How I'd forgotten how I love the ancient world like loving
to play hopscotch.
Beauty in thought.
In their thought.
In their thinking, and making.
What I mean is I was reading a Le Monde insert that they have on Saturdays so that it's more expensive to buy and I forgot this, and the woman at the Tabac said : 2 euro 50. And I wasn't thinking of what she said I just gave her my 2 euro piece expecting it to be 1 euro 30 as usual and then there was the pause. Pause. 2 euro 50, she said again in the same pitch. Pause. I don't think of what numbers mean the French tell me as they ring me up because I have great difficulty thinking in numbers, calculating numbers, reading numbers in French. When people want to shock me with a statistic I'm always thinking : Oh god, here it comes, they're going to tell me a number that's supposed to mean something to me and then I'm not going to have the right reaction because I don't know if it's supposed to shock me good or shock me back. I often get the reaction wrong. But anyway.
Finally I realized. And felt like a scoundrel, as often I feel here as often I feel like they are slowly coming to detect my foreignness and then I am suspicioning what that will mean to them. They've got a culture, you know.
I am a suspicious smart person. I don't say it as boasting but just a fact of how difficult maneouvering an be when being like this.
I mean I was reading the article on a book from this weekly Le Monde magazine and it was on a book by an Italian that was on the Greeks and how his short essay moved me. How the philosophy, moved me.
I was in the kitchen on my floor - that's the fourth floor to the French and the fifth floor to you Americans (and me) - waiting I don't know for water to boil, and had the article, barefoot, prancing around with my face to the article, moving with each word, to get it all right, but there looking out the dark window. And steam in the room - which is two sinks and four hotplates a big window and an old heating unit. Catching my reflection and thinking : maybe someone could love me. Thinking, maybe someone could love me.
Beauty in thought.
In their thought.
In their thinking, and making.
What I mean is I was reading a Le Monde insert that they have on Saturdays so that it's more expensive to buy and I forgot this, and the woman at the Tabac said : 2 euro 50. And I wasn't thinking of what she said I just gave her my 2 euro piece expecting it to be 1 euro 30 as usual and then there was the pause. Pause. 2 euro 50, she said again in the same pitch. Pause. I don't think of what numbers mean the French tell me as they ring me up because I have great difficulty thinking in numbers, calculating numbers, reading numbers in French. When people want to shock me with a statistic I'm always thinking : Oh god, here it comes, they're going to tell me a number that's supposed to mean something to me and then I'm not going to have the right reaction because I don't know if it's supposed to shock me good or shock me back. I often get the reaction wrong. But anyway.
Finally I realized. And felt like a scoundrel, as often I feel here as often I feel like they are slowly coming to detect my foreignness and then I am suspicioning what that will mean to them. They've got a culture, you know.
I am a suspicious smart person. I don't say it as boasting but just a fact of how difficult maneouvering an be when being like this.
I mean I was reading the article on a book from this weekly Le Monde magazine and it was on a book by an Italian that was on the Greeks and how his short essay moved me. How the philosophy, moved me.
I was in the kitchen on my floor - that's the fourth floor to the French and the fifth floor to you Americans (and me) - waiting I don't know for water to boil, and had the article, barefoot, prancing around with my face to the article, moving with each word, to get it all right, but there looking out the dark window. And steam in the room - which is two sinks and four hotplates a big window and an old heating unit. Catching my reflection and thinking : maybe someone could love me. Thinking, maybe someone could love me.