Last October, I took one week of “me” time in the beautiful area of Banyuls, in France.

Officially, it was to improve my skills in scuba diving (and find out what 20 years of smoking + one year of smoke-quitting left of my lungs).

It was wonderful to recall the experience of being me, when no external stimuli mess up with my internals. It was nice also to be bored for once as there was no internet escape to this existentialist situation. So I dove, I walked, and I wrote.

Among the many hesitant blurbs emerged this weird little essay. You probably shouldn’t read it, but it’s not long so, technically, you could.

Ode To The Prototype


Everything that lives is a an unfolding. To be alive is to be perfectible. A prototype.