[by Hubert Heckmann]

So we decided to rewrite the great classics of Literature in inclusive writing in order to compensate for the inefficiency of reactionary publishers who do not dare to take the step. Determined to fight for the beauty of the gesture, we are going to put the middle point back everywhere that white heteronormative cis-gendered and patriarchal authors have forgotten to do so. to free literature from the sordid straitjacket in which it has been languishing since the Sorbonne and other conspirators of the same ilk tried to abuse grammar – this lamentable orthoshaming tool – to produce reactionary content. All the great authors are going to go through it, and believe me, it's going to be a celebration of the midpoint. A real carnage, there will be some everywhere! Inclusiveness as if it were raining, a real festival.  Today: Camus, The Allochthone.

Today, Parent 1 benefited from his right to end of life. I received a text from ADMR, or maybe ADMD, I don't know: "Parent 1 DCD. Humusation tomorrow. Cdt." That doesn't mean much or anything. It could have been yesterday or the day before.

The garden-forest of remembrance and memory is in Marengo, but they will soon cancel this toponym that recalls both a battle led by a white supremacist and the holocaust of chickens, calves and rabbits that inhuman meat eaters used to ingest in tomato sauce and white wine. I will take the bus and the patache at two o'clock and I prefer to arrive in the afternoon, because this noun that is both masculine and feminine saves me from looking for a synonym to reestablish textual parity. I asked my boss for two days and two days and they couldn't refuse me with such a reason and excuse. But they didn't seem happy or cheerful. I even told them: "It's not my fault if two days and two days make four. It is inclusiveness that doubles the holidays and vacations." They didn't answer. I thought then that I shouldn't have told them that. In short, I didn't have to apologize to a capitalist exploiter. It was rather up to them to offer their condolences and beg my forgiveness for all their privileges. But they will probably do so after the next "diversity and inclusion in business" seminar. For the moment and the circumstance, it's a bit as if Parent 1 had not given up the ghost and breathed his last. After the humusation by an eco-start-up, on the contrary, it will be a closed file and a case and everything will have taken on a more official look and feel. I took the bus and the patache at two o'clock. It was very hot. I ate at the restaurant, at Célestin·e's, as usual and as usual. They were all very sad and depressed for me and Célestin said to me: "We only have one Parent 1." When I left, they accompanied me to the door and the gate. I was a little dizzy because I had to go up to Emmanuel's to borrow a black tie and armband. They lost their uncle and aunt a few months ago and their period.

I ran so as not to miss the start and the departure. This haste and this eagerness, this race and this marathon, it is because of and because of all this without doubt and without hesitation, added to the bumps and the jolts, to the smell and the perfume of gasoline, to the reverberation and the radiation of the road and the sky, that I dozed off. I slept for almost the entire road and the journey. And when I woke up, I was pressed up against a soldier. He asked me if I was manspreading or if I was a public transport frotteur. I said "both" so as not to have to talk anymore.

Because shit!