(no subject)
well, i certainly didn't last very long. darling delanoë's *nuit blanche* might've been more enjoyable a year or two ago. i went to see the filles de saigon, who were of course very stunning themselves, but the crowd was enormous and ridiculous and impossible. there were several fat girls and a curious lanky asian boy who strutted up behind me screaming shamelessly about waiting in line, then about why had they come to look at all these silly people walking around in stupid clothing. the boy then said the whole place was a zoo, but he wasn't sure which of us were the animals. funny, and true! the mob clambering up the pillars and over each other, frantically clutching the bars to peer through and get a quick glimpse, or the finely groomed creatures prowling up and down the aisle on the other side. silk and blank faces.
funny.
it was rather boring and depressing. i grew impatient and soon left.
there were disgusting racailles and drunken adolescents polluting every streetcorner, and when i reached the piscine, the line to enter stretched an astonishing 250 meters.
i am so uncomfortable amongst so many people. feeling a cold sweat creep up to strangle me. foul odour and thick, stagnant air in the métro. i nearly collapsed into a neat pile, but luckily i am invincible and need not worry about such public displays of weakness.
bus service understandably perturbé. "but really really disturbed! more disturbed than us!" two suspicious boys offer to walk me home. one is short and nondescript and the other tall, shaggy, and drinking a fetid beer. i decline several times, but they are going my way anyway, so here we are. they guess i am russian, how amusing! yes, i am from st. petersburg, stylish and sleek, ça se voit pas?? of course, we love the russian charm, what big beautiful eyes and stellar smile! they are much more entertaining than expected, they sing in italian, strum the guitar, and leave me alone politely when we reach port royal.
then there is a strikingly civilised man pissing right there in the open! he has a camera bag, and his worm of a penis is completely exposed, spritzing onto the gate of the garden. it is so revolting i think i must take a photo, but i am too slow with the camera and he zips up and sidles away.
for some reason it makes me think of visiting japan.
hum.
and i think very too much about....
someone on my little street is having a wild party. the music and shouts of approval are so loud i cannot tell which side of the street it's coming from.
i miss nmeione like mad. sort of want to kill her boyfriend, but i don't think i'd be ready for the responsibility which would ensue. ma petite renarde! i stupidly tell her that i'm the only one who loves her, and he is just a bloody typical turk, incapable of sufficient appreciation. she clings to me while he's muttering dumbly in the background, her name he grunts in deep syllables, but we are face to face and grinning like knives. we are hand in hand and we melt together, disintegrate him like plutonium.
he groans, too heavy, too timid.
she affirms he is neutral, but physical presence reassures her being.
and so on. and so forth. hmm.
funny.
it was rather boring and depressing. i grew impatient and soon left.
there were disgusting racailles and drunken adolescents polluting every streetcorner, and when i reached the piscine, the line to enter stretched an astonishing 250 meters.
i am so uncomfortable amongst so many people. feeling a cold sweat creep up to strangle me. foul odour and thick, stagnant air in the métro. i nearly collapsed into a neat pile, but luckily i am invincible and need not worry about such public displays of weakness.
bus service understandably perturbé. "but really really disturbed! more disturbed than us!" two suspicious boys offer to walk me home. one is short and nondescript and the other tall, shaggy, and drinking a fetid beer. i decline several times, but they are going my way anyway, so here we are. they guess i am russian, how amusing! yes, i am from st. petersburg, stylish and sleek, ça se voit pas?? of course, we love the russian charm, what big beautiful eyes and stellar smile! they are much more entertaining than expected, they sing in italian, strum the guitar, and leave me alone politely when we reach port royal.
then there is a strikingly civilised man pissing right there in the open! he has a camera bag, and his worm of a penis is completely exposed, spritzing onto the gate of the garden. it is so revolting i think i must take a photo, but i am too slow with the camera and he zips up and sidles away.
for some reason it makes me think of visiting japan.
hum.
and i think very too much about....
someone on my little street is having a wild party. the music and shouts of approval are so loud i cannot tell which side of the street it's coming from.
i miss nmeione like mad. sort of want to kill her boyfriend, but i don't think i'd be ready for the responsibility which would ensue. ma petite renarde! i stupidly tell her that i'm the only one who loves her, and he is just a bloody typical turk, incapable of sufficient appreciation. she clings to me while he's muttering dumbly in the background, her name he grunts in deep syllables, but we are face to face and grinning like knives. we are hand in hand and we melt together, disintegrate him like plutonium.
he groans, too heavy, too timid.
she affirms he is neutral, but physical presence reassures her being.
and so on. and so forth. hmm.