Pontaillac, September 1985
Your letter arrived this morning , and you can’t imagine in which state I was in when I discovered the playlist and more, the photo you took of Coquelicot and me.
It seems that all things you send come on such a perfect time to boost my spirits soaring. How on earth are you so kind?
You offer me to write anytime I feel blue, I guess I wouldn’t dare with anyone else- although we barely know each other – but I decided to enjoy it without measure ( tell me if it annoys you , nevertheless) . And God knows how much I need it …
You see, I had just woken up, after spending the night to play “Leave in Silence” on repeat, to remember the lyrics. My parents would be mad at me knowing I do things like that, they already are quite all the time without that. But I really can’t have a simple, authentic conversation with them. I feel they don’t care about me and they’re all obsessed with Colin.
I don’t know if if he ever spoke to you about this writer my father knows since High School, Edouard. The guy is supposed to facilitate Colin’s installation in Paris , if he passes the entrance exam to Normale Sup’ . But Colin hasn’t answered to any of his phone calls , nor to his letters since he’s back in Bordeaux. He doesn’t answer to us neither, I have written to him yet, to warn him that Dad and Edouard tried to pull it out of me although I don’t know anything. In all this I feel terribly useless, and unimportant.
That’s why Martin’s words were so precious to me these days : “ I can’t stand this emotional violence”.
Of course, there is no straightforward brutality from adults, but it’s all these little things they say ( or they don’t say sometimes) that breaks me down and make me want to leave this house so damn hard. I know you told me not to idealize your” world”, but it’s only in music that I find comfort. And in poetry.
Novels are cool also , but I feel that poetry can’t afford to lie. It’s too short for that, there’s no room in poetry for the deceptive and worn-out words of everyday language, it must hit or fall flat, there’s nothing in between.
I started listening to Joy Division also. Mom thinks she’s doing the right thing by reproaching me to listen to what she calls “such depressing things” when I’m already sad , but I can’t explain to her that it’s precisely when I hear Ian that I feel better. And to be honest, I can’t really explain it to myself either.
The fact is that Joy Division’s songs literally stick to your skin once you’ve heard them. It happened to me last Tuesday; as I’ve listened to “A Means To An End” in the morning. The sound, the words where coming back again and again in my head as I was thinking on a grammar exercise, or taking my tray from the cafeteria; even when I was talking with my friends… It was as if I dissociated myself from reality, and that the most important part of me was embarked on this journey “ where dogs and vultures eat” . And at the same time, it feels like such a crucial text on disappointment and idealism.
Well, I hope I haven’t been too confused, or boring, or both. It’s not that easy to put words on what I have in mind at the moment. The only thing that motivates me a little in my life is the trip in Germany my school organizes with correspondents, in March… Just hope not to be paired with a Barbie girl…
Thanks again, so much, Alb, for being here, and finding time between your work, your studies and the mixing sets with Virgile to read my nonsense. Good luck for all what you’re doing ; and please tell me about the band ; on what you’re working … Colin told me Coquelicot sometimes mixed with you?
Many, many hugs …