Monuments burn into moments
Nick Cave: 'It's a wonderful life, if you can find it'
Barbara has chronic fatigue syndrome: I take flowers and Beaujolais Nouveau
Lesbian kiss on the metro: I smile inside
I'm sick of the cold and the crowds and the noise: I won't be back in January
A conference on the trans-Siberian express: now there's an idea!
Invited out at 10:15 on Friday night: I'm already in bed
Swimming pool at 7:30am: it's dark when I go in and light when I come out
K and Alicia serve champagne: I drink with moderation
Gil Scott Heron, 'Inner City Blues': make me wanna holler sometimes
Blandine phones: she got my card; she's married to an airplane mechanic now; I feel old and sad, and happy
Red House Painters, 'Japanese to English': Mark Kozelek wrote a song about me and Atsuko eleven years before we met
House of Flying Daggers: I won't forget the bamboo and I won't forget the snow; I can't forget Zhang Yiyi
Hans wants to finalise the birthday arrangements: 500 behind the bar, mostly his
'Conspiracy, secret societies and the origins of community in the Collge de Sociologie': 4000 words in 9 and a half hours; why is salle P so fucking noisy? And why does that blonde girl in the blue top keep coming over to check her e-mail?
Tango for the tourists in metro Saint-Michel: for midgets only
Falafel alone by the Seine: it's not 1998 anymore
Die dritte Generation: despite the lessons learned from Godard, despite the queer credentials and despite the monumental Germanness, Fassbinder and I don't seem to be able to 'get on'...
Michel Leiris, L'Afrique fantme, 18 dcembre [date de mon anniversaire], 1931: 'Etre loin d'une femme et vivre dans l'absente, qui est dissoute et comme vanouie, n'existe plus en tant que corps spar, mais est devenue l'espace, la fantmatique carcasse travers laquelle on se dplace.'
Dream an episode of Monarch of the Glen: bagpipe japes and militant smokers
Trying to quit smoking again: eating too much
Despite endless swimming, I still have a gut and my skin problems appear to be coming back: why - do I - fucking - bother?
I thought I had temporarily arrested the slow and depressing disintegration of my body: I was wrong
Riddle me this, riddle me that: why am I such a fucking twat?
Tall gay ginger dandy in the metro: no, it wasn't me
I had nightmares about it for six years: then it really happens
Swimming pool at 5pm: it's light when I go in and dark when I come out
My own biceps surprise me in the reflective surface of the changing cubicle: maybe it's worth it after all
Ed Harcourt: 'I need to build a wall around me/But I want to smile with everybody/Would you say that is possessive of me?'
Thai restaurant in Belleville with Jean-Sbastien: we talk about cinema all night, like only true obsessives can
Washday for bed linen: a light snowstorm of white cotton particles falls on my carpet
'Forgive yourself, Dr Reynolds: for whatever it was that closed your heart' ( - Michael Cimino, The Sunchaser)
Royal Opra Caf: wherein, after two glasses of Brouilly, K and I discover that deconstruction and number theory are essentially proving the same point
Le Grand Colbert: filets de hareng, escalope de saumon, crumble de pommes, Sancerre de rve
'Heidegaard': a drunk and emotional K invents the two-headed monster of modern Germanic philosophy
Edgar Allan Poe (via Lou Reed): 'I have soiled myself with my designs, I am ashamed of my brain'
Lou Reed + hangover = black motes of soot dancing slowly in a cold beam of light.
Nick Cave: 'It's a wonderful life, if you can find it'
Barbara has chronic fatigue syndrome: I take flowers and Beaujolais Nouveau
Lesbian kiss on the metro: I smile inside
I'm sick of the cold and the crowds and the noise: I won't be back in January
A conference on the trans-Siberian express: now there's an idea!
Invited out at 10:15 on Friday night: I'm already in bed
Swimming pool at 7:30am: it's dark when I go in and light when I come out
K and Alicia serve champagne: I drink with moderation
Gil Scott Heron, 'Inner City Blues': make me wanna holler sometimes
Blandine phones: she got my card; she's married to an airplane mechanic now; I feel old and sad, and happy
Red House Painters, 'Japanese to English': Mark Kozelek wrote a song about me and Atsuko eleven years before we met
House of Flying Daggers: I won't forget the bamboo and I won't forget the snow; I can't forget Zhang Yiyi
Hans wants to finalise the birthday arrangements: 500 behind the bar, mostly his
'Conspiracy, secret societies and the origins of community in the Collge de Sociologie': 4000 words in 9 and a half hours; why is salle P so fucking noisy? And why does that blonde girl in the blue top keep coming over to check her e-mail?
Tango for the tourists in metro Saint-Michel: for midgets only
Falafel alone by the Seine: it's not 1998 anymore
Die dritte Generation: despite the lessons learned from Godard, despite the queer credentials and despite the monumental Germanness, Fassbinder and I don't seem to be able to 'get on'...
Michel Leiris, L'Afrique fantme, 18 dcembre [date de mon anniversaire], 1931: 'Etre loin d'une femme et vivre dans l'absente, qui est dissoute et comme vanouie, n'existe plus en tant que corps spar, mais est devenue l'espace, la fantmatique carcasse travers laquelle on se dplace.'
Dream an episode of Monarch of the Glen: bagpipe japes and militant smokers
Trying to quit smoking again: eating too much
Despite endless swimming, I still have a gut and my skin problems appear to be coming back: why - do I - fucking - bother?
I thought I had temporarily arrested the slow and depressing disintegration of my body: I was wrong
Riddle me this, riddle me that: why am I such a fucking twat?
Tall gay ginger dandy in the metro: no, it wasn't me
I had nightmares about it for six years: then it really happens
Swimming pool at 5pm: it's light when I go in and dark when I come out
My own biceps surprise me in the reflective surface of the changing cubicle: maybe it's worth it after all
Ed Harcourt: 'I need to build a wall around me/But I want to smile with everybody/Would you say that is possessive of me?'
Thai restaurant in Belleville with Jean-Sbastien: we talk about cinema all night, like only true obsessives can
Washday for bed linen: a light snowstorm of white cotton particles falls on my carpet
'Forgive yourself, Dr Reynolds: for whatever it was that closed your heart' ( - Michael Cimino, The Sunchaser)
Royal Opra Caf: wherein, after two glasses of Brouilly, K and I discover that deconstruction and number theory are essentially proving the same point
Le Grand Colbert: filets de hareng, escalope de saumon, crumble de pommes, Sancerre de rve
'Heidegaard': a drunk and emotional K invents the two-headed monster of modern Germanic philosophy
Edgar Allan Poe (via Lou Reed): 'I have soiled myself with my designs, I am ashamed of my brain'
Lou Reed + hangover = black motes of soot dancing slowly in a cold beam of light.
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And yet, I stay in the Now, on this one page. Nuzzling like a faithful feline, purring.
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