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Showing posts from October, 2010

Day 19: Anyone got a light?

Her cigarette falls from her fingers and onto the ground. She watches the sparks hit the pavement like a silent firecracker. She never actually smokes them. She’s not even a smoker. She just likes the hiss of the match bringing it to life. And because she can relate to how quickly it burns. She can relate to being set on fire and unsmoked.

Day 13: déjà-vu

Tonight I am in post war Paris, at a busy café. I am distractedly having wine at a table, when the radio begins playing Lucienne Boyer’s “Parlez-Moi D’amour”. And I suddenly get the strangest feeling that I have been here before. I have been in this room with these strangers. I have already smoked this cigarette. I have felt this draft from the door opening and closing and I have felt this flush of heat on my chest from the wine. I have smelled the lady’s perfume at the table next to me; and I have noticed the face of the man she is seated with, whose eyes met up with mine for a brief second before looking away. I have been in this moment before. But I have been never been to Paris.

Day 1: Honestly, Honesty.

Oh Lie. You do so much more for me than Truth does. It's like the two of you dance the tango, seductively inside my brain. But mostly because, for me, it's a case of : "betray thyself" or "display thyself". Telling a lie is protection. A safety net. A fire extinguisher. A hiked up red tango dress. Telling the truth is surrender. A tight rope. A lit match. A clown suit. I told the truth. Bozo doing the tango is not as sexy to watch.