“Come on, offer yourself this small pleasure. Imagine yourself as a train platform at nightfall swept by gusts of wind. In the middle, a guy with his legs naked, in white blouse open on multi-coloured pants, his cock half out. On the chest, as an explosives belt, a yellow respirator surmounted bf a pink boa. Here, it was I, modern Ulysses.”

“A hallucinated descent into Hell, crowded with dangers and dreams, where get mixed up world rumours, bits of memories and visions of terror, as emerged from the untouchable depths of psyche. That resembles a fall, a chaos, an intimate trench warfare, but it is also a spiritual and literary process, a form of initiation, which passes by the destitution, confrontation with the evil, the crossing of darkness. A test at the end which the metamorphose of the narrator is carried out: the good-bye with the man who he was, and the reception of who he becomes, this other self: He was him or me, him and his solar beauty, his love of life, his pleasure overflowing to smoke, drink, take what was in front of him [...]; or me, lame, handicapped, insensitive, lost in unsearchable abysses…”

(Nathalie Crom, Télérama, August 2013)