FEATURED POST
es·cape : to slip or get away, as from confinement or restrain.
“Je conduis, avec but, mais sans destination. Fenêtre ouverte pour me garder en contact avec la réalité que je passe à une vitesse inconnue. La légère odeur, mais familier de l’herbe fraîchement coupée danse nonchalamment autour de mes narines, d’abord avec beaucoup de réserve, puis avec la vigueur massive; rappelle la manière dont je veux vous le donner. Cependant, ma passion indéfectible pour vous obtient le meilleur de moi et je le laisse me pilote automatique en vous; la moitié instinctivement contrôlée, la moitié désir incontrôlée. Je l’ai laissé me alimenter, de prendre sur moi.
Tous ces événements qui se déroulent dans mon cortex tous au même moment, en tandem; un diagramme de Venn de la dévotion résolue avec l’espace d’intersection remplis avec un seul fait biologique solitaire … J’ai besoin de toi”
My life in high school was not much different than it is now, in terms of literature; however, now I read for leisure. Then, I read nonfiction out of necessity; to break up the mundane, to win a war of attrition with a tyrant. I lived with my grandfather during those times. In a bubble of plenary isolation, I existed. According to my grandfather I didn’t have “friends,” I had “associates” and thus couldn’t see or talk to anyone outside of the school building. But along with that, I was forbidden to read anything secular. So, as a genetically predisposed dissenter, I read secretly. Anything from Hemingway to King to Klosterman; it was my secret I relished in, escaping my prison. My senior year I had a French teacher who didn’t just go through the motions; she actually cared. It was with Mme Williams I learned to appreciate French prose through reading and writing my own essays, en français. With Lautréamont and Camus in my repertoire, I became obsessed with how beautiful the French language was; how it seems to have an infinite capacity in astonishing me with it’s intricacies.
I love writing in French, not only for the nostalgia, but also because in a way I’m discretely paying homage to Mme Williams while keeping my love of literature secret from my grandfather. Even now, I guess I’m still that naive kid who believes literature is my best-kept secret. – Taji Harris
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Follow Taji on Twitter – @FUfittedME
-TheTravelingPinkLips
