Un message en mots fran?ais et en mots am?ricains, mots-outils v?hiculaires parmi les quelques langues communes ? nous, entendables du plus grand nombre d'entre nous de notre famille de la part de: Ly thanh thang (lussan france cee) Ly mathias (toulouse france cee) Ly Howson pierrem & cynthia (seattle usa) Ly Oudot hu? aurore & cyrille (angers france cee) Ly Carpuat (bagn?res cee, hongkong china) Familles Ly & Tr?n (ramonville france, houston usa, ottawa canada, sydney australia, vi?tnam & sud est asie) a water drop, une goutte d'eau by Cynthia Howson & Ly Thanh Thang. ? Mais ce rapport ? la mort, qui est le n?tre, agit fortement sur notre vie. La vie s?appauvrit, elle perd de son int?r?t d?s l?instant o? dans les jeux de la vie on n?a pas le droit de risquer la mise supr?me, c?d la vie elle-m?me. [?] Il est n?cessaire de naviguer, il n?est pas n?cessaire de vivre. Nous ne pouvons donc pas ne pas chercher dans le monde de la fiction, dans la litt?rature, dans le th??tre, un substitut aux pertes inh?rentes de la vie.? ~ Sigmund Freud ~ (Sur la guerre et la mort 1914-1915) Rien n?avait chang?. De toutes fa?ons jamais rien ne change dans ces h?tels Intercontinental de passage, seulement une promenade d?un maintenant qui se d?roule sur une histoire qui n?est plus. Il n?y aura plus cette histoire car c?est une autre qui g?t dans le souvenir rest? et qu?il n?y a jamais eu comme pour les ?tres, deux histoires pareilles. Cette histoire n?a d?ailleurs jamais exist? depuis qu?elle s?est arr?t?e, car de se taire elle a disparu. Elle n?est m?me pas morte. Elle est cette statue des jardins publics au milieu de cris et rires d?enfants, fig?e dans la cire d?une mousse en pierre et bronze suspendue ? une parole devenue muette. Je me rappelle? j??tais fatigu? de ces quelques nuits tropiques climatis?es de blancs touristes assoiff?s, de chinois devenus occidentaux.Toasts and Tiger beer and Tea with milk? au salon de ce Loundge Bar immobile dans le temps avec sa musique feutr?e d?une Asie en ambiance jazzie d?ici et son chanteur pianiste chinois se faisant en vain une voix noire ?raill?e ? la Louis Amstrong avait toujours le m?me air inspir? que celui d?autrefois. Telle une goutte d?eau ? ramener, une pierre de lune: n??tre plus que de l?eau dans de l?eau. Et ce fut celle-ci : transparente ? l?infini pour ?tre discr?te de violine, elle avait les plus doux reflets. Low price, best discount for you? suppliaient les yeux si tristes de cet indien miel de sourires et moustaches du Syed Alwi Road. Je me rappelle? j??tais fatigu? : l?enregistrement KLM Royal Dutch Air Lines for a boarding pass business class seat please? your flight tonignt will be delayed Sir and so you will stay down five hours transit at Amsterdam? by my side few strange busy tycoons and all these many international businessmen, dans cet a?roport interminable en d?but de nuit. Et l?embarquement tard ? et plus jamais comme ici. Le chauffeur d?un taxi jaune et noir ?tait chinois ? me dire au revoir : s?s? n? Sir, see you again in Asia. Thank you. Good by Singapore. Il n?y avait plus qu?une vingtaine d?heures avant ce bout d?atelier de campagne de France. Je me rappelle? j??tais fatigu? et seul, et sans bagage en soute : jamais. La Terre se finissait ? l?Intercontinental H?tel, et mon op?ra s?appelait Della Luna et moi, mon nom de pyramide ?tait Le Louvre. Fatigu? et seul? j?avais toujours ce sentiment d?une fin du monde comme proph?tie? et la fiction d?une gondole n?aura jamais ?t? qu?une sir?ne Atlantide. 2004 finissait emport?e dans un raz de mar?e du sinistre golfe du Bengale. J?ai gard? en moi l?odeur du ciel des morgues et cr?mations, l?attitude de pri?res de sang et d?encens aux dieux et divinit?s, le regard de ce lointain voisin devenu mendiant d?un avenir rescap? implorant une autre fatalit?, apr?s le d?luge de Tsunami. C??tait l?histoire d?une goutte d?eau qui ne voulait ?tre qu?une pierre de lune. Il n?y a plus rien d?sormais, l?-bas. Rien. Et dans ce moment tendu de sacrifices rites et offrandes, devant notre sacr? d??tre n? mortel, devant cette vie certes non n?cessaire de son humanit?? il n?en reste que ce r?sidu animal, ce dernier ressort pr?cieux d?un souffle sauvage d?une horde se resserrant par instinct de chaleur de fauves pour faire front ? leur destin. Et la main sans pinceau est devenue une parole mendiante, pour ne tenir qu?un dire digne de ce proche inond? de sa fortune maudite: Piti?, ? l?aide ! Les mains jointes au-dessus de mon front, comme l?-bas ? genoux devant l?Oc?an Indien. Nothing had changed. Anyway nothing ever changes in these Intercontinental hotels where tourists only pass through to enjoy a walk through the here and now that takes place in a story which no longer exists. This story will have disappeared because another will rest in the memories that live on, and, as is the case for living beings, there can never exist two identical stories. Besides, this story vanished since it was silenced. It is not even dead. It is one of these mute statues you meet in public parks, surrounded by children?s laughs and stuck in its stone pedestal. I remember? I was exhausted after these air-conditioned asian nights, those typical nights of the thirsty white tourist, similarly experienced by the westernized Chinese established in France and time-travelling for a few days. Toasts and Tiger Beer with milk? in this Loundge Bar whose muffled atmosphere remains unaffected by time, like its Chinese singer trying to take a Louis Armstrong-inspired rasping voice, in vain, but with the same commitment as in the past. Like a water drop to bring back, a moon stone: just being water in water. Transparent to infinity to be discrete, deep purple, it had the sweetest reflections. Low price, best discount for you, begged the sad eyes of this sweet smiling indian man with a moustache on Syed Alwi Road. I remember? I was exhausted: the check in for KLM Royal Dutch Air lines, for a boarding pass business class please? your flight tonight will be delayed Sir and so you will stay down five hours transit in Amsterdam? by my side few strange busy tycoons and all these international businessmen, in this endless airport, early in the night. And the late boarding? and never again like here. The Chinese taxi driver was saying goodbye: s?s? n? Sir see you again in Asia. Thank you. Good bye Singapore. That was only twenty hours away from this studio in the French countryside. I remember? i was exhausted and lonely, and with no luggage in the cargo hold: never. The Earth was ending at the Intercontinental Hotel, and my opera was called Della Luna and me, my pyramid name was Le Louvre. Exhausted and tired? I still had that prophetic feeling of an end to the world? and the fiction of a gondola will just have been a mirmade of Atlantis. In this sinister Bay of Bengal, 2004 was ending carried away by a tsunami. I remember what the sky smells like above mortuaries and cremations, I remember the prayers of blood and incense to gods and divinities, the look of this faraway neighbor now beggar in a survivor future, imploring another fate after Tsunami?s deluge. It was the story of a water drop that just wanted to be a moon stone. There is nothing left here. Nothing. And in this tense moment of sacrifices, rituals and offerings, facing our mortal condition, facing this life that admittedly needs not be human? only remains this animal residual, this precious last resort of the wild breath of a horde following the instinct of the wildcat, closing in on itself to face its destiny. And the painter?s hand voided of its brush has become a begging speech, just drawing a few words for this faraway friend flooded by misfortune: Please, help ! My hands joined over my head, as if I were there kneeling in front of the Indian Ocean. Here is our family prayer to appease the Indian Ocean. Greater than the single act of a friendship, we almost become one. Even you can translate this message in your heart talking, in your mother's tongue to anywhere you will. Ly thanh thang january 2005 You can help by donating to NGOs and international organizations or other foundations of your choice. And thank you for your friendship if you have already made a donation.