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Today, a nice lazy type day. I ate brunch for the first time in Paris. Somewhere it's Larissa's birthday and all the world knows it's April Fool's Day. The world is funny and cruel enough without the celebration of such holidays. I have nothing to say when I email people. Although convenient, emails have finally managed to piss me off greatly as the most un-intimate type of communication in the world. It'll sound stupid but I'd rather say the important stuff to your face. I'd rather watch your eyes and your breathing and get your response that same day.
When one is sitting still and shadows continue to move, one has beat all time to the point of exhaustion and the very world itself has let you go. Free to meander through its boundaries yet follow none of it's seemingly definite rules. It trusts you, the world, enough to grant you this passage, slow and unrecognized until just that tiny moment you have become quiet enough, the shadows have become long enough and you forgot to hold on for that one slippery second. Like the anti-gravity room at some space station, no rule you've ever applied works right.
It's time again. To record moments that would otherwise pass without a second glance. So many things to see and hear and learn. Dark spaces where gathers thought and ideas able to sprout like so many root vegetables in those ugly science projects. Pens are flying, time is scratching and all people are aware some where not always here. People who don't take time. All these people here sit around the lake and watch each other or read and not give a shit about what the rest are doing. Sneaky ones watch others by their reflection. I look straight on.
When one closes one's eyes, different listening facilities kick in. Yes, we know the blind cat can hear a cockroach coughing. Seemingly it's true for humans too. In the basement of the book shop where I held this little experiment, with eyes open I heard the people in the next isle speaking to eachother, the woman upstairs bumping around and even some plumbing clinking because I was listening extra-carefully. I shut my eyes in the exact same place I additionally heard the music from upstairs, the cars outside and the surrounding rush that I have noticed in cities before.
Stumbled upon the treasure of an old friend. A friend I have never met. This friend never asked me indecently where I was from or plan to go. Probably because he's dead. The dead don't mince or waste words. He told me nothing that was obvious, instead revealed things through sight and sound. Through surprise. Through persistence. Through the dark interior of a stone and the light color of the sky rippling through the water. The ever replenishing beauty of nature and states. How they change. Quiet simplicity, giant capabilities. All rolling like hills and flowing like rivers and streams.
See me unobscured though my path in overgrown by roots and trees. Look me in the eyes when the sun is brightest, keep them wide open. Resist temptation of squinting or trying to shade. See me the way I am, the way I try to persist, even as the hike becomes long and miserable and the air thin. Find reason to keep hacking away at the path and find the clear blue stream. In it the answers of complicated existence will flow clear and illuminated, not the usual city puddle through which we splash and laugh to hide the unknown.
If it were up to me, I would do everything in one day. Every single thing I ever wanted to do in one glorious jam packed day. Cross things off my list as hours passed. Until the night fell so black I couldn't see my intentions anymore. I would go around the world that day. I would do so many good things, someone might have to write my name somewhere. Alot of people would know me anyway because I would have covered alot of ground. And learned alot of languages, too. So many things that I could peacefully sleep forever.
There was something about today that was red and green. I choose these two colors to describe it because there was alot of that stop go feeling. Also, these colors are opposites in the spectrum so they also illustrate how I was a little bit at war. At war with ideas and reasons, at war with accomplishments and aspirations. As I looked for them in my mind they played tricks on me by jumping around, switching places and absolutely hiding from me when I sought to retrieve them. This made me forget for the moment why the fuck I am.
With eyes closed, one told me of the space which exists just between your eyebrows. If you look quite lightly, you see at first something light and unable to keep still. After a moment appears a tunnel. Dark sacred tunnel which leads directly out of your mind. It is hard to keep its path straight, it wants to slip down and cause your neck to bend as you try to follow it away from your self. Its controlled not by squeezing eyes tighter or turning your head, its more a piece of your concentration fully exerted and then speed, speed.
This guy was not brown. He was black. Black like I've never seen. More black than a tree appears when it stands before the sun. The whites of his eyes, dirty with yellow and red, the pupils strong, unwavering. Hands and fingers so black I couldn't find a break in the color, not an uneven tone anywhere in which to rest my eyes, stop them from sliding uncontrollably over the dark smoothness. I tried to picture that skin on my own skin, so pale and pink. Would they be warmer? or harder? Different than the hands I have already experienced?
Man in broken voice asks another man, different kind of broken voice if he has cookies. Small boy sick, asks for cookies, raisins in. I have no cookies have some banana. I have banana. No, small boy wants cookies. He asked, raisins in. Why no banana or apple, I have apple. Boy very sick son of my brother please give me cookies, raisins in. I have apple, I have banana, take them no money. I want no money. Keep apple banana, I go to big store, they have cookies, raisins in. No, no sir nobody has them cookies, raisins in.
It begins straight and then splits in two. One continues towards the right rather forcefully and direct. It goes on for a distance not as far before it splits into a few capillaries, they all lead back. The main road still obvious, the path not difficult to decipher. The other, which leans to the left, advances slowly and more discreetly. It is not as wide and not as well marked. It stretches even further. At the point where it breaks off into many smaller less traveled roads, they are all equally small and unknown. The main road has dispersed itself.
There are too many decisions to make in this lifetime. As soon as you make one, a million other ideas, options or modifications come to mind. Theories are so fucking easy to come up with. Plans are easy too. Everything sounds all ideal and shit until talk time is over and motion time sets in. I ain't lazy, no how, but this treadmill has got me on my last legs. It hasn't yet taken all my energy because I am not there yet and will not stop treading until I arrive. I will use all my fuel and my fire.
I see my window from here. It is the one with the circle in the bottom right pane of glass. It is slightly open. It's gonna be cold up there when I get home. The eight panes look black from here even though I know well the room is white. Bed, desk, glass table, bar, stove and two sets of shelves live with me. There's a coat rack and a stand-up lamp with a dimmer. The bathroom's right outside the door. It has a big, big bathtub. I am going to clean it today when I leave the park.
There is a French expression , well, there are many, it says "calm as a cat." It is cute but cats are only fifty percent tranquil. The other fifty percent, completely nuts. Do you think that is what they mean when they say "calm as a cat", knowing that no one is truly calm, no matter how even the facade they manage? Everyone can boil over now and again whether it be for love or work or play. Just as we get riled up in an angry manner, we are just as prone to that same excitement for the better cause.
Tapping on the stairs. Has someone come to turn the light on in this room? Feet don't sound like feet, they sound more like tapping, the reason I know they are on the stairs is because they are getting closer and I live higher. Living above other things is strange because everything rises. Smoke, sound, even the steps someone takes going down, the sound still rises. The heat also. I wait for the heat to make it up here, so cold and dark. Light bulbs make warmth, thoughts grow cold and light and rise up to the roof I share.
The journey begins, we are all together on the river floating past villages and ruins, markets jammed with noise, loud and colorful. Sights and sounds fleeting as waves rock us into a trance. The river, a well traveled highway, supporting much life on each bank must soon rest. There comes a point where one passes through to tranquility, leaves the world behind. The Delta. The river spreads its arms here. It stretches out before the sun. No one's concerns can intrude because it is where all intentions exist. It is not the place of action, but the place of reflection.
World, I have clearly stated my intentions. Confessed my hopes and dreams. World, I have given you all my efforts, pure and simple, turned on all my lights, bared teeth and shoulder and knee to push forth the things most true. I have valued you and protected you. I walked as much of your circumference as my feet would last, my boots fell apart, my skin was burned. I ask you kindly to answer me. I beg you like a child for a reply. It is in perplexity and excitement I wait for you to tell me: what happens next.
You caught me writing furiously. Head in book, no concern for the world. I was carrying on quite a bit when I lifted my head. You, in the next car positioned perfectly in the first seat, peered through the windows which lined up so well. I, in the other car's second to last seat, scratching and scratching. Your gaze so clear, so straight through the glass, I thought I knew you for a minute and you knew me. You waited patiently for me to stop and look up so that with your eyes you could say hello, how are you?
I think of Jewels all the was down there in Africa. I am proud of her. I don't know her. I've never heard her voice with my ears. I've only read her words. I believe that in my thoughts, I've felt the sand on which she walks, where the sun burns everything it touches. Since several months, I haven't read her words, learned her stories. I wonder what she has done and seen in the time that has passed. I wonder if she is sure that what she has begun is the true path on which her feet should burn.
The experiment of time passing in the palms of hands. The experiment of eyes searching to and fro. And in the right time they vibrate very fast back and forth. The make straight lines of things they see. And the are the only part of the body who makes lines straight with out a ruler. These experiments we capture. We remark the results through our thoughts and actions. It is our responsibility to take them down with the detail we choose. We write our own stories and make our own outcomes. Lines always straighten out when seen from a distance.
Why do we speak so sad? The thoughts that lie under thoughts make expressions have different meanings and word take on other forms. They all come tumbling out and don't mean what they say. They don't even have a place in the world of me and you. Or what used to be. Screaming and talking at a normal volume scared to whisper because then you'll get near and I don't know what that would do to the delicate balance that keeps us apart. It might tip the scale of maybe and send us off bleeding into a new different galaxy.
Trust is given and taken away. There are levels. There is the very deepest unwavering sense of the word. That is serious business. It is extremely rare. There is also the faster more superficial kind of trust that lives on the surface and even a few centimeters down deeper, it's right on. Although at the scariest core, you know really you are on your own. Testing the waters of this emotion is curious because sometimes with your best friend, you can still see your feet and on the same token, with an almost stranger, you know your life is safe.
They are right on. sounds make way. the narrow streets. buildings not much taller than we are. windows stretched wide open. some sit at the cafe. dark red awning. others, like me, scattered on the steps diagonal. the drummer looked and looked away. then smiled. then looked back. my smile unstoppably wide. he brushed his drums. everyone enlightened. the guitarist turns to look at the sun setting. he puts up his hand. a shadow on his face. the drummer full shade. he hits off the guitarist. an excellent solo. now everyone is together. the trumpet has come back. full swing.
A girl in a plane looks out upon the sea of clouds, the shade of blue sky the radiates is most unbelievable to a regular earthling. The way clouds pile up in the distance look like mountains in some other world. Maybe that's the world this plane is bound for. After a short while, sleep arrives. The plane darkens as well as the sky. She wakes herself, the plane is silent. Now the universe outside is black. Stars break tiny holes in its continuity and remind her of the space beyond.She presses her face up to the cold glass.
Needed something today. Two days before, Nina Simone sent me crumbling against the wall in a pile of tears. Today after waking late and not making much sense of the day, I took a walk out in the rain. It was less like rain and more like a wind that carried occasional drops. The greyness was nice. I walked uphill. I wanted it to be difficult. Finally, I was at the doors of a church. Went in. Asked a statue if the greater powers could kindly speak to me, in the language of the heart so that I may understand.
What do you do with today? I went to the internet cafe and looked over old hundreds. Saw the first batch. Was I pissed or seemed so. Kind of funny, it was an edge really. I'm not pissed anymore and I didn't really realize that I had been. On the same note I hope I have not grown soft. OK I'm in France, that's what I wanted to dooo, etc. I think it's not the case but who knows, how can someone gauge their own progress. I was up at 7:00am drawing in the street. I am still not satisfied.
A dream you don't remember in the morning. A wish that didn't come true. An apple that is not ripe, a moldy cheese, although that does not matter to some, they eat it anyway. A gold ring that has tarnished, a broken sea shell. Dirty windows that do not let light come through. A car engine, ceased. Paint brush whose bristles have fallen out. Flat tire. A dry river bed or a plane that doesn't get off the ground. Ink that never dries. A radio with no speakers. The glue is all dried up and my pocket has a hole.
Today is a bad habit day. I need to control them better. Eating bad food, smoking too much and procrastinating a little. Of these I am guilty. Also spending too much money. I am a hedonist. I feel like one at the moment. I can't resist certain pleasures and for these things, I am insatiable. It's not like me. I am not a control freak but there are things that are better in moderation. I have realized. Thank the Lord for tax refunds. I don't even remember working. Another bad habit. Gotta kick. Gotta do better. Walk right! Walk right!
I have a book called 12000 french verbs which is funny because i only use about ten over and over and over. one of my favorite is envahir: to invade. it always surprises someone when creatively used in a phrase. i dig getting fun with languages, although there are some rules you just can't break. and there are most famous writers who have made giant mistakes. i think english is more forgiving, especially if you have an accent. i guess its all about how bad you want to communicate. or how important you think your ideas are. i have my days.
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