It was born an accident. Sometime between the end of 1998 and before the Spring 1999. There are difficult traces of the incident but I once heard somebody talk about a wild party where people got drunk and started defecating en masse, all at once, in the middle of the living room. This is what I was told. This is what has been repeated from generation to generation, mouth to ear, to whomever in the family had the strongest gift.
Son d'une tondeuse à gazon qui se met en marche.

In its memory banks, I did find records of a party: blurry visions of Gallic madness, echoes from the water pipes, swirls in the toilet bowl, sounds of somebody running on porcelain tiles.
It didn't stop at the party. There were other events, each one more displaced than the last. It seemed like they had been concocted in a laboratory, with collaborators dressed in baby blue tunics. There were illicit actions, all documented and saved in repertories, phone calls that re-routed into nature, noises on the other side. There was a dance ritual, performed solo, circles drawn into the wall with screws and wooden sticks, a public debate over transcriptions (scratch, scratch, sniff, sniff), an alimentary activity turned into a cultural gesture. Un morceau de bois tombe sur le ciment.

Quelqu'un crit dans la nuit. Un verre se brise, une fenêtre? Des voix qui chuchottent des secrets inavoués perdus dans une crypte souterraine.

Then there was a robbery. All files were stolen and all documents disappeared. All that remained was the site as stage. Soon, other documents were produced to substantiate the loss: from a police report, a retrospective collection of disseminated facts was drawn. But it decided to forget. It finally left for America. This must have been the Summer of 1999. At the beginning, it received guests from its former shell, but it felt it wasn't the same anymore. So it went into hiding. That was the only way for it to be free. Without definition, without history, without ties to any other system, it could try to attain a state of plenitude so longed for. it wished to fall asleep but couldn't because there was so much to do and a queue to render. It was so late already....
Before it disappeared, it told me its name. It was incomprehensible from the cacophony of the city, but it sounded like >>MTRX-E.