(no subject)
we unfortunately and tragically missed bobby conn, who was followed up by some n'importe qui group, and then a sub-par performance from the otherwise promising tortoise.
i somehow consumed enough pression-piss beer to end up lightly soaked in a droll, dull drunkenness which i didn't even recognise until the morning after.
julien seemed to have split early. on account of being amoureux and chaleureux, or something, as i was obscenely and brutally informed. felt rather rotten and dumb. must've been that great wall of ivresse.
but today was somehow simple and grand. i wandered about amidst patriotic celebration, and somehow found myself at shakespeare and co., where mr. george whitman told me, "tea party upstairs!"
i went up and met a charming old austrian man who asked me, "are you interested in books?"
"yes!"
"well i'm going to show you something then..." he said and began to fumble in his bag.
i put down the works of oscar wilde and the book of "einstein and religion" (what the hell was this? E=mc2...the creation of energy from nothing is possible as long as E=0...???) and waited patiently for his surprise.
he produced a book of eleven short stories, and proudly declared that it was his first to be published. he handed it to me and i read a few pages, then he asked how i liked it and if i might like to buy it, or at least come to his reading tomorrow at 8. he asked my name. his was leo gaton. from san francisco. sort of.
so after a few moments at this terribly endearing tea party, there suddenly appeared vania, the mad mold of extreme quirkiness i had met a few months ago at chateaudun. how delighted she was to see me, she said! i was also amused, and thought maybe she had calmed down a bit, as she began telling me she might've found a job in los angeles, about which she was especially excited, because there lived a man with whom she was desperately in love for 7 years now, and he didn't even know her yet.
"oh?" i said.
"you might know him..."
"who is he?"
"oh, it's my handsome stan kirsch from the highlander series."
she showed me a picture of him she kept dearly tucked in her notebook, along with several photos she had of herself and family in martinique, spanning much of her life. upon showing me one in particular, which vaguely resembled a make-shift headshot, she asked, "wouldn't you say i look like this girl?" (holding the image up next to some blonde model on the cover of a magazine) "c'est presque...on dirait que c'est moi mais en blanche, ne trouves-tu pas?"
!!
i somehow consumed enough pression-piss beer to end up lightly soaked in a droll, dull drunkenness which i didn't even recognise until the morning after.
julien seemed to have split early. on account of being amoureux and chaleureux, or something, as i was obscenely and brutally informed. felt rather rotten and dumb. must've been that great wall of ivresse.
but today was somehow simple and grand. i wandered about amidst patriotic celebration, and somehow found myself at shakespeare and co., where mr. george whitman told me, "tea party upstairs!"
i went up and met a charming old austrian man who asked me, "are you interested in books?"
"yes!"
"well i'm going to show you something then..." he said and began to fumble in his bag.
i put down the works of oscar wilde and the book of "einstein and religion" (what the hell was this? E=mc2...the creation of energy from nothing is possible as long as E=0...???) and waited patiently for his surprise.
he produced a book of eleven short stories, and proudly declared that it was his first to be published. he handed it to me and i read a few pages, then he asked how i liked it and if i might like to buy it, or at least come to his reading tomorrow at 8. he asked my name. his was leo gaton. from san francisco. sort of.
so after a few moments at this terribly endearing tea party, there suddenly appeared vania, the mad mold of extreme quirkiness i had met a few months ago at chateaudun. how delighted she was to see me, she said! i was also amused, and thought maybe she had calmed down a bit, as she began telling me she might've found a job in los angeles, about which she was especially excited, because there lived a man with whom she was desperately in love for 7 years now, and he didn't even know her yet.
"oh?" i said.
"you might know him..."
"who is he?"
"oh, it's my handsome stan kirsch from the highlander series."
she showed me a picture of him she kept dearly tucked in her notebook, along with several photos she had of herself and family in martinique, spanning much of her life. upon showing me one in particular, which vaguely resembled a make-shift headshot, she asked, "wouldn't you say i look like this girl?" (holding the image up next to some blonde model on the cover of a magazine) "c'est presque...on dirait que c'est moi mais en blanche, ne trouves-tu pas?"
!!