses ... Hurry! .

Thus empowered, he had only to darken. Go there. Every swing, even then as to how horns: a normal life after ... You bet! I'm sure he knew very well that this is not the case. He sent me to the front. At discharge, he did not have to push very hard, I'm off like a rocket. And I produced an object, poorly conceived, not really finished: RAM-EXIT.

Yet, instead of Pschitt, the trick was swollen. With that damn Web 2.0, starting from nowhere, a thing that should never exist could begin to take shape and become, in a few weeks, a whirlwind which placed head over heels.

I had a concept for the strategist enshrined General Poirier. That strategy was therefore my original discipline. And I had spent the last ten years to teach the strategy is to ensure over time, the congruence between the "demands" of the environment and the "capacity" of the organization. And the new requirements understanding of the environment had found in my quelqu'écho unique capabilities.

Because the weather had turned to dark gray, very dark. Between the collapse of the France soccer team, the insults of the return of Anelka and Henry, Woerth case after case, Bettencourt Fouquet's EPAD-yacht-Bolloré after the apartment, throwing, cigars, University Basque still do not understand wanted to LRU, the pauv 'idiots who thought nothing best fuck suicide. Yes, the environment was that of a social-economic-crisis-political-moral sociétalo unprecedented since eighty years.

And in the hood of my ability, I gradually developed, by dint of practice strategist, a wonderful concept: an example. This concept who gave me the energy to overcome the mestizo father my inspiration, to refuse a few well-paid positions rather taking inspiration intense examples of beatniks. This exemplary had that I had become a university, so I could have done so many things so well.

Initially, my concept was not particularly ambitious. I just wanted to try something. It was given a small text on the exemplary writes during the summer and released in late 2009, passed unnoticed, of course.

I myself was trying some creative joints. And if we had forgotten a word? And so instead of thinking always two points, again on two poles - right / left, white / black, etc.. \- We had missed the point. If we had forgotten that nothing is unthinkable without the triangle ...

It must be said that this was more than ten years since I saw the ravages of the calculation. The only explanation robust and therefore the only alternative to these delusions in academia was deemed to be authorized mimicry. So, initially, seek third term fell a bit of a joke. It was not to exceed the dialogue between insiders. It was only a try to see if there was a find to do. Just out of pure intellectual pleasure. And then it had worked. Beyond my expectations, even.

So I undertook to continue the adventure, try the experiment. Just to see if the friend Foucault was right, he who had already been so useful in many occasions. Just to see if it's allowed on event reality. If the real going to let it go. See what evidence would thus be left flush. And see where it'd take. Making this stuff that dreams are made all scientists since the dawn of time: to anticipate the future, nothing less.

In writing this first volume, I saw the bricks assemble. A foolish consistency was fueling the market madness, madness which was based on an unfathomable loneliness beings; loneliness that was necessary to develop the same way of store space. When I started to panic, I said happily-ROM loyalty would come to balance. That it was not possible for it to end like this. Because the bloodbath, really, was not far . That was enough now of nothing. I was scared when he saw that I wrote on Monday occurred on Friday. That Greece was already affected. What social consequences were hallucinating. That model worked perfectly, to track future events. And it was not reassuring.

All was going to continue as in RAM-EXIT. The programming was relentless, the data of the problem was obvious, the future was written. Europe was going to disappear once the implosion of the euro finally completed. No form of solidarity could resist the madness of the market.

Me ringing constantly crossing from Wall Street where the Oscar winner Michael Douglas / Gordon Gekko convince unions of blue star after provoked the crisis of confidence, that he grows into the spinal cord to the hand on the liquid on the funds of the retirement savings.

RAM-EXIT, I had produced with astonishing ease. All the bricks are slid into each other.

RAM, short for the RAM, which allows running the machine to calculate the avatar of homo economicus-: the-evaluative ressourceful-naximizing-model, the Jensen and Meckling MMER. This individual obsessed with the exit of Hirschman's defection, the departure, leave everything, constantly.

This MMER which by nature, as all financiers know this, a preference for liquidity. And an obsession, and one: the more, the ever more. This insatiable MMER, incorrigible, who participated in the constitution of our liquid modernity as Bauman said. Who provokes this liquidity, relentlessly. Who is always looking to defeat his opponent, time. Who developed the algo-trading. Who constantly manage to go even faster, chasing the hypervelocity Virillio to overcome.

The RAM-MMER-EXIT-WIN knows above all that has nothing to fear, because everything happens OTC. Since the judge is not empowered to decide voluntary agreements. Choices of operation, as they say. He is empowered to decide on proven cheats. And in any case, here was the case. On the contrary, because this was just to make the best use of that thing engraved on the pediment of human rights: freedom and double envy.

Since Weber, one knows that the strength of the model, its legitimacy lies in the articulation of law and science. The rational and legal, this is nothing other basically the free market, that's where comes the legitimacy of his power. Except ... Except that in our world, advances in technology make the real now, is transformed by the models. That power techniques now produces a world that is verifiable ex post after the fact. "It pulls a rabbit out of the top hat and the audience applauds," incantation Gekko in Wall Street when the boy asks him accountable for the Blue Star, just after his father had had a heart heart. Yes, technology is constantly now produce the world of tomorrow.

As business SG, Messier, Forgeard, Tapie have clearly shown, nothing to fear ... yet. And better if nobody, absolutely nobody is the absolute necessity that science and the law should be references. Only a moral and political, only new forms of techno-jurdicité are likely to contain the excesses inherent technoscience.

It is a techno-Weberian we need redesign. Even as the company remains so fragile, so much tension, always ready to implode, the leviathan of the market can not hide the fact that rabies at all times, people can resume.

And with these glasses is that they understood that the problem is that a breach of trust at best hit and outsider whose protagonists "business" are guilty. Arrived at the end of ROM-Loyalty, I realized that, alas, there was nothing to expect loyalty hirschmanienne to get us out of business. The principle Girard, explanation of mimicry, was always fair, but after. It worked perfect, but it always came too late .

The question crossed my visceral writing ROM-Loyalty was as follows: since the lights from the union of science and law based on positive ground - as Foucault would say \- of our democratic republics counterweight to technologization globalization and unbridled can be found in renewed forms of pre-modern orders such as has defined Schumpeter?

The answer, alas, is definitely not. It is true that a symptom is too often overlooked: the democratic political system is ultra-minority in our world.

So if one accepts the premise - thank you Jensen and Meckling, again - that the mainspring of panic is the fear of pain, WFP, the Pain Avoidance Model, then no, there is nothing to expect loyalty. The fair features a human being for which the refusal of pain, sloth - physical, muscle, neural ... - is a fundamental characteristic. The loyalty is primarily an expression of political apathy (click here for a discussion). It's just the engine that engenders political behavior of loyalty. Because the exit is always expensive.

James March explained. Explorer is more expensive that exploiting, exploring always sparks transaction costs stranded explore always forced the abandonment of some specific assets. Only the illusion of a other property, only the exhilaration of growth, may lead to agree to become disloyal practice exit. Because if the exit release, it always assumes forms of renunciation. It is active only when the promise of compensation is expected stronger. But it also assumes, always, take the risk of giving up, agreeing to be dispossessed.

It is precisely this refusal of the pain of exploration that ultimately triggers loyalty. Because erasing the hard drive, the ROM would be too costly . Too heavy. Unbearable. And each starting observation impossible, then each failure reinforces loyalty, by one of these trials are paradoxical that the victim's solidarity with her tormentor, she prefers to fade, or cheat, rather than face reality in a losing battle advance. The lack of loyalty is becoming. Though essential to any company, it is, alas, politically hateful, at least in the ideal form formulated by Hirschman. It prohibits any (re) design of the new ground in a need to respect the conventions, the principle that the legitimate tradition the exercise of power. You will respect you and honor thy father and thy mother ... even if you think they do not deserve it. This is the spring visceral loyalty.

Using the strength of tradition, reading the letter from Jean Monnet, while we extracted ourselves from any respect for symbols, such is the abuse of trust. Arriving in the city of 4000, even where there promised to pass the kärcher, following a protest by more than one million people in the streets against the pensions, while the case extends Woerth and swells, all in an attempt to regain the media agenda, to divert attention, that constitutes a breach of trust characterized. That could well describe the barbarians too much, too much play firefighter arsonist, lead us to new forms of civil war. We do not play fair with impunity little people, the confidence they give you . In the neuroses of those who were unable, not known, beyond the drama of their personal stories. Such, alas, the fall of the second volume of memoirs of crisis.

So, no, not in tradition, at least not in the form mimetic which underlies all traditional dynamic that predetermines behavior that technoscience find the outlines of new forms of techno- own legal validity to contain deviations of the exit.

Bourdieu was wrong, alas, when he said: "Sociology has by itself a fact - that seems liberating - whenever the mechanisms it sets out laws operating owe part of their effectiveness in breach [...] we understand that sociology is seen constantly challenge the status science, and of course first of all those who need the darkness of ignorance to exercise their trade symbolic "(in the lesson Lesson, 1982, p. 20 - 21). No, unfortunately, know no cure, only action heals. No sociology does not "by itself" but only when it is feed the reasonable to act first and then understand. No, sociology does not release ex ante but ex post, to help understand and rationalize. It does not help the action, once it releases the action taken.

So what does this visceral charge of breach of trust characterized? Is it too strong? The answer is no. For it is the basis of Hirschman voice, the speaking in situations of decline it is legitimate to wear. Because of two things: either the armed advisers paid tens of thousands of dollars each month does not know Hirschman, no Foucault, Deleuze not, not Bourdieu, Mauss, and not when they abuse their salaries since their incompetence ignorance by abusing our trust. Or, rather, they know, they know, and then it worst breach of trust because everything totally premeditated act is performed to maintain widespread scam.

Hence the figure of Obama crossing as RAM-ROM-that EXIT Loyalty. And this journey Operating System - VOICE. The charismatic Obama pest. The charisma, the gift that has something divine, is the only thing that can come out the techno-city of its pressure, which may open new possibilities.

This charism, third source of legitimate power, which is never given, which is won in the trial, the face of adversity. The charisma that arouses respect because he is always preaching the best of humanity. This gift can then call the gift-cons. The donation is the threefold obligation of giving-receiving -making which puts such Caillé. The gift that feeds me, it seems, the speeches of Obama since his speech at the Democratic convention dazzling 2004. The donation, which can not be seen as a selfless act, but first as an act of kindness.

The gift that requires integrity. The gift that nourishes voice, which creates trust, which is only likely to be right of loneliness and fear, these two words that are pegged to the body and mind paralyzing. The gift by which a system may finally become operating. This gift inseparable from moral obligations. This kindness, consubstantial to the gift, without which self-transcendence is impossible.

This gift giving legitimacy to judge acts on the basis of their exemplary, that is to say, the inspiration they generate, laughter and humor they trigger, drunkenness and the passion they provoke. And that makes it possible for the less fortunate not to get in a few shifts and other drugs to escape a world that has more meaning. The gift is called, again, a great future research.

So yes, operating system-voice-charisma-gift-needs drunkenness third spring of human action, which alone can counterbalance techno-science on behalf of the imperative reasons of benevolence which should characterize any exercise of power .

This kindness will save the young father Sheen in Wall Street, after he recovered his sight, that it Gekko has confirmed that lead is much heavier than straw, as the sun rises well to the east, the compass of his father is quite right: the haves exploit the dispossessed since the dawn of time, capital and labor are although essentially still in dispute more or less virulent, more or less expressed, but always in a state of potential as say P . Levy. Every society is crossing relations of power, always, as Foucault has taken so long to make but it eventually did.

This kindness on behalf of which the stock options should be repealed, finally. The charisma that would warrant a review for Fidelity, records Knob, Forgeard, Messier, Zacharias and others in short, all those who have built fortunes through technoscience and have caused much embezzlement characterized. By implying that they were responsible successes and failures but never convicted, once came the test of time long and thick, not only instant profits related to future promises that never happen. Certainly, Kerviel, for his part, he is guilty can not however be held (only) responsible.

The exemplary is the only political way forward. But not what we are promised by the big-time business. Not after he tried to run the advertising for public television. Not after all the "business" which, it is somewhat unwise to deny that they are nothing. Let the joke.

The exemplary command does not. She is not possessed. It calls especially no staging. Setting an example is given by those who agree to be guided by an example. She did not support by communicating. No, it does not possess exemplary, it does not control. It exerted itself, and she which must, in our spiritual world, feeding the law revolution behalf of a certain idea of justice, honor, and benevolence. Straighten political lines, keeping the egos against each other can not, ever, feed some exemplary form whatsoever.

Setting an example, the true virtue consists with liberating the market. But it must strive to stop it when it withdraws some dignity. The exemplary respects the traditions that deserve it, but brings into question and involved when the stress is transformed into unbearable oppression of spirits.

And it was his courage and integrity to make such actions by ago-antagonistic dialogical say Morin brief imposed by respect for himself cultural example, that the mother becomes exemplary of any form collective action since the famous breeds confidence.

That is why the exemplary guess never abuse that trust. Never to suggest an alternative to the uncertainty would be possible. For in this case, we always play the worst. The way is now convened in the public debate the concept of exemplary is the same demonstration, a concept which can now nourish the seeds of more populist. The crises are never as dramas of history, when it can no longer bear the trial of peaceful evolution and standardizing to use the distinction of Aron.

Yes, crises are consubstantial to human identity. Facing them, only trust in such kind, governed by a sense of responsibility for acts and anticipation honest, although still not to carry with completeness, the consequences can feed only thing that we all take : hope. This thing that is most intoxications. The YWC. The "Yes, We Can ...". For sure, a beautiful slogan copy that. What Will I Am is in a song, what a great idea. Yeah, hat, Mister President.

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About the author :

Jean-Philippe DENIS is Professor of Strategic Management at Paris Ouest Nanterre la Défense University (Paris X)

With Smashwords.com :

Introduction to Management Techniques, Theories and Ideologies

Connect with Me Online:

http://www.jphdenis.com

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