The Author

Self Portrait

The first truths are the ones we discover last, says a smart guy. He is not wrong, even if he is not right. It depends who. I know a brat who was already looking for them, the answers to the big questions. All of them, one a day, each in turn. Scenario and questioning. Without being discouraged, he banged on all the doors, even banged on the windows, and climbed onto the roofs. If we chased him away, he would come in from behind.

I know a scab who does not let go of his prey. A seeker of dead truths, and who resuscitates them. A dog in a bowling game, it must crack, it must shine, it must not go into a spin. Always daring, cool and classy, smile on the face to break the ice, it goes or it breaks, that the grown-ups settle down and make room. This nasty one, I know him like myself.
Storyteller

I did it this way, without respite, without worry. I searched, I understood, I changed my mind. In the bed of polite, pretty, madness. Like Lennon in his bed, I made it pretty. Rude, frosted, but I did not soften. The gods demolished me. I walked undermined the softened brain until singing Dolly, Polly, Tutti frutti. With the royalties I made confetti. It is to have learned so much, given so much, taken back so much. My present ? Here it is.

He is there before your eyes. Treasure for the curious, agreement for the furious, furry for the happy, shocking for the cautious, freaking for the fearful, living for the happy. ProteiformChanging shape like Proteus and transformist, the saga resembles the former gods as close as we do. And the lark doesn’t fly this high Oh would you let these arms untie? (source)Louis Aragon, translation is mine

First truths, I’ve been throwing a shovel out of you for years preparing for the marathon. Eden Saga in me, for you, all around me, piles of books read and to (re) read, tons of cards, notes and crobards scribbled in notebooks, ideas full of head, desires in full heart. And for you, when you wake up, this fresh laid-back treat. Forgotten truths, heap of legends, warrior’s rules of life, everything is useful, everything speaks to you. Great discoveries? With me you will do ten, you will do a hundred, or twenty times more. There are 1300 articles in the Saga. With four or five discoveries per article, you have plenty to marvel at for a long time. More than ten years. And meanwhile, I keep laying four articles a week, you lucky guys.

Philopoetus

My friend Alain says to me philopoet. It’s great fun. I cultivate philosophy, I drink poetry. We do not philosophize on an empty stomach, they say. Al Kohl distilled by a still. Do we poetize with a full stomach? When you are armored, barded, force-fed, repudu ass no philosophy either. Where do the reflections like who am I go? where do i come from? Where am I going ? and in what state do I wander? All that matters to the storyteller is the mouth-watering rhyme. Belly full, the head sings. And while she is enchanted, we can do whatever we want without this hindrance to dreaming in the round. And round little patapon, yes, I said it so that no one does it for me.

Soon fifteen years, fifteen marvelous years spent recounting some of the marvels that I have been given to experience in this life as in others. Fifteen years in which I gave the fruit of my work as a researcher, since the dawn of my life, across so many countries, so many sayings, so many writings, so many states described, friendly hearts, – you caught, so much laughter too, always laughing, at yourself, at everything, at love, at joy, laugh with a laugh that loves, that says thank you, not with a laugh of hatred that says that, which dissociates.

No one can please everyone and their father. If I had wanted to be popular, I would have peddled the lies and the approximations which take the place of accepted truths. These are the last truths. And the first lies. Shame on this world which praises the foul, praises the Nazis and the Nazis, smashes childhood, denounces, spends and Shiva dances.

Edit Medit

Why I don’t publish books? It is not my aim, on the contrary. I was a comic book publisher, my first job. I’ve had so many. Now I am online publisher. Much better. No money involved, many online friends. I have posted several authors here, it is my pride. My only passion you have it in front of you. Elucidate. Submit. Propose. Transmit. A long life of research and it is not over! On Eden Saga, I put the value of 20 books online. Not quite a library, some collection already. Twenty volumes produced in 15 years, at the rate of one chapter per day or per week, depending on the wind, on the schedule, on the feeling, on the degree of urgency …

Publishing on paper would be easy for me. I still have a publisher’s ISBN, I could raise private funds on the internet, print, distribute these books … I got the know-how for all that, I’ve been doing for years, I’m fed up. Become a common consumer product that you catch in the supermarket between the Camembert and the strawberry punnet? I will be richer in the eyes of the tax authorities, but poorer in mine. Light purse, light heart.

On May 21, I celebrated my 72th spring. My time won’t be long. I still have so many books to lay now that I write for myself, for yours, without fear, without constraint, to help walk, to give you the courage to be impeccable, for you as for the others. For yours. Jihad, the war we wage against ourselves to help ourselves grow. What else can I do? This is what I have pursued every moment of my life. Of my lives. Spoiled I was, I have received so much. But it is different. Love and money. I was offered to edit. Nay. I know the music. I refuse to lose control of my texts, my images, my essence and my purpose. Transmit.

Free Pro Deo

If I become a product, I change into a pig. If I find interest in it, I lose your interest. Maverick, free thinker, pure author. Independence is a guarantee of quality in spirituality. I don’t belong to anything human, I don’t attach myself to anything that belongs to me, I borrow my land and my house from my children. Later the wind will tell them my songs. They will translate the language of the Goslings for you.

So much later. When my bones turn white in this deep ravine under the blazing sun which shines day and night which has no shade and always dazzles. Memories of an evening in Hyperborea. Hyper drunk. Or I would be cremated I don’t know. Stay by my atoms and a few billion electrons at the bottom of the clay and very close to the sewers? Rather burn. Grill, yes. Two cars and two houses going up in smoke, the fire always pursued me.

I could have. But I chose this mode of distribution, which I certainly do not regret. It has many advantages for an author. It corrects itself, it improves, it is no longer a prisoner of print. Not to mention the many exchanges. Its readers react very quickly. And for them, the advantage is threefold: direct contact with the author, accessibility of the content, total free access.

Cor meum dabo

Think about it the next time you pick up on some basic truth in my lines. Bring yourself good luck. Quickly slip a sweet little note into the storyteller’s hand. He lives on it. We envy him. To the one who asks, give if you want. To the one who asks nothing, give if you can. Asking, receiving, exchanging, bartering, emitting good vibes, distilling love without condition, without restriction, without distinction. Everything glorifies equality. Nothing humbles humility.

The truths I have found, the stories I have picked up, the secrets amassed, overtaken, crammed into the attics of your pretty heads, like wizarding options ready to serve someday, when the need arises . There are a thousand treasures sleeping under my wisest pages. Ten thousand positions of the assemblage point. Reading ten of my pages, a reader has awakened. Since then we have been friends. Some secrets are clear and others are coded. Simplistic or more elaborate codes, others elucidated by a dilapidated old man, others hard to find, to dream, to die. Everything is there, search well, you have it at hand.

Ego sum pauper – Nihil habeo – Cor meum dabo – I am poor – I have nothing – I give my body –

Keep the change. I have nothing, I give more than I have. Return is love too. I believe it. I don’t know you but I trust you. It’s my right. King’s choice. Serve yourself. Here everything is yours. Eleven hundred articles, ten thousand pages, the value of 20 books in bilingual edition, and all the images, original creations offered to better open your eyes, head and heart. You won’t miss when I’m gone.

Here are for you, for them, for them and for you also some of my tales and stories in pdf. Free. Sorry, they are in the original French version.–what an opportunity to practice your French! Some are older, most unpublished, all are open access. Enjoy.