5:11 p.m., Gentilly.

Every day without exception since January 2015, that is to say for exactly 2322 consecutive days I activate the maximum of own power of which I feel capable at a given moment, for the “minute of dance of the day”, as tiny, even almost non-existent this power might be . It is about dancing in the interstices of the day, with a real and not spectacular body, so that the day is worth, that it is coupled with the body, that the body is crossed by the world and that the world is imprinted in the body. Time of the instant brought to incandescence, time of passing life, of memory that activates or fades, of the future that shines and rocks. It’s a duet with the world, with others, with the weather … a relationship that invents what’s next, that always makes me different, defeated, through you, us, time. On the edge of the fall, of the stop, carried away by time…. I continue, however; for us, for something ephemeral or invisible, for the void that vibrates and whispers that the poetry of the ephemeral is for a moment won over the madness of these times. It is a question of ethics and of life dedicated to dance, to life and to the Earth: interiority must be coupled with exteriority; both are correlative and interdependent. We need sorority, fraternity, with humans but also with other kingdoms. I dance for the emptiness that shines and trembles. I dance for the day. I dance for everything we don’t say about ourselves, for our tenderness and soft skin, for our dreams of the night and our impulses of the day. I dance at a loss. And this loss is transmuted for me into a crystal torn from nothingness. It’s tiny, interstitial. And for me that’s it.

Thank you for your presences which gives me courage. Thank you for your dances, your messages and your beauties. I’m walking on a wire.

I am wearing the sweater that Margaux gave me.

Behind me, the drawings of Isabelle.