![\"\"](\"https:\/\/eden-saga.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/moustaki-gp-violt-blu-rge-25xe-1100x660-1.jpg\")
<\/p>\n<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I never took myself for Joan of Arc and yet I hid my secret as she did. La Lorraine<\/em> had voices inside her, I imitate this holy virgin. Neither a virgin nor a saint, I still hear voices inside me. They talk to me inside at any time, not only when I sleep. Often. More than real “sound visions”, I have a whole bunch. Delirious farandole, each has their job and union makes their strength.<\/span><\/p>\n The voices in me speak constantly. They order, they suggest, they also console. I have learned to recognize them. At first when I was little, I only knew one. Then I understood that it was double and even triple. Each had her own character and way of speaking.\u00a0<\/p>\n Over the days, they have become my friends, even those who criticize and command. I always agreed with them who never scolded me for anything. They never told me anything but the truth. My naked truth. The obvious. Each of us has a specific goal to achieve here. It\u2019s in order to accomplish that that we breathe.<\/p>\n Most people ignore it, we all have voices for it. Some hear them in their childhood, it annoys them, it passes. If they don\u2019t listen anymore, they keep quiet. Slowly, they forget them. Others have grown up too quickly. They don\u2019t remember being small.<\/p>\n There are two ways to grow, the voices told me from the beginning. Rising to the sky is the best. Accept what is new, what is kind, what gives confidence and pushes us to start again. Strive to stay at the top of oneself. And wanting a summit that is always higher.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Very quickly, I didn\u2019t say ‘my voices’ anymore. I knew how to recognize them, I immediately guessed to which family they belonged, the role they played with me.<\/p>\n Three families of voices speak to me.<\/p>\n — Those that cheer me up when he is at half-mast and that comfort me when I cry. Gentle and understanding, these are my darlings.\u00a0 Nothing is vain with voices. Nothing is empty. Whatever they are, they do me good. Thanks to my voices, I am never alone.<\/strong><\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n For having slept so often with my solitude,<\/span> \nWhen she is in the hollow of my bed, she takes up all the space,<\/span> \nThrough her, I learned as much as I shed tears.<\/span> Georges Moustaki, ie Giuseppe Mustacchi or Yussef Mustacchi, was born on May 3, 1934, in Alexandria (Egypt) and died on May 23, 2013, in Nice (France)<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n They are twelve, forty, one hundred or even more. Despite their omnipresence and all the attention I give them, it is impossible for me to count them with precision. Over time, some of these voices take precedence, I only hear them anymore. Others take a step back, I hear them less often, then they simply fade away.\u00a0<\/p>\n But there remains a hard core of familiar voices, which I have heard since childhood. I have classified them into three categories. My counselors, superiors, and consolers.<\/p>\n My advisors live in me. I constantly feel them. Their advice is precious to me, each of them reminds me of an experience I have lived, a friend or a distant acquaintance, always, in any case, my advisors hit the nail on the head and their advice proves beneficial.<\/p>\n Most of the time, for advice, they use songs. I have always had thousands of songs in my head, which spring a hundred times a day. I composed dozens of songs, and even a rock opera with the help of my boys’ mother. As a teenager, I had sung on stage in the first part of a tour by Michel Polnareff.<\/p>\n At that time, singing was my whole life. Little by little I became a bathroom singer. The singer artist in me is living and falling. However, the songs, the thousands of songs that I have in my head express themselves wrongly, blithely jumping on all occasions. I use it to answer a question, punctuate a tirade, change the subject or illustrate a beach or street scene that I witness.<\/p>\n And I must admit, such a presence of mind, clad with such insistence, accompanied by such a repertoire has put doubt in me. Where do these clothes, these saws come from? Am I the happy owner or did they blow to me appropriately?<\/p>\n <\/p>\n I have long opted for the second hypothesis. The multitude of jokes that I utter at every turn of singing is whispered to me by the melodious voice of a counselor. In vain, she always misses her shot.<\/p>\n My most beautiful career as a singer, I made it for a restricted audience: mine. I sing for myself, I admit. Never for a real audience that coughs and chuckles, never for all of you who don\u2019t listen to me. It is indeed my voice that comes out of the powerful chest box, but in the room there is only me, a thin audience who never claps.<\/p>\n It is indeed my voice, I believe, but the text and the melody are whispered to me by a consoler. Little consolation: I am learning a lot. Dark Sunday and nostalgia for the stage. No song, despite its appropriateness, has been able to take away the least of my spleen. Sadness is my backdrop. All smiles outside, the sorrow still holds me. My last inner people. My ultimate inhabitant.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n My freedom For a long time I kept you like a rare gem <\/span> \nMy freedom In front of your wishes My soul was submissive <\/span> \nMy freedom You knew how to disarm All my habits <\/span> \nMy freedom Yet I left you One night in December <\/span> <\/p>\n <\/p>\n They are my directors of consciousness, and never hesitate to trumpet an order to me, without worrying about being explicit. the best example gave rise to a recent article: That\u2019s enough!!<\/p>\n Yes, it\u2019s soufi, for sure. Would they all together be a carbon copy of the enormous gigantic giant of very large size (eggdtgt) that we saw them and me? What a stir if that\u2019s the case! One thing is certain and I hold it as such: my superiors are not my equals. It would be known. What to say?\u00a0<\/p>\n \nTheir so strong cinema is never a turnip<\/strong><\/span> \nI have a confused, deranged, disturbed interior. If I let myself go, I turn it into a black mess. They watch over. By ordering me, they will put good order to it. They do not drag for long. They do not take gloves. Yelling makes them happy and puts me back on my feet.<\/p>\n Without them, I would be without wings. Without a warning and without the sermons they give me, I would have long ago lost the taste for living. I am disorderly: you have to order me well. Constrain and force me to channel myself. Punish me, tantrum me to make me move forward.\u00a0<\/p>\n I shout too sometimes. Would it really be me? Hey no. These are their voices.<\/strong><\/p>\n <\/p>\n We will take the time to live<\/span> \nCome, listen to these words that vibrate<\/span> \nWe will take the time to live<\/span> <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Don\u2019t worry my guy, everything will be for the best. Such is their wavelength. They console me by minimizing my anxieties, which are mainly about trifles. I have such a strong habit of wandering the confines of the universe, if not the multiverse, one can understand that small daily worries are not simple things to solve for a crazy person like me.<\/p>\n My consolers form a choir where the echo of one dominates the first circle, around which a second circle spills, numberless weeping that make chorus to the echo. His role is assigned: the echo amplifies and develops the often striking arguments of the first circle.<\/p>\n The first consoler sits at the center. She is my coryphaeus.\u00a0<\/p>\n In the proper sense, the coryphaeus (from ancient Greek koruph\u1e17, ‘top of the head’) is the choir director in ancient Greek tragedy.\u00a0 The coryphaeus is most often located in the middle of the stage, then called orchestra. He is responsible for guiding the choruses. He responds to the chorus, questions it or repeats his remarks. He sometimes speaks on behalf of the choir and happens to be the only one who engages with the character on stage. (Wikipedia)<\/p>\n The ensemble of the choirs certainly evokes the Greek tragedy and the catharsis it provokes in each person of the audience. The very first Greek tragedies of which we have kept track, those of Aeschylus.<\/p>\n Am I influenced by Jean-Claude Devictor, a promoter of Aeschylus in the 70s? It\u2019s more than likely. We staged and performed the trilogy of l’Orestie, then the Prometheus in chains with the Passy Theatre Group, then again the Orestie a few years later with the Th\u00e9atre Antique de la Sorbonne, both troupes having been created by Devic and myself.<\/p>\n But I digress and you wander for my selfish pleasure alone. I resume then.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Yes, like the beating heart, this strange choir has its ventricles, two distinct and well-separated chambers. Each has its own rules, conduct and style. But the two follow without batting an eye the project owner, the first number, unique and moody, static, ectatic, epic, and equestrian, who rubs herself against it, bites herself with it, who immolates herself, consoles herself with it.<\/p>\n The Faithful<\/strong> The Less Faithful<\/strong> The members of the two clans, I name them Pleureuses or Peureuses or Peu Heureuses<\/a>Mourners or Fearful or Little Happy<\/span>\u00a0— depending on the case and circumstances.<\/p>\n LUNE<\/strong> It\u2019s Lune l’Une who matters to me. Lune comforts and transports me. Lune is the sun of my heart, and her choirs have nothing to do with it. Lune is my joy, my toy, my corduroy. Lune is the geek, the freak, the unique.\u00a0<\/p>\n \nWill I admit it? None of the choirs touch my heart.<\/strong><\/span> <\/p>\n Pendant que je dormais pendant que je r\u00eavais <\/p>\n While I was sleeping while I dreamed<\/span> While I loved you while I had<\/span> While I was singing my dear freedom<\/span> Yet I still live yet I make love<\/span> <\/p>\n Mu good ole boy\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0In corduroy\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0You’ve made my joy<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" I hear voices. A feminine crowd talk to me inside. Day, night, anytime. Often.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":58443,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[2176],"tags":[3287,1768],"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/eden-saga.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/58439"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/eden-saga.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/eden-saga.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/eden-saga.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/eden-saga.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=58439"}],"version-history":[{"count":14,"href":"https:\/\/eden-saga.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/58439\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":59191,"href":"https:\/\/eden-saga.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/58439\/revisions\/59191"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/eden-saga.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/58443"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/eden-saga.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=58439"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/eden-saga.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=58439"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/eden-saga.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=58439"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}\nInner Voices<\/h4>\n
Three Families<\/h4>\n
\n— Those who give orders, always fair, but often difficult. I strive to obey them but I shit. They scold me for getting back on track.
\n— Those who comment on orders that are too difficult. These explain to me why obscure orders or those I find foolish.<\/p>\nMa Solitude<\/a><\/h4>\n
Pour avoir si souvent dormi avec ma solitude,
\nJe m’en suis fait presque une amie, une douce habitude.
\nElle ne me quitte pas d’un pas, fid\u00e8le comme une ombre.
\nElle m’a suivi \u00e7a et l\u00e0, aux quatres coins du monde.<\/div>\nNon, je ne suis jamais seul avec ma solitude.<\/div>\n\u00a0<\/div>\nQuand elle est au creux de mon lit, elle prend toute la place,
\nEt nous passons de longues nuits, tous les deux face \u00e0 face.
\nJe ne sais vraiment pas jusqu’o\u00f9 ira cette complice,
\nFaudra-t-il que j’y prenne go\u00fbt ou que je r\u00e9agisse?<\/div>\nNon, je ne suis jamais seul avec ma solitude.<\/div>\n\u00a0<\/div>\nPar elle, j’ai autant appris que j’ai vers\u00e9 de larmes.
\nSi parfois je la r\u00e9pudie, jamais elle ne d\u00e9sarme.
\nEt, si je pr\u00e9f\u00e8re l’amour d’une autre courtisane,
\nElle sera \u00e0 mon dernier jour, ma derni\u00e8re compagne.<\/div>\nNon, je ne suis jamais seul avec ma solitude.
\nNon, je ne suis jamais seul avec ma solitude.<\/div>\n
\nI almost made a friend of her, a sweet habit.<\/span>
\nShe does not leave me at a single step, faithful as a shadow.<\/span>
\nShe followed me here and there, to the four corners of the world.<\/span>
\nNo, I am never alone with my solitude.<\/span><\/p>\n
\nAnd we spend long nights, both face to face.<\/span>
\nI really don\u2019t know how far this accomplice will go,<\/span>
\nWill I have to get a taste for it or react?<\/span>
\nNo, I am never alone with my solitude.<\/span><\/p>\n
\nIf sometimes I repudiate her, she never disarms.<\/span>
\nAnd, if I prefer the love of another courtesan,<\/span>
\nShe will be on my last day, my last companion.<\/span>
\nNo, I am never alone with my solitude.<\/span>
\nNo, I am never alone with my solitude.<\/span><\/p>\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/eden-saga.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/Moustaki-dunes-desert-25xe-1500x900-1.jpg\")
<\/p>\nMy advisors<\/h4>\n
\nSing to Enchant<\/h4>\n
Ultimate Inhabitant<\/h4>\n
Ma libert\u00e9<\/strong><\/a><\/h4>\n
Ma libert\u00e9 Longtemps je t’ai gard\u00e9e Comme une perle rare Ma libert\u00e9 C’est toi qui m’a aid\u00e9 \u00c0 larguer les amarres<\/div>\nPour aller n’importe o\u00f9, pour aller jusqu’au bout des chemins de fortune
\nPour cueillir, en r\u00eavant, une rose des vents sur un rayon de lune<\/div>\n\u00a0<\/div>\nMa libert\u00e9 Devant tes volont\u00e9s Mon \u00e2me \u00e9tait soumise Ma libert\u00e9 Je t’avais tout donn\u00e9 Ma derni\u00e8re chemise
\nEt combien j’ai souffert Pour pouvoir satisfaire tes moindres exigences
\nJ’ai chang\u00e9 de pays, j’ai perdu mes amis pour gagner ta confiance<\/div>\n\u00a0<\/div>\nMa libert\u00e9 Tu as su d\u00e9sarmer Toutes mes habitudes Ma libert\u00e9 Toi qui m’a fait aimer M\u00eame la solitude
\nToi qui m’as fait sourire Quand je voyais finir une belle aventure
\nToi qui m’as prot\u00e9g\u00e9 quand j’allais me cacher pour soigner mes blessures<\/div>\n\u00a0<\/div>\nMa libert\u00e9 Pourtant je t’ai quitt\u00e9e Une nuit de D\u00e9cembre J’ai d\u00e9sert\u00e9 les chemins \u00e9cart\u00e9s Que nous suivions ensemble
\nLorsque sans me m\u00e9fier Les pieds et poings li\u00e9s, je me suis laiss\u00e9 faire
\nEt je t’ai trahi pour une prison d’amour et sa belle ge\u00f4li\u00e8re\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 Et je t’ai trahi pour une prison d’amour et sa belle ge\u00f4li\u00e8re<\/div>\n\u00a0<\/div>\n\u00a0<\/div>\n
\nMy freedom It\u2019s you who helped me to cast off<\/span>
\nTo go anywhere, to go to the end of the paths of fortune<\/span>
\nTo gather, while dreaming, a wind rose on a moonbeam<\/span><\/p>\n
\nMy freedom I had given you everything My last shirt<\/span>
\nAnd how much I suffered to be able to meet your slightest demands<\/span>
\nI changed countries, I lost my friends to win your trust<\/span><\/p>\n
\nMy freedom You who made me love Even solitude<\/span>
\nYou who made me smile When I saw a beautiful adventure end<\/span>
\nYou who protected me when I was going to hide to heal my wounds<\/span><\/p>\n
\nI deserted the wide paths That we followed together<\/span>
\nWhen without suspecting myself <\/span>
\nWith my hands and feet tied, I let myself be pushed<\/span>
\nAnd I betrayed you for a prison of love and his beautiful jailer <\/span>
\nAnd I betrayed you for a prison of love and her beautiful jailer<\/span><\/p>\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/eden-saga.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/georges-moustaki-gp-25xe-900x540-2.jpg\")
<\/p>\nMy Superiors<\/h4>\n
\nTheir caste is superior and often took me up<\/strong><\/span>
\nIn the streets of my heart holding high on the way<\/strong><\/span>
\nAlways putting my foot where it’s cleaned on the top<\/strong><\/span>
\nIfever I see them, I sing to them an ave<\/em><\/strong><\/span>
\nBlessing them with both hands when I suffered all day<\/strong><\/span>
\nAll my worries are stored every one in its bay\u00a0<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n\nLe temps de vivre<\/span><\/a><\/h4>\n<\/div>\n
\n\n\n\n\n\n\u00a0<\/div>\n\nNous prendrons le temps de vivre
\nD’\u00eatre libres, mon amour
\nSans projets et sans habitudes
\nNous pourrons r\u00eaver notre vie<\/div>\nViens, je suis l\u00e0, je n’attends que toi
\nTout est possible, tout est permis<\/div>\n\u00a0<\/div>\nViens, \u00e9coute ces mots qui vibrent
\nSur les murs du mois de mai
\nIls nous disent la certitude
\nQue tout peut changer un jour<\/div>\nViens, je suis l\u00e0, je n’attends que toi
\nTout est possible, tout est permis<\/div>\n\u00a0<\/div>\nNous prendrons le temps de vivre
\nD’\u00eatre libres, mon amour
\nSans projets et sans habitudes
\nNous pourrons r\u00eaver notre vie<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n
\nTo be free, my love<\/span>
\nWithout projects and without habits<\/span>
\nWe could dream our life away<\/span>
\nCome, I\u2019m here, I\u2019m just waiting for you<\/span>
\nEverything is possible, everything is allowed<\/span><\/p>\n
\nOn the walls of May<\/span>
\nThey tell us the certainty<\/span>
\nThat everything can change one day<\/span>
\nCome, I\u2019m here, I\u2019m just waiting for you<\/span>
\nEverything is possible, everything is allowed<\/span><\/p>\n
\nTo be free, my love<\/span>
\nWithout projects and without habits<\/span>
\nWe could dream our life away<\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/eden-saga.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/moustaki-gp-bleu-25xe-900x540-1.jpg\")
<\/p>\nMy Consolers<\/h4>\n
The Ventricles of the Heart<\/h4>\n
\nThe consolers echo behind the One, the Unique, the First, the Single: the coryphaeus. The heart does its best, the body does the rest. With the One, clinging to her tunic in an oblique attitude, the choir of consolers gathers in a first circle or SDFFDE, Section Des Fid\u00e8les Fous D’Elle. Their name indicates it quite well: they are crustaceans. Crunchy devourers, they devour one of them, devour and decapitate it.\u00a0<\/p>\n
\nAround the first circle, free electrons make the second chorus or SDIMFDE, Section Des Infidels Moins Fous D’Elle. Their name also expresses it, they are less compulsive towards the One. Laughing at the coryphaeus as one lisses a clawed horn, making it pout, mocking it, making love to it like one fornicates. In any case, these infidels are submissive. The slightest deviation is not appropriate.<\/p>\n
\nThe help they provide is infinitely negligible, let\u2019s say clearly that they are of no use to me. Everything rests on the One, L’Une which I have named Lune. It\u2019s well-found, I find. Lune consoles me with her mere presence, especially when others are not there, invisible, inaudible, silent. It’s great, we can take a break.<\/p>\n
\nThe<\/span> Pleureuses \/ Peureuses \/ Peu Heureuses<\/a>Mourners\/ Fearful\/ Not Very Happy<\/span> make me shit.<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\nIl est trop tard<\/a><\/h4>\n
\nLes aiguilles ont tourn\u00e9 il est trop tard
\nMon enfance est si loin il est d\u00e9j\u00e0 demain
\nPasse passe le temps
\nIl n’y en a plus pour tr\u00e8s longtemps
\n
\nPendant que je t’aimais pendant que je t’avais
\nL’amour s’en est all\u00e9 il est trop tard
\nTu \u00e9tais si jolie je suis seul dans mon lit
\nPasse passe le temps
\nIl n’y en a plus pour tr\u00e8s longtemps
\n
\nPendant que je chantais ma ch\u00e8re libert\u00e9
\nD’autres l’ont encha\u00een\u00e9e il est trop tard
\nCertains se sont battus moi je n’ai jamais su
\nPasse passe le temps
\nIl n’y en a plus pour tr\u00e8s longtemps
\n
\nPourtant je vis toujours pourtant je fais l’amour
\nIl m’arrive m\u00eame de chanter sur ma guitare
\nPour l’enfant que j’\u00e9tais pour l’enfant que j’ai fait
\nPasse passe le temps
\nIl n’y en a plus pour tr\u00e8s longtemps<\/p>\n
\nThe needles have turned it is too late<\/span>
\nMy childhood is so far away, it\u2019s already tomorrow<\/span>
\nPass pass the time<\/span>
\nThere is no longer for a very long time<\/span><\/p>\n
\nLove is gone it\u2019s too late<\/span>
\nYou were so pretty I am alone in my bed<\/span>
\nPass pass the time<\/span>
\nThere won\u2019t be much time left<\/span><\/p>\n
\nOthers chained her it is too late<\/span>
\nSome fought, I never knew<\/span>
\nPass pass the time<\/span>
\nThere won\u2019t be much time left<\/span><\/p>\n
\nI even sometimes sing on my guitar<\/span>
\nFor the child I was for the child I made<\/span>
\nPass pass the time<\/span>
\nThere won\u2019t be much time left<\/span><\/p>\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/eden-saga.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/Moustaki-g-coul-25xe-1500x900-1.jpg\" "\\"My")
<\/p>\n