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Archive for March, 2009

It was a flash rain and we ducked into Le Select.  The rain came down quick and fast and the servers tipped the chairs outside so the puddles wouldn’t collect.  Water came down quick off the awning and it was quiet on the inside of the floor to ceiling glass.  We sat down.  I acted [...]

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Paris park with pigeons and fountains
last night’s wine bottle
tipped over
under the bench.

Late morning
bright paris springtime sun
open windows top floor
ten foot shadows on hardwood.

Scooters upon scooters
upon scooters upon
scooters upon scooters
upon scooters upon
scooters parked outside
the Japanese restaurant.

Accents down the
metro stairs
carrying luggage.

Cigarettes upon cigarettes
upon cigarettes upon
cigarettes upon cigarettes
upon cigarettes upon 
cigarettes piled up 
next to the sewege grate
after the rain.

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writing hasn’t been happening much lately which has a direct correlation with my state of unrest.  summer is coming and i’m leaving paris soon right at the moment when i gave my first completely unselfish hug.  i watched a lecture today about living forever and the developing the technology to do it.  and people asked, [...]

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apples and honey.

I met a man 
down by the river who
made bowls
pottery bowls
with the river water
and truffles too
chocolate ones
with the river water
and they melted
when you ate them,
almost down your throat.
i once brought him apples
and honey
and the honey got caught
in his long long beard.

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True fact : In Paris, all toilets are made of solid gold.
——-
Every time she sees some kid’s balloon floating up high, up above the rooftops, up up into the sky, she thinks “Shit!  My balloon!”
——-
Do this with me quick.  I am going to write 10 countries and you write down the first person from that [...]

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First night of spring and the downstairs neighbor knocks on my door.  Can’t sleep, he tells me and I ask why.  ”When I was eleven, or maybe twelve,” he says, and I think here we go and boil some water for tea.
“How long ago was that?” I ask him.
“1924,” he says.  ”I took the train [...]

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On my Sunday adventure I…
… found out my boss rocks the streets
… experienced utter tragedy on the steps of the Swedish Cultural Center.
… played art art revolution.  and in heels!
… saw that all lines lead to Picasso.
… peered from a balcony across the street into little baby Louis XIV crib after bedtime hours.
… shot an album cover. [...]

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My book in the grass
The wind
Flipping its pages

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Commute.

Some people, in the dull yellow
light of the mètro, the
glass bottle of coke, rolling
hitting the wall at every
stop
with un petit piece s’il vous plaît
un ticket resto, still
look beautiful
and go home
to empty apartments.

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Triple shot.

No stories end tragically in springtime.
———–
My friend Darius used to make me get diner breakfasts with him at 5:30 a.m.  He said people were more honest in the early morning.
———–
I wish I knew a better word for beauty than beauty.  This thought always seems really profound to me after a few glasses of wine.

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