Ghost In The Phone - Episode Two

A thunder was growing at the edge of the fifty thousand feet of darkness. His first meeting was at 9:00 am. It was what he called his favorite assistant working pastime. All of the assistants were having a weekly meeting just to share with everybody how advanced were their individual projects. Yes, he was working on it. No, she was waiting for a back call from an impolite person. Crap. Good luck. Two hours. These two hours were floating around him. Inside, outside. Very far memories were coming to him as ancient pictures. He played with them answering just to the yes or no questions, and sometimes by inaudible waitings for and workings on. Each of the answers were right. So he could essentially listen and if something was missing in a professional process he always was asking what was wrong, why people who had to do something had missed this, or this, or this important job step. That made him feeling more steady to be perfectionist and alarmist. It was like his old building sets. A game.

He sat down before his computer which was put on the table and waiting to be switched on. Five or six bells were telling him that a hail of unread emails would have been to be read; but before reading them he had to send all of the answers he made during the night when nobody sends any mail because nobody has to know that someone is writing emails at 4:00 am instead of sleeping. 7:30 am was a better time. Sleeping before sending. He checked again how he had organized the list of his contacts and remembered again his own rules. Friends : women before, in alphabetical order of nicknames. Alissia, lolA, Zelda, and two or three one more. Work : women before, in alphabetical order of names. Rosa, Rosae, Rosam, and the rest of a kind of specific list. Formal Network : women before, the one above the other. Witches, Director 1, Director 2, Senior managers, Dwarfs. Social Network : in order of coming. Someone, Someone else. A world of (wo)men. Sending mails, drinking coffee, staring at the sky through the dusty window where a new Moon was arising, continuing sharing news from the World, drinking coffee, drinking coffee. Drinking coffee.

Episode One

Ghost In The Phone — Episode One

A Beautiful Opening Day

Day ON.

His first emotion as he opened his eyes was that the current day was the most beautiful one of his entire life. Yesterday was a draft. As a code, he sang for himself a kind of Josephine Baker’s J’ai deux amours, and he opened the day as he opened a door, widely ready to live something new with a very inspiring and a very hopeful smile. C’qui m’ensorcelle, c’est Paris, c'est Paris tout entier. Thirty seconds after he got up he was already reading his program on his phone. Colors were telling him what kinds of deadlines were coming. Spearmint for his working task. Orange for his assistant work. Purple for his friends. Red for his own project. Grey for his own deadlines. He needed first assimilating his four mugs of coffee. The Coffee-machine’s self operating program was set up at 6:00 am for a long day, and at 7:00 am for normal days. Today was a normal day. Five minutes before the time, he was here, in waiting, waiting for the program to begin. It was time to look at all of the papers and books, left in front of the Coffee-machine just to be read during these five minutes. They could be news from friends, news from the World, exercises of memorization. Sometimes just the memories of reviving facts, events, yesterdays. Boys. Friends. He needed to remember his past life to ensure himself that he could bear his coming life, and needed to drink quietly a just-a-little-bit-moistened first mug of coffee. Quietly, just after having been a little bit moistened. So, he was waiting for the program to begin. The radio was broadcasting his first morning scandals. Today, the favorite player of a favorite football team was found dead, and nobody was able to tell what happened during the day before, on The Twenty-second of January, 2014. It could just be a suicide, but it wasn't really understanding. He looked at his colored daily program on his phone, and he knew now if he would have or not the teleorganic time to give to his headache a chance to disappear. Yes. One pill. No. Two pills.

Episode Two

@rycholiver.org — copyright 2014

@rycholiver.org is a free web publishing program whose goals are to spread the to-day French literature in English and in French.

His first FlyIng series has been created on a very beautiful date : The Twenty-second of January, 2014.

The series is directed by OLIVER @rycholiver.org.

Hélène Bessette

I'm not coming for seeing.

What everybody is coming to see.

From lakes of tears I didn't have seen anything in the first evening.

I'm not coming for spending the riviera yachting and cordiera long holidays.

I will not pitch my tent in the hauteur. From the faraway glaciers I will not see anything.

If it's raining. While a train is speeding.

In the shadow.

At the edge of lakes of tears. In the evening

when I arrived.

From the arrival time.

From my rain color eyes.

I see the World through his fog.

The big tourism with bad flash light.

It bad light the way.

In a singular lighting.

I am sad.

That's why.

Because perhaps it isn't raining. I'm fabulating. Dull mood.

Sulky glows.

The slow train with faded colors.

The insipid lights of unknown stations.

Why am I here?

I couldn't tell it.

If I will. It will be useless.

Could you understand it?

You will not believe me. Even if I would tell it.

Therefore I don't tell.