Cosmos Page #6

The Brussels restaurant, where the...

"Klov"!

She stinks more and more...

Or maybe its the priest...

A sort of physical self-centredness?

The smell is barely bearable.

Makes you puke, right?

When she gets a whiff of herself!

I could take three baths a day,

with a few drops of lemon.

Jokes and japes.

The petits fours melt in the mouth!

Don't I have the right?

Y es, I have the right...

I know he's handsome, and I'm not.

To human meanness, don't I have the right

to oppose the purity of my love?

You cannot forbid it,

nothing can replace love!

And I'm not ashamed.

I need my siesta!

I have a right to it.

You coming, Tolo?

Yes, my love.

- Your fly.

- Yes, my precious...

When her father dies, an industrialist

she'll inherent a packet!

A siesta. Yes I am.

And a shower. To be clean.

Clean me, Lucien?

But now...

Already he loaned them his car...

- What kind?

- A black one.

- It's a Merde-cedes.

- Mercedes cars are shitty.

Mrs Woytis had to come down a bit

from her pedestal-um

when she married me.

Leave me alone!

If the priest vomits, she shouldn't,

her mouth reinforcing

the ecclesiastic mouth.

But if priesty pukes, why shouldn't she?

How long will it hide and encircle?

- Bleurgh.

- Bleurgh what?

Spielbleurgh.

What else?

Bleurgman the filmmaker,

Strindbleurgh,

Bleurghson, the philosopher of boredom.

What do these mouths have against me?

Well, you're less dumb than the others.

So many emotions...

- I'm done. And you?

- Drunk.

Oh, but what drunkness? What promises?

L 'amour...

Oh, what a great idea coming here!

Exactly like facing mountain,

facing the sparrow,

the ceiling, the axe, the waste

like in Catherette's room... the cat.

Nothing. Listen to the silence!

The Rule of the priest,

weddings, his fat fingers.

- Oh, that's viscous...

- Oblique.

I suffer thinking of caressing her nape.

Whose?

Ginette's, a**hole... Not the priest's!

Oh, the lips of Catherette!

You never stop astounding me.

To write, isn't it to astound?

Or the generosity whispers to a woman

that her hand can constitute a gift.

Their torture. Her torture.

How can I listen to silence

if you blah blah?

"The right...

to love."

Staring at the view or at my toes?

At your... Your lipstick's faded.

Indeed.

- Your neck...

- What?

If I broke your cat's neck

I would have to break your neck too

and hang you.

Well, only just for me...

God, are you naive.

But why me?

Because there is an imperfection

in each perfection.

A wrong in each righteousness.

A mouth flawed in a mouth.

A mouth just like mine.

"When will this inner night disappear

"The universe - And I - my soul -

"When shall my day come?

"When will I wake up from being awake?

"I don't know

"The sun shines on high noon

"And impossible to stare at

"The heart beats far from itself

"And impossible to hear

"When will this drama without theatre

- Or this theatre without drama -

disappear?"

- You know this one?

- It's better in the original.

"Who's the one who lives inside you?

O cat staring at me with eyes of life

"The same one even if totally different.

"It's him!

It's him!"

When will this drama

without a teapot disappear?

You forgot that I'm a language teacher.

- How many do you know?

- Some.

- Lena!

- Coming!

I only know one, barely...

I'm sick.

I'm very sick...

I'm not so sick after all.

But what are you doing here, Leon?

Nothing! I do nothing!

I'm doing what one does all one's life:

nothing!

The chap-um stands up,

sits down, jabbers, writes,

and nothing.

The chap-um insures,

sells, gets married,

doesn't get married,

and nothing!

The chap-um marches-um in sand-um

and nothing.

Bubbly water.

A whale.

And for what?

Nothing!

I've had enough!

Thievery!

You look upset. Is it still the cat?

The cat-um is but a detail...

On the other hand, you

my old boozing partner.

Look at me!

Bring your nose-um closer!

To sniff you?

I've put on some cologne!

Tiriri!

- You coming with me?

- Where?

- The other way.

- I'll grab my umbrella.

Look!

Look at this immense water

salty like tears!

But...

But here, too:
nothing.

And you?

Apart from that...

yes, there are some nerves

in my tension,

and some tension in my nerves!

- Where you going?

- Wherever I'll blow the wind!

As a pilgrim with my stick

to Mass I go!

Where I'll be my own priest,

my little man,

my stinking Pope!

I sing, evenings and morning

I sing!

The cadaver-um of the scrounging cat

could grate my nerves.

You are probably thinking about

my little muzzle-games on the cloth-um

T oothpickums and salt,

under the gaze of my wife.

Except that she doesn't get it.

- Get what?

- That bleurgh.

Any bleurghing of dodging and contrast.

Look at that!

This bumblebee.

Like a helicopter, the rascal.

Whenever I want.

Because, dear, my youth was so-so.

Me just a bit, but not really...

Like behind glass, one watches the other

from morning to night.

And I invented for myself,

a tiny pleasure at the office.

With my nail, I deepened a groove

in the wooden table.

And once in Neuilly,

when I was insuring an actress,

a lioness, believe me,

handing over papers,

I touched her hand.

The mad excitement of this tiny touch

but no way...

So I wised up:

why seek the hand of another

when we have two ourselves?

With practice, one can become an expert.

A hand touches another,

no one can see it.

And it's not even a felony,

but with a finger one can touch

one's knee or the ear...

- You're bleurghing too?

- I what?

Proper, huh?

Tutti frutti!

Our other follies.

In the void

the desert-um

in the far far aways,

in the deadly calm

of the mountains, the sea...

Leaving aside all what remains,

a left over, immense

and menacing...

Do you really think I'm blind?

Say...

Secreto-desire-um and bleurgh.

You Sir, would love to get into-bleurgh

the panties of my almost daughter

in full lover-um number one

in her tiriri marriage-um!

- You're a sh*t.

- Oh no. The priest is the sh*t.

Besides,

who knows?

With me, at least, you know,

a dumplingette, a grain of salt,

Catherette and bang!

If a corn can hurt the foot

why could it not bring ecstasy?

- You're a believer. I'd never guess.

- Believer...

Even the slightest of things

cannot be without belief...

For, primum:

the boar, the lion,

the mountain.

Secundum:

the lice, the sparrow, the worm.

Ergo, the huge and pathetic scale...

It is true that I f*** about often,

to facilitate.

But if I wouldn't facilitate,

it would be too difficult.

So it was you?

Artillery discharges are as important

as the sound of bells...

Are We All Murderers?

A movie. Wondrous Marina Vlady!

It wasn't Marina Vlady!

- Lick!

- My finger?

Lick a bit, say I!

Or go spit on yourself.

Because you thought Leon,

the old fart, his life ridiculous,

subterranean,

did he bring you here for nothing?

- But it's for the anniversary.

- Whose?

Well, not exactly seventeen years

less one month and three days.

Mine. Water, sweet!

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