"Have a good rest of your life," he told me as he stepped over the threshold, boarding the Paris-bound charter. "You have to love this because it's so beautiful. What you have here, you have to love it because it's life," he whispered in that softened French that we all have come to recognize and swoon over between Political Science lectures. "The ( Read more... )

Falling in love with words and touching skin-to-skin and the sweat that pours down my shoulder in a forty degree room with silence and no lights but the panoramic cross atop the mountain and the sweat stings my eyes and clears my sinuses and drips onto the floor in puddles and midnight ( Read more... )

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Quelquefois, je trouve que des buts dont je règle pour moi-même sont tellement ridicules et impossibles.
Mais, c'est seulement ça... il se sent très, trop, orgasmiquement .bon. quand... finalement... j'arrive.
C'était trop souvent que je l'ai oublié.

It's April now. It's amazing to know that two years have come and gone.
Our heyday came and went ( Read more... )

Liberté. Égalité. Fraternité. 1936 ( Read more... )

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"Suddenly," you whispered, "the world seems such a perfect place ( Read more... )

"I didn't see this as a romantic idea. It had nothing to do with France itself, with wearing hats or writing tortured letters from a sidewalk cafe. I didn't care where Hemingway drank or Alice B. Toklas had her mustache trimmed. What I found appealing in life abroad was the inevitable sense of helplessness it would inspire. Equally exciting would ( Read more... )

You can write on the walls here, but nobody calls you a poet.