"même si c'est difficile d'être humain, essayons de ne pas devenir des monstres."
i spent a weekend that felt like weeks in normandy. we rode horses at omaha beach:
and as testament that the débarquement was not forgotten:
i had planned on developing a healthy crush on the 16-year-old boy of the manor, but he was away at his mother's. he is very tall and stern and never speaks, either because he is boring, intimidated by brooke's overbearing presence, or a boy genius with insides spinning out of control. he fell off his horse three times and cried.
on the corner at cluny last night there's a young homeless girl with a puppy. the second time i pass i see a black lady-like figure bending down to talk to her, i turn the corner and see that atop the figure is feriel's face! she stands to walk away and i leap after her all smiles and bounds and calling her name. the boy at my side must've found the transition disappointing, as i do nothing but sulk when he is around.
as for feriel, of course she knew everything before i opened my mouth (this is the fifth dimension!) and she was beaming with benevolence.
we talked big about going to helsinki and then st petersburg, then china to tibet, on horseback.
yann said china is the last place you can have an adventure, which is definitely not true, but still sent a bolt of electric excitement through my being and right to the tips of my toes.
apart from that i am learning that life itself is cynical, so i don't even have to be.
i want to write love letters to a blank object of affection. perhaps we cannot properly express ourselves unless we are playing roles, and that is why reality and substance seem to botch up everything. i could play the game or i could try and soak myself in authenticity (with its appealing and preferable potency.) the most important thing is to know the difference.
and as testament that the débarquement was not forgotten:
i had planned on developing a healthy crush on the 16-year-old boy of the manor, but he was away at his mother's. he is very tall and stern and never speaks, either because he is boring, intimidated by brooke's overbearing presence, or a boy genius with insides spinning out of control. he fell off his horse three times and cried.
on the corner at cluny last night there's a young homeless girl with a puppy. the second time i pass i see a black lady-like figure bending down to talk to her, i turn the corner and see that atop the figure is feriel's face! she stands to walk away and i leap after her all smiles and bounds and calling her name. the boy at my side must've found the transition disappointing, as i do nothing but sulk when he is around.
as for feriel, of course she knew everything before i opened my mouth (this is the fifth dimension!) and she was beaming with benevolence.
we talked big about going to helsinki and then st petersburg, then china to tibet, on horseback.
yann said china is the last place you can have an adventure, which is definitely not true, but still sent a bolt of electric excitement through my being and right to the tips of my toes.
apart from that i am learning that life itself is cynical, so i don't even have to be.
i want to write love letters to a blank object of affection. perhaps we cannot properly express ourselves unless we are playing roles, and that is why reality and substance seem to botch up everything. i could play the game or i could try and soak myself in authenticity (with its appealing and preferable potency.) the most important thing is to know the difference.