Absurd meaning of life without whiskey
Philippe Gregoire302 pages • 2022
18.43 € TTC
Extract
Sequel to the first book "Absurd meaning of life (without whiskey)".
We sink deeper and deeper into the viscera and tormented moods of this young man who lives only on dreams and adventures, and occasionally sex and romance.
Unless it's the other way around...
Out of generosity he gives us everything.
Aren't we all the same with our imperfect human emotions?
How good it is that he takes us to visit our shadow areas that we too often deny, making us incomplete beings...
From isolated lands to lost lands, he gives us his intimate secrets, full of his old lives and their emotional scoriae.
Thus, from roads to routs, he will find the goal of his long quest and will marry underwater for what he has finally come to seek - deep love - in the purest protocol of the Atlanteans.
In short, we enjoy ourselves, we want more, and here is the rest!
Extract
Lesson of the day: how to defecate quietly, at the back of the boat.
Sit down on the back railing, making sure of course that there is no one watching you, or your ego may take a hit, the position is so immodest and shocking.
Pull down your underpants, securing your hands firmly to the railing.
Slowly move your buttocks back to the point of no balance, and make sure there are no greedy gulls hovering behind, who, thinking what is about to fall is food, might.. .finally it is better to avoid that.
Also be sure that the rogue wave will not come to affect your hazardous balance either, take a deep breath and push hard to quickly eject the materials that are stalling, or feces.
As a dead poet would say: "It is good to hate our ridiculousness by cheering up our testicles".
So for the toilets, it will be bare ass, defecating in free fall at the back of the boat, women as well as men.
Everyone giggles with stifled, yellow, embarrassed, childish laughter...
Further, in India...
I left the boarding house in Baharampur on a rickshaw, except that it was a horseman who drove me to a semblance of a taxi rank.
Gave a piece of fingernail as a reward.
Then got into a taxi from the years -1469 BC, an indestructible Peugeot with millions of kilometers on the clock, to go to a bus station in Palasi, the next town. Settled with a piece of my t-shirt.
Then bus to Krishnanagar, the big city in the region, an unnamed brothel.
The ultra-full bus, I don't even know how I was able to sit all along.
Got up several times to give my seat to women who looked several hundred years old, but all of them refused and went to bend somewhere under the seats, and were swallowed by the bus.
Endless hours, and in this word there is also the term that best applies to this trip.
If you are looking for solitude, quiet and isolation, don't go to Delhi.
Noise and fury, horns and cries of itinerant vendors who move slowly with their fruit and vegetable cart, tirelessly chanting the name of their products will punctuate your walk...
Washers rub shoulders with barbers installed on the sidewalks.
It's also a great experience to be shaved on the side of the road, drunk and known to everyone, who doesn't care at all, for the rest...
I pass in front of manufacturers of feather dusters, make me jostle by sellers of brooms in a hurry, I am stalked by street astrologers, ear cleaners who are after my precious waxes, I give way to locksmiths or resellers of tin cans who run around.
Delhi is an urban illusion where past, present and future meet.
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