La chanson fait sa première sur le générique de "Tout est parfait".

"Avancer ses mains quand y'a pas d'horizon.

À mes pieds y'a un ravin pis j'en vois même pas l'fond.

Si j'lève mes deux mains, je bute sur un plafond,

À quoi bon un lendemain si c'est pour creuser plus profond."

Hier, j'ai vu le film "Tout est parfait" d'Yves-Christian Fournier. Après les louanges entendues, je n'avais que trop d'attentes. J'ai donc été mitigé durant tout le long du film... Beaucoup de difficultés à trouver certaines choses crédibles ou probables, mais la fin le sauve.

Il n'en reste pas moins que le film vaut le coup, surtout si on aime Gus Van Sant et les films qui ne versent pas dans les préjugés en posant un regard passif plutôt que critique sur ces situations.

J'en profite pour vous faire lire la lettre d'Adam Krieger, jeune de 16 ans qui s'est suicidé après avoir envoyé sa lettre au groupe de musique Blink 182 qui s'en est inspiré pour faire la chanson Adam's song.

Une lettre intéressante dans les réflexions qu'elle ouvre sur notre société actuelle.

Si plusieurs en font la demande, j'offrirais une traduction.

To the man and woman who chose to conceive a child, the result of which was me, when it fit in with their five year plan;

To the teachers who never really cared, no matter what they say;

To my fellow geeks, dweebs, et. al., who will no doubt receive more abuse upon my passing, as my tormentors will no longer have me to kick around;

To my fellow students who made my life a living nightmare when they should have focused on their education;

To those who never cared, never spoke, probably never knew my name;

To the one true friend, whose caring was the only thing that prevented this even from happening sooner;

To the God, if he does exist, who chose to play a cruel, cruel joke on me when he placed me where he did and surrounded me with so many uncaring faces;

To all of you, goodbye.

I am leaving a world to which I never truly belonged or fit in. Do not weep for me, or mourn my passing. I say this not because I expect to be missed, but to allow those who truly did not care go on with their lives with a clean conscience and dry eyes. I know you don't want to weep for me. So don't. But I do ask you to listen to the final words of a young man who has taken charge of his own destiny.

Perhaps my parents might feel something inside which causes them to shed tears. They may pretend that it's sorrow for their "loss", but I hope it is something else. Perhaps sorrow for bringing a child into this world when they really didn't have the time or desire to raise him. I wasn't the product of love, born of a desire to prepare another human being to grow and lead the human race. I was merely the next acquisition, the next task, the next project on their list of things that bring significance.

No child should be brought into this world for the mere purpose of being just another possession. I am not an asset to be cataloged and listed on your tax forms beside your house and car, or fought over during your divorce proceedings. I am a human being. I'm sorry that it took this to make you realize that. If you don't yet get it, then I'm even sorrier.

What about my teachers? Will they be sorry to see another student become a statistic? Certainly the administration and Principal Chowning will mourn, as my death will not reflect well on them as an institution. Well, I apologize for making the statistics for your administration worse. But I don't expect an apology for the false sympathies of people like Mrs. Dunfee, and the broken promises of others like Mr. Richman.

As for my fellows students, those who made a more significant impact on my life, I know better than to expect my tormentors to mourn.

But if I’m going to address those who belittled me, I’d be remiss if I failed to include the ladies in my life. I guess that’s not entirely accurate, as the ones I refer to fall in two basic categories: those who refused to be in my life, and those who I would rather have excluded from my life. In the former category, Melinda Tunney, Jessica Silvers, and dear Kimmy Vanover, whose laughed in my face after I asked her to the homecoming dance, humiliating me in front of I don’t know how many other classmates. In the latter category are too many to mention, though I must single out Rebecca Cull and Vanessa Dietrich for their tremendous dedication to the cause of destroying any shred of self-esteem I might dare to foster. Why can’t you accept the things that make other people different rather than insisting everyone conforms to your will?

Sure, some did offer friendly gestures. Nicole Edwards often would greet me and ask about my life. Not that I ever felt comfortable enough to tell her anything; I never trusted her enough to give her the chance. What was the purpose? Did you really give a flip about the shy, quiet kid who sat behind you in 8th grade history? Or was it all about creating an illusion that you care, just to guarantee my voting for you as a class officer.

I can only conceive of one person in this world who will truly be sad at my parting. Marty, my best friend, you talked me out of this decision three times before. You even called 911 after I swallowed a bottle of pills. That is why I did not tell you anything this time, and why I do this in secret, alone. I wish you were coming with me on this great adventure, into the final frontier. Where ever I go, yours will be the one face I carry with me. The one soul I will miss. Yours is also the only forgiveness I ask and beg for as I depart from this life. I love you, and always will.

There’s another group I have not yet addressed: those not like me who left me alone. Or I should say ignored me. I appreciate your sparing me any further harassment, but your inaction, your withheld hellos and how are yous did more to hurt than any name calling. Your inaction effectively excluded me from student life, from the human race. You left me isolated and alone, and no words I could say can convey to you the suffering you caused. I could name names, but in doing so, I would do more now for you than you ever did for me in life.

I do not know if what awaits me at the end of this gun. Will there be a void? Or will I come face to face with God? I just don't care any more. If you're anything like your people, I wouldn't want to know you. You preached to love one another, yet I've felt everything except love from Christians. Even if I could know you were different, well, I still reject you. You have left your "followers" to treat people like me poorly. You have allowed so many of the people you "love", including me, to suffer. So you want me to trust you with my life? I don’t want to spend eternity with a careless deity like you, or with the company you keep.

As my final moments tick away, I wonder what impact these words will create. It depends first on this web site being found, as I doubt whether school administration will want such venom spoken publicly about their lack of caring. Still, the Internet is a remarkable place where even the least significant individual can be heard. Will anyone listen? Will anyone take action? Will students pause and pay attention to the hurting hearts around them? And even if they do, will it be a temporary salve for their egos, to convince themselves they’re really not bad people… or will real change happen?

My heart certainly goes out to my fellow outsiders. With me gone, some of you will certainly feel more of the pain and hurt that I did. No one understands you. No one cares how your day is going. No one bothers to get to know you as anything more than a nerd, a geek, a loser. You can do nothing for their social status, save the occasional boost to the ego they get from putting you in your place. Some of you, like Andy Riker, will find outlets in writing. Some, like James Moon, will have an escape in art. Some, like Sean Gilbert, will live their lives pursuing unicorns that they will never, ever catch. I never had a talent to lose myself in, or a dream or unicorn to chase, and so I have taken the path most dreaded. Some of you may soon join me, and I look forward to welcoming a brother or sister to the land where you will never suffer the loneliness and rejection that faces you now.

Farewell forever. I am going to another place. Where, I do not know. But logic dictates that it can only be an improvement. Perhaps my passing will only prove a footnote in a school yearbook. Then again, perhaps the sacrifice of one might bring hope to others. If my death makes life for one person a little more bearable, or a little more enlightened, do I really die in vain?

"The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one."

- Adam Krieger

Si vous aimeriez une traduction.... Faites vous plaisir dans l'espace des commentaires.

Parce qu'il y a des matins où la mélancolie s'installe lorsque la neige touche nos yeux du regard, et ne nous quitte qu'à l'ombre de la terre. Debout, les oiseaux ne sont pas là pour jouer leur musique d'ascenseur pendant que l'on boit son café devant la fenêtre, en jouant avec sa bué.

Ce n'est pas triste, mais c'est amère que l'on se berce dans la torpeur d'un quotidien. Le coeur se sent bizarre, comme une douce mélancolie joyeuse.

Et la berceuse est la musique de Cocoon, ma découverte du week-end.

Tell me
Microwave

Chaque jour avec soi-même, s'écrire et se rendre visite.

Collectionner les miroirs et les sourires des gens.

S'inventer magicien et parler d'instants magiques.

Partir à la conquète d'un idéal soudain.

Lever la main droite et se répondre de la gauche.

Et entendre son clavier écrire au clair de lune.