Vincent Blénet – Ecrivain

The Hollywood stars procure fucking scars

- If you want to approach them you must pay 25 millions. Because the motherfucking sharks around them reclaim it, in boulimic way, massive, compulsive and obsessive for the commercialisations. If you are anybody, shadow like others. You don’t have the fucking attention of the sharks, the staff… These fuckers. About Hollywood stars I always dreams that one day I involved and impress them. Life and fate has always burn my dreams, consume by the flame and shame, I’m not bless I’m motherfucking slain. Tried to reaching the star’s esteem at this day make me realise that they don’t give a fuck about my works and me. I’m resolved to endure these motherfucking scars profoundly, deeply and massively.

- Ok they‘re famous around the world and travelling in almost all differently country. They don’t must be in late to meet theirs fans and run fast to catch theirs fucking planes, it’s the exigency of theirs existence to pay their celebrity. They work in all super productions because they deserve it. For my part I slain my faith by writing since 10 years and in spite of this reason I’m still a fucking shit. In a set the director is helped by others. In my room I burn my brain and write alone in suffers. Why the stars prefers the suffers of the strangers. The fucking point is that when I speak about my dreams to share some project with them, I’m guilty, the monster and became the motherfucking stranger.

- Their indifference and absence in my existence, crucified my innocence. Can’t I be taken in consideration by them, no their fucking staff prefer make me a fucking scarification and bleed my soul to keep the control. No way to reach them. You’re nothing so feeling the shame and defeat consuming by the flame. The movies teach us that we must be still simple in our life, but when you’re watching television you can see that their life isn’t simple, she’s attractive and when you see yours, she’s massive destructive. No positive. The truth is that you are a fucking consumer who suicide, day by day, your life by reading fucking dishcloth people newspaper. Accept the fucking containment, stay in your fucking environment and still watching "E entertainment", lobotomised by the government as a motherfucking zombie face to your TV.

Today the stars are interviewed by the fucking "best". And the absurdity of the motherfucking journalist’s rhetoric questions hurt my soul, my conception, my chance to success at my chest. Most of all, it’s the public who reclaim it. At this day it’s over I lost my illusions, there’s no Resurrection

Vincent Blénet