La solitude [English translation]

I am from a different country than yours,

From a different neighborhood, from a different solitude.

Today I invent myself new side roads.

I’m no longer one of you, I’m waiting for the mutants.

Biologically I’m settling for the idea

That I’m made up by biology: I piss, I ejaculate, I cry.

It’s from the very first instance that we made our ideas

Like if we were talking about manufactured objects.

I am ready to provide you with the molds.

But... solitude... solitude...

The molds have a new texture, I must warn you.

They were cast tomorrow morning.

If you haven’t up until this day the relative sentiment of your lasting,

It is futile to transmit it to you, futile to look past you for what’s ahead is behind

Night is day.

And... solitude... solitude...

It is at first instance that our automatic washing machines

At street corners,

Be as imperturbable the lights that decide if you’re stopped or clear.

The cops from the cleaners will show you the one

Where it would be permissible for you to wash

That what you believe to be your conscience

And what isn’t an addiction to the neuro computer

That acts as your brain.

And yet... solitude... solitude...

Despair is a superior form of critique.

For now, we’ll call it: “happiness”

The words that you use no longer being “the words”

But a way of traveling through which

The illiterate obtain a clear conscience.

But... solitude... solitude...

The Civil code we will talk about later.

For now, I would like to codify the uncodifiable.

I would like to measure your Danaïde democracies.

I would like to insert myself into the absolute void and become the unspoken,

The nonexistent, the nonvirgin by lack of lucidity.

Lucidity is in my pants!

In my pants!