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1960, is first of all the end of a secret.
And the generalisation of the stereotype of a consumable youth. .
The spontaneous androgyny of unisex fashions did more for the expansion of human pleasure
than all the demonstrations.
*** revolution as automobile revolution, or as the revolution of the washing machine.
Lasting revolutions, as they're embedded in daily life.
Do you remember ? I was sixteen.
The year was 1960.
And I'll let no one say that it wasn't the best time to be a liberated youngster.
Being a constraint-free teenager in this time, that was a miracle !
One only needed to be without prejudices, and alert of mind and body.
In this time, everything seemed possible.
I was given ubiquity, I was in Paris, Berlin, Amsterdam, or London,
as easily as crossing the street in Saint-Germain.
I would hit on people everywhere, and with success.
I remember in my veins the beat of time itself, in the music of this epoch.
I would smile and be smiled at.
I would meet people with astonishing ease, and no barrier would stand still.
This time of my life was a pink an green Eden.
We believed taboos to be dead for good. Boys with boys,
the fullness of spring, eternal in a cloud of weed.
Stereophonic happiness, surrounded by green foliage plants. 23 00:02:04,279 --> 00:02:06,412 A time for happy minorities.
It was a circular dance, from Berlin saunas to Amsterdam clubs,
we would mistake our pleasure for the happiness of a time, of a continent.
We felt like living symbols of human liberation,
the proof that happiness without wars did exist.
Yes, we were the human incarnations of liberated sex.
And when I see my old jeans, I remember my insolence,
my feeling that the world was mine,
and that the best thing for an occidental democracy was a blond and white, liberated, youngster.
The modern universe was there for pleasure, and its machines were but toys to us.
The road was a stage, and we were the actors of a musical comedy for the rest of our lives.
We felt this wind of liberty, coming from California, lifestyle changing,
a wind that would blow in London, go round to Amsterdam,
to barbed-wired Berlin, and die in Paris.
The whole world was hearing the same music,
this music we call love.
I would dance on roads, trains, I would dance on car's roofs.
Some will say it was a silly time. For a gay youngster anyway, it was close enough to Heaven.
It was always sunny in the 60's, we were the youngster's planet
with ads and radios.
We didn't even get - do you remember ? - how someone could be old.
Never had we seen violent repressions.
We were the unripe fruits of a marvelous after-war.
This is when I met you, our bodies were smooth and easily excitable.
You would represent for me Northern Europe, taking revenge on frigid puritanism,
crushing the South under its nouveau-riche liberty.
You would teach me quiet immoralism.
Some hash, some stereo, as if Adam was meeting Adam.
I would love you for your fabulous innocence.
For the first time ever, boys would kiss each other without guilt.
We went to Marrakech, and lived in young European communities,
making anew a world of sun and caress.
We lived on the shores of an ocean of pleasure, where we could easily dive.
Incense burning in one corner, a gay american magazine in another.
The world's evolution was unavoidable and we made a free couple.
Unbounded desires had changed social life
in a gigantic gang *** for boys, in this latin-indian Morocco.
Californian gay dream in Menara gardens, with hippie wisdom.
With you, the 60's world was candy pink, apple green, crispy and slightly acid,
fresh and tender as was Eve's fruit.
Defenseless fruit, the promise of an earthly happiness, summerless spring.