Maria do Rio

Like big events, the illimited credit on my card came handling tenderly and took me by surprise. It was suddenly there, blue, like a flower, the fondling grace of princess liberty.

I can tell today that the money does not come entirely from the Company.

I was just experiencing the desperate desire to live in Paris with the no less desperate hope to sell my file to very important persons there when this blue women, around fifty, came to me.

The scene took place Café de Flore and that was the first thing she told me, I am a flower specialist. That was my first day at the apartment rue Campagne Première and I couldn’t know what to do because one just not have to possess an illimited credit card. Paris needs to be explored too so I came there, the Flore being the most evident place to go by day.

What I did first is open my file and write. First, you will know the content of this file according to your knowledge of the author; otherwise, depending on the capacity I will have to expose informations and names on the internet, further.

A wide open past.

I am what they call a tester of Paris apartments. All day, I try a flat in Paris. I work for a big compagny. A compagny that gives me life in Paris. I often missed the life in Paris. Or is it living in Paris, is it Paris which failed me. Hard to say. The priest of my village said to me that I am an intelligent man. True. Otherwise I never could understand Paris. Or more importantly, how not to fall into the trap of Paris. Whatever trap Paris tends to memory.

I am what they call a tester of apartment in Paris. The apartment is private. We invite the other. We rent to another. The invitation is flattering. Rental is sometimes a lack of charity, the pure business. For me it’s free. It’s my job. I am paid for it. There are people who are homeless, and worse, not even working. I am paid for it. I am paid to be housed in Paris, sometimes in a luxury apartment. All I have to do is do what I want. How I won this freedom is very simple, I do not know.

Desperate hope, that can sound contradictory, hope being the opposite of despair; but that arising hunger to cry for help could be part of the file I was hoping to sell, sometimes in violence if not criminal violence. I was nonetheless undertook by extreme urgency and the affair as not only taken the size of a family business, no, when you speak of apartments in Paris and charity, or family sake, believe me, you could be on the verge of critical mental crackdown without being a properly madman, even suffering or driven by great need or distress. Extremely intense is always the urge to tell the truth, careless of danger, as risky as it could  to swallow the red pill and open widely the word distressing past. The price or condition of (waking up from the nightmare?).

• Nightmare: James Joyce: History is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake.
• Red Pill: Matrix: “This is your last chance. After this, there is no turning back. You take the blue pill — the story ends, you wake up in your bed and believe whatever you want to believe. You take the red pill — you stay in Wonderland and I show you how deep the rabbit-hole goes.“

Michel Poiccard, insolent young man mingled among offenders and drug dealers, steal a car to go from Marseille to Paris. But en route, at a police checkpoint, he panics and kills a policeman who pursued him.

Arrived in Paris, he finds the young American student Patricia, with whom he has an affair. She wants to become a journalist and, in order to finance her studies at the Sorbonne, she sells the Herald Tribune on the Champs-Elysees. Throughout the film, Michael will try to persuade her to sleep with him again: she wil resist for a long time saying she does not really like.

Michael wants to leave France for Italy (more precisely Rome) where he thinks of a refuge. The police has already identified him as the murderer of the policeman and his picture appears in every newspaper. Patricia, first of all, say nothing out of love for Michael.

It meets several delinquent friends to collect his earnings accumulate money through small crimes. One of his accomplices, feeling betrayed by him, denounce him to the police. Michel hide with Patricia in the fourteenth arrondissement Montparnasse. On the eve of their departure for Italy, Patricia denounces to the police to force him away from her. But Michael refuses to flee and killed by a police officer, collapse at the crossroads of the rue Campagne-Première, “breathless.” Before dying, lying on the asphalt, he says to Patricia: “It’s really disgusting.” Not understanding, the young woman asks: “What did he say? A policeman replies: “He said you’re really disgusting.” “What’s disgusting? She ask at last.

Did Paris disappointed the expectations and trust of my childhood? Missed to performing the expected service or function of bringing me fortune and therefore maturity (A mature person being one who does not think only in absolutes, who is able to be objective even when deeply stirred emotionally, who has learned that there is both good and bad in all people and all things, and who walks humbly and deals with charity).  So Paris was deficient in emotional rescue and left me litterally undone on the bank, or out of the banking system.