The MIL team, the cuddly friend, the happy face, the liniment in gloss and the lanolin as a screen wish you stock in anticipation and especially to keep… the banana!
Flattery being a calamity as widespread and sought-after as shale oil under the marlstone of our favourite field of potatoes on probation, let’s stop for a moment to wish each other courage and appetite for the year to come.
Rather than the passive vegetarian feline we imagined ourselves to be, let us prefer the fluffy but carnivorous vole as our totem animal and let’s run, our calamitous chest hair tamed by the ointment of our torments, straight into the Chinese solstice 2023 of the water bunny, full of moist or subaqueous promises.
With the mud at mid-calf, we’ll happily bail out, weighing overboard the abstruse texts, printed on dibond© panels, of our hypocritically shared offices. We will flee the jovial subjection of all these connected open-spaces, new ecosystems of emptiness, suspicious of idiosyncrasy despite their universalist pretensions and blooming in our urban neighbourhood like acneic pruritus repressed too late…
Then we’ll let ourselves be drugged up to the point of inconsequence to renew with our unreasonable anachronistic agapes, from before the generalized and constipating cough, the gomina as a lubricant for a general cerebral deflation. We will invigorate ourselves with the sounds of the suction of our unrequited love affairs on the benches of Lapérouse’s and we will reread, in the warm light of the mirrors scratched by our Balzacian lovebirds wandering under the always foggy streetlights of the cinematographic Seine, our prepubescent vows made up mainly of simple hopes and liberating vacuity.
Kisses, kisses.