Oh, this shit hole only called paris
ok, ok, so i've been meaning and trying to tell you about it the whole time i've been here, but, it's, hard. Fact 1: EVERYBODY in paris smokes. when i told my mother this, she said: "oh, well, it IS your city!" and oh, yes, it's the city i was born in and the city i will die in and at every moment it reminds me of that, always whispering whereever i go: i am the city you have always been. how can i possibly explain this non-sense? every baby carriege has smoke coming out of it! when i still used to (try) to ask if i could smoke people would look at me like i'm dumb (which is true). i spent noon to three at the er yesterday (cause i got overheated and freaked out a bit) and we would sneak cigarettes in the waiting room! it was too funny. everybody here makes me think of my brothers and sisters and lovers. it's the oddest (and the most "natural" whatever the fuck that means) thing.
i didn't sleep a wink the six hours on air-india cause i was too excited. i didn't talk to anybody either (i usually don't on planes). i just anticipated, and anticipated. then i almost died of heat at the airport (who'd put airconditioning at an airport! not the french. they've never heard of it. [tell it to hegel!]) and i realized then that i didn't even know how to say "WATER." that's a problem.
for the first 2 nights i stayed in this tiny (virtually everything is in miniature here) hotel, at the top floor. it was in a posh, posh centerish area (paris is not big, so everything seems like the center to me), so i was charmed despite the fact that my room contained no air and half a ceiling. it did have a tiny brown desk, so after wondering paris like a somnambulist (yeah, it's a cheap shot!), i sat in my room happy as a clam typing away and drinking cheap wine. oh, and yes, we all drink day noon night, and wine and beer are never more expensive than coffee, tea, juice or water (so why not?). but, ah, i can't communicate with people. yeah, SOME parisians speak english, but most won't unless they think it'll get them laid (and i'm not usually into encouraging such assumptions). i cried at lunch the first day cause i was convinced the waiter was making fun of me to the other guests...service people are so mean i wouldn't go to restaraunts alone even if i could afford it. and perhaps i'd be too. paris IS overrun by tourists like lice. i went to the louvre for the first time after passing it from my airport shuttle in utter wonder after the er, cencierly expecting that at least there the tourists wouldn't be running like maggots. ha! you smile at my innocence, but i thought "ART" at least evokes SOME patience, no, no, no. more later love
ps. crackerjack comments always inspire me to post sooner cause it's the only way i really know you care (read:read).
ok, ok, so i've been meaning and trying to tell you about it the whole time i've been here, but, it's, hard. Fact 1: EVERYBODY in paris smokes. when i told my mother this, she said: "oh, well, it IS your city!" and oh, yes, it's the city i was born in and the city i will die in and at every moment it reminds me of that, always whispering whereever i go: i am the city you have always been. how can i possibly explain this non-sense? every baby carriege has smoke coming out of it! when i still used to (try) to ask if i could smoke people would look at me like i'm dumb (which is true). i spent noon to three at the er yesterday (cause i got overheated and freaked out a bit) and we would sneak cigarettes in the waiting room! it was too funny. everybody here makes me think of my brothers and sisters and lovers. it's the oddest (and the most "natural" whatever the fuck that means) thing.
i didn't sleep a wink the six hours on air-india cause i was too excited. i didn't talk to anybody either (i usually don't on planes). i just anticipated, and anticipated. then i almost died of heat at the airport (who'd put airconditioning at an airport! not the french. they've never heard of it. [tell it to hegel!]) and i realized then that i didn't even know how to say "WATER." that's a problem.
for the first 2 nights i stayed in this tiny (virtually everything is in miniature here) hotel, at the top floor. it was in a posh, posh centerish area (paris is not big, so everything seems like the center to me), so i was charmed despite the fact that my room contained no air and half a ceiling. it did have a tiny brown desk, so after wondering paris like a somnambulist (yeah, it's a cheap shot!), i sat in my room happy as a clam typing away and drinking cheap wine. oh, and yes, we all drink day noon night, and wine and beer are never more expensive than coffee, tea, juice or water (so why not?). but, ah, i can't communicate with people. yeah, SOME parisians speak english, but most won't unless they think it'll get them laid (and i'm not usually into encouraging such assumptions). i cried at lunch the first day cause i was convinced the waiter was making fun of me to the other guests...service people are so mean i wouldn't go to restaraunts alone even if i could afford it. and perhaps i'd be too. paris IS overrun by tourists like lice. i went to the louvre for the first time after passing it from my airport shuttle in utter wonder after the er, cencierly expecting that at least there the tourists wouldn't be running like maggots. ha! you smile at my innocence, but i thought "ART" at least evokes SOME patience, no, no, no. more later love
ps. crackerjack comments always inspire me to post sooner cause it's the only way i really know you care (read:read).
posted by irreme seshat at 2:28 PM
3 Comments:
Sometimes your posts seem like you are writing to someone specific. more exotic than i. so, i'm not sure if i'm suppose to respond.
--you just went to paris alone?
no one you know-- no study abroad program?? just to write? I thinkt that's great--just want to get the story straight. Being along is harder than it looks. and being a writer--especially when almost none of your friends are writers(like me) means you are always alone. Take some more pictures--- i have a picture of you from 1999. it's a good one--but it's not in Paris. My play is over, and i'm writing like a mad woman--because i have this persistent void. i know that at some point i will get tired of forcing myself to write and i will get depressed. most likely. however, i want to be a writer-- i want to make a life of it--and it's exhausting me already. I think it will pay off in a few years. well, write more. is the hotel small like the half floor in "Being John Malkovich?" I thought of you this morning when someone said the words, "The color purple"--they were talking about a fortune though. Hmm....take care kido
love D!
i know it always seems like i'm writing to someone specific, but i'm not; and i am. yes, i went to paris alone, though not originally intentionally; and yes, it was horribly hard for much of it. i say was, and i haven't even left yet! i want to talk with you much more about writing but its my penultimate night in paris and i must run and dance. hug.
I hope you had fun dancing. Don't forget you're amazing.
D!
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