{"id":353,"date":"2012-08-19T11:27:27","date_gmt":"2012-08-19T11:27:27","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/candicenguyen.wordpress.com\/?page_id=353"},"modified":"2023-02-23T09:54:25","modified_gmt":"2023-02-23T08:54:25","slug":"were-still-the-same","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/www.candice-nguyen.com\/fragments\/chantiers\/ailleurs\/were-still-the-same\/","title":{"rendered":"We&#8217;re still the same"},"content":{"rendered":"<p><a href=\"http:\/\/www.candice-nguyen.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2012\/08\/Were-still-the-same.jpg\" data-rel=\"lightbox-gallery-a87bJrLk\" data-rl_title=\"\" data-rl_caption=\"\" title=\"\"><img decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-medium wp-image-354\" src=\"http:\/\/www.candice-nguyen.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2012\/08\/Were-still-the-same.jpg?w=630\" alt=\"We're still the same\" width=\"630\" \/><\/a><br \/>\n<div class=\"compact_audio_player_wrapper\"><div class=\"sc_player_container1\"><input type=\"button\" id=\"btnplay_6a460d1b16eca9.68041378\" class=\"myButton_play\" onClick=\"play_mp3('play','6a460d1b16eca9.68041378','http:\/\/www.candice-nguyen.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/01\/ImStilltheSamePerson.mp3','80','false');show_hide('play','6a460d1b16eca9.68041378');\" \/><input type=\"button\"  id=\"btnstop_6a460d1b16eca9.68041378\" style=\"display:none\" class=\"myButton_stop\" onClick=\"play_mp3('stop','6a460d1b16eca9.68041378','','80','false');show_hide('stop','6a460d1b16eca9.68041378');\" \/><div id=\"sm2-container\"><!-- flash movie ends up here --><\/div><\/div><\/div>        <script type=\"text\/javascript\" charset=\"utf-8\">\n        soundManager.setup({\n            url: \"https:\/\/www.candice-nguyen.com\/fragments\/wp-content\/plugins\/compact-wp-audio-player\/swf\/soundmanager2.swf\",\n            onready: function() {\n                var mySound = soundManager.createSound({\n                    id: \"btnplay_6a460d1b16eca9.68041378\",\n                    volume: \"80\",\n                    url: \"http:\/\/www.candice-nguyen.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/01\/ImStilltheSamePerson.mp3\"\n                });\n                var auto_loop = \"false\";\n                mySound.play({\n                    onfinish: function() {\n                        if (auto_loop == \"true\") {\n                            loopSound(\"btnplay_6a460d1b16eca9.68041378\");\n                        } else {\n                            document.getElementById(\"btnplay_6a460d1b16eca9.68041378\").style.display = \"inline\";\n                            document.getElementById(\"btnstop_6a460d1b16eca9.68041378\").style.display = \"none\";\n                        }\n                    }\n                });\n                document.getElementById(\"btnplay_6a460d1b16eca9.68041378\").style.display = \"none\";\n                document.getElementById(\"btnstop_6a460d1b16eca9.68041378\").style.display = \"inline\";\n            },\n            ontimeout: function() {\n                \/\/ SM2 could not start. Missing SWF? Flash blocked? Show an error.\n                alert(\"Error! Audio player failed to load.\");\n            }\n        });\n        <\/script>\n         <span style=\"text-align: left; font-family: Oswald; font-size: 110%; font-weight: 300;\">Sister Crayon &#8211; I&#8217;m still the same person<\/span><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: justify; font-family: Oswald; font-size: 130%; line-height: 1.5em; font-weight: 300; padding-left: 50px; padding-right: 50px;\">Dix ans apr\u00e8s. La foule, un soir, les pelouses meurtries. L&#8217;orage qui n&#8217;avertit de rien et sournoisement nous guette. La vodka bien cach\u00e9e, les sangs chauds, le c\u0153ur palpitations. C&#8217;est sa main dans la mienne dissimul\u00e9e. L&#8217;obscurit\u00e9, nos traits tir\u00e9s et la temp\u00eate qui s&#8217;arme \u00e0 l&#8217;int\u00e9rieur. Tout autour le bruit, ombres silhouettes, masses informes compactes et l&#8217;afflux de gens qui me bousculent dans un sens et dans un autre. Ma t\u00eate tournoie, mes yeux \u00e9vitent la mise au point &#8211; scrupules noy\u00e9s par le grammage, les substances, et cette main, cet improbable, ta main, \u00e0 laquelle je me raccroche &#8211; chaude, qui encore pour me d\u00e9sarmer ?<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: justify; font-family: Oswald; font-size: 130%; line-height: 1.5em; font-weight: 300; padding-left: 50px; padding-right: 50px;\">C&#8217;est le vent qui se l\u00e8ve, moi qui m&#8217;affaisse, c&#8217;est cette main que je d\u00e9sire, nos corps qui se fr\u00f4lent et nos yeux pour nous trahir. C&#8217;est cette impossibilit\u00e9 \u00e9crite bien avant nous, ce d\u00e9sir aggrav\u00e9. C&#8217;est cette nuit qui nous cache, la folie des gens qui prot\u00e8ge. C&#8217;est l&#8217;excuse de la f\u00e9brilit\u00e9, le pr\u00e9texte de l&#8217;obscurit\u00e9, c&#8217;est mon d\u00e9part demain matin. C&#8217;est toutes ces ann\u00e9es qui nous s\u00e9parent, ce foss\u00e9 qui nous rapproche, c&#8217;est ta main dans la mienne dissimul\u00e9e. Aux regards, aux autres \u00eatres, \u00e0 nous-m\u00eames. C&#8217;est ta main qui tient la mienne et ton regard qui nous fuit. C&#8217;est ces basses qui tapent de plus en plus fort, la foule qui se resserre et la pluie qui d\u00e9gouline. De nos visages d\u00e9masqu\u00e9s. L&#8217;air de rien qu&#8217;on y prend et nos corps attis\u00e9s qui se rapprochent \u00e0 mesure que la pluie bat son plein : une fr\u00e9n\u00e9sie. Basse, pluie, basse, pluie, je revois la chaleur qui se d\u00e9gage comme nu\u00e9e dans le froid puis le black out de ces derni\u00e8res heures avec toi.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\"><a href=\"https:\/\/www.candice-nguyen.com\/fragments\/chantiers\/ailleurs\/foret-femme-folie-un-echo\/\">\u2190<\/a> \u2022 <a href=\"https:\/\/www.candice-nguyen.com\/fragments\/chantiers\/ailleurs\/des-journees-entieres\/\">\u2192<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Sister Crayon &#8211; I&#8217;m still the same person Dix ans apr\u00e8s. La foule, un soir, les pelouses meurtries. L&#8217;orage qui n&#8217;avertit de rien et sournoisement nous guette. La vodka bien cach\u00e9e, les sangs chauds, le c\u0153ur palpitations. C&#8217;est sa main dans la mienne dissimul\u00e9e. L&#8217;obscurit\u00e9, nos traits tir\u00e9s et la temp\u00eate qui s&#8217;arme \u00e0 l&#8217;int\u00e9rieur. [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":1545,"parent":343,"menu_order":2,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-353","page","type-page","status-publish","has-post-thumbnail","hentry"],"aioseo_notices":[],"aioseo_head":"\n\t\t<!-- All in One SEO 4.9.9 - aioseo.com -->\n\t<meta name=\"description\" content=\"Dix ans apr\u00e8s. 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