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the pile driver is beeping, the sky is cracked.
Clouds are rancid, and the sun is scabbed on the ground.
That bad old man named Alexander Oscar Dupont with his oily belly lying on the bridge, maybe it was me.
He opened his mouth wide and was spitting out the turnips, wild sauerkraut, onions and ale that had not been digested in his stomach last night. The Seine is being repaired and the new bridge is temporarily closed.
A rat crawled in my vomit. The endless stream of people, in a hurry, goes to work, to get off work, to work, to work like idiots.
They go to work just to get off work.
It's not the first time I've been drinking too much. One night I was lying on the street and my right leg was crushed by a whizzing car. I just crawled into the relief station one step at a time, being dragged around like a corpse by those sons of a bitch. Register me, take a mugshot, press my handprint, and endless questioning. Supposedly this is to prevent welfare fraud, but it makes me think that they invented poverty itself and made it a new crime.
All great French citizens must learn how to use the form to arrest themselves.
So I rearranged the letters of my name to have my current name: LeosCarax.
I met her that summer. She is a blind girl, her left eye bulges and swells like a snail when she sees close objects, while her right eye often overflows with pus. A burlap was covered with stains. She likes to paint, drink, and be in high spirits. Being with her makes me feel that life is beautiful.
We picked up cigarettes and smoked, stole alcohol, laughed, got drunk, screamed, danced, limped and hugged in the water. Half of the Seine is fireworks and half is us.
I stole a 16mm camera and swore to make a movie about her and me.
It wasn't until I saw her father's notice that she was looking for her that she was the daughter of a "superior family". In order to be with her forever, I burned all the posters her father had put up and threw the money tricked into healing her eyes into the river.
Only by becoming a real weak can she be inseparable from another weak.
Her eyes were getting worse day by day, unable to see the small movements around her, and she was almost blind. In order for her to see me, I no longer smile, but laugh wildly, I no longer walk, but roll in the crowd. I pay every day my humble despair that I can go to jail for her, die for her, give everything for her.
I love you! But I forbid you to leave me for true happiness!
I'm the alcohol-guzzling flame, and she's the desensitized firework.
Her last wish before she went blind was to see a painting again. In the Louvre at midnight, she stepped on my shoulders, I held the candle high, and her glassy empty eyeballs could no longer distinguish objects, so I used my fingers to "see" the bumps of each brushstroke inch by inch. Right in front of the painting, we hugged each other tightly, and I covered her with a dark and desolate curtain, and the candlelight went out at the same time as the last remaining fire in her eyes.
I went to jail for arson. Since then, she has been blind and helpless, wandering the streets during the day and sleeping in the sewers at night. She was beaten, raped, drunk, and stopped by the homeless, making her vulnerable. She was 33 when she died, but looked 50, like a skinny plastic bag. It was I who threw her body into the river with my own hands. Right there, on the bridge she likes, I stabbed my left palm with a stolen gun.
Now that I am old, I often have hundreds of keys in my pocket, but nothing can be opened.
I've been a guard all my life. I've been in factories, buildings, lighthouses, cemeteries, and finally, the gatekeeper of this bridge.
The bridge connects the left and right banks, but separates the upstream and downstream. Same reason.
You can depend on your guide dog, but never fall in love with it. The poor and the rich in this society are not the same species. They can't really love each other.
Class is a concept created by human beings. Instead, people use it as a prison to divide each other, arousing blind hatred, inexplicable fear, confused life, and unclear death.
Poverty has become an insurmountable identity in my life, and my dream is to kill it in my movies in my lifetime.
"Is that me?"
"Yes, from memory."
"Where have you seen me?"
"I thought you were dead."
A half-blind girl, a lame man, what happened back then was about to start over.
Every fairy tale begins with "a long, long time ago" and all lies end with "everything is no longer far away".
And all this is dedicated to all the lovers who live on the bridge.
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