Nicholas, our beloved friend …
I remember his Dionysian laugh, so infectious and enveloping us in rays of strong reason.
I remember a Paris / Bangkok flight with Laurent, Agnes and Pony where the stewards said nine times during the flight that Mr. Nicholas Coer had been asked to take his seat.
I remember filming in a boat in the Gulf of Tangier, in the very place where the Atlantic Ocean meets the Mediterranean Sea and where everyone was at the bottom of the hold, sick, trapped by the wave, except for him on deck. He’s so used to swinging.
I remember his eternal mockery of vegans and their tasteless green jelly. He declared himself “meaty” that he respected the animal to such an extent that he ate it whole – with Maggi sauce, which he never parted with.
I remember his alchemical science of alcohol and all drugs in the world, which he always thought he kept on a leash, it is true that he always came to the surface after his most tragic failures like the brilliant Phoenix. Miracle.
I remember many failed trains and the ever-forbidden cigarettes that he smoked absolutely anywhere, even on the plane …
I remember poor security guards and other customs officers who systematically received outrageous screams that got him into big trouble.
I remember him on stage, his absolute rock star trances, his jumps, his screams into the sky of the mad antichrist – and his complaints, this ragged velvet voice …
I remember his attention to all the little creatures in the world and the crossbred dogs on the street, to whom he said “Hello sir.”
I remember hundreds of hours we spent on YouTube. Bowie, Stooges, Morrissey, Joy Division, Velvet, The Cure, Nick Cave over and over and we cried together.
I remember his eternal chaos at home, which made me learn how to wash dishes.
I remember how he explained to me quantum physics, elementary particles and advanced nanotechnology and told me: “Forget it, you’re too stupid! “
I remember how he said: “You don’t understand that only alcohol allows me to sleep. I have to drink. “
I remember Mario from Devil May Cry, Metroid Prime, Sephiroth, Kratos, Dante, Blacklight, Bayonetta, Resident Evil, Starcraft and Final Fantasy, and the sublime Lightning against zombies and dark forces. The video games he played as a supreme and arcane geek, from his darknet science. And Kanika, his younger sister, is the absolute queen of the Internet.
He said, “I guessed everything beforehand, fucking life has no imagination.” “
I remember him saying, “I still love the back of Heaven. “
I remember him saying, “I only like lesbians. I’m a lesbian myself. “
I remember his coats and jackets with holes in their pockets and the eternal loss of keys, Vitale card, passport, wallet.
I remember: “I have extraordinary clarity. Unfortunately, I am a tragic hero, be careful. “
I remember Mina, her little cat, found in the rain, licking a pitiful pot of yogurt, rescued and lived with it for 20 years. “I might be high, but she’s here …” He was proud. She considered him her living God.
I remember how he said: “You have to build your house at the foot of the volcanoes. “
I remember how he said during one of his brutal and legendary uprisings: “As soon as grace and happiness touch me, I will be overwhelmed by the gods. “
He told me: “I know myself, this glass of whiskey allows me to get up in the morning, you do not understand anything!” “
I remember how he said: “I was killed by bombs in Phnom Penh and survived as a sad child …”
He told me: “I wrote 1000 songs, no one cares!” It’s time to write one a day. The astral mirror ordered me to do this. This is what he started to do.
He said about all this media environment that he hated: “I, they don’t treat me like that, I have a priest’s dagger in my teeth!” “
“Damn it,” he said of the Brillo box, even recreated by Warhol. I know that long after my death there will be 13-year-old children who will whine about my songs. “
A few days before his death, he wrote to me: “I travel in time as a territory. I also travel astral, interdimensional portals, our endless omnipresence, prisons of reality, bachelor of ethics, passions, future explanations, fluidity of mathematics. Truth is taken like a doe between Bentley headlights. “
He always knew that bright cities were waiting for him. “I’m going to go home. “
Nicholas ripped alive, Nicholas hot.
Nicolas, a man at the feet of the wind, Nicholas gentle, inconsolable, who took us all on a long and endless journey. We will not lose him, his rage at life was infectious.
He will join his favorite ghosts, Pasolini, Warhol, Burroughs, Philip K. Dick, Rimbaud, Mishima, Nerval, Cocteau.
I once quoted Cocteau’s last sentence to him: “My friends, pretend to cry, because I pretend to die. He replied: “Oh, Ariel … Stop your nonsense! With a huge burst of laughter.
Nicholas will never die.