Tuesday, July 2nd, 2013
~I'm standing in the middle of yet another pedestrian walkway, listening to a 4-piece band made up of two violins and two accordions doing a cover of a classical song so well know I can't remember its name. A woman just came out of the church across the way and asked them to move because they were too loud. They moved, and barely started up again before three absurdly attractive policewoman (a disproportionately large amount of the female police officers I have seen have been very, very pretty. 4/5, atleast. Maybe it makes their job easier to be pretty, I donno, I don't want to judge, just making an observation) came over and got on their case. I guess accordion bands in the street are too french for the tourists.
~Several openly gay couples. Gotta love big cities.
~It's a battle of the loudspeakers here. I just passed five consecutive sets of massive setups, each one booming its own unique MC or humorously vulgar english song, one of which proclaimed loudly to an audience with more than it's fair share of kids that "I wanna fuck with you."
~I have come across an ascetic. He has written a note in pale white stones across a smoothed expanse of fine gravel. The message is obsucre, some has been blown over and left in disrepair. He sits, cross legged, smoking a hand rolled cigarette.
~A moulin of piled rocks stands four feet tall beside him, with a shorter, presumably incomplete sister next to her. Beside that is a crude shelter, just large enough for him to crawl up inside.
~A young man approaches and speaks words I cannot hear. The ascetic stretches out onhe long, bown leg, reachs into a pocket, and hands the young man a pouch. The young man unravells it, rolls himself a cigarette, and leaves.
~A time passes. The ascetic stands, holding three large stones. He turns, stretches his arms, and juggles. He is not skilled, but that doesn't appear to disturb him. A man behind me calls for his attention, and he stands still for a photograph.
~A time passes. He stands again and walks away. I stay behind, and let my attention wander. The beach is sparsely crowded...(I shortened this section into This Topless Beach)
~Behind me, the crowd continues to circulate. Nobody but me has stayed longer than a few minutes. They ask each other what it is, and tell each other its a poem, a song, in another language, gibberish.
In the distance I can hear the hum of generators and the boom of poorly mixed club music, out of place in the heavy afternoon sun. As I write this, a breeze picks up. Naturally.
~Slowly, passage by passage, I make out the bulk of the message. "The message of all religion is peace" reads one section. "Day after day now no present now past now peace erase the past." "Think about revolution." "The crisis disrupts poor people.""Norway the world is awaking. " "Humanity peace we trust." "Wars crime touch poor crisis no peace fuk you."
It occurs to me that either this 'ascetic' needs to relearn english, or he is simply cracked.
~I just watched a man, a woman, and a dog go by me. The man and the woman were riding on bikes. The dog, a medium sized mutt, was standing on the hunched over back of the man.
~They've been very stupid about this whole thing. Probably 8-10 km of packed beach, and the road next to it is on complete lockdown (for the Tour de France). Nobody gets across. Nobody. There's minimal shade to be had, and the race won't be over for hours yet. Between each flight is anywhere from 30 seconds to 5 minutes, which makes me wonder how this is a race. Timed? Who cares it's too hot to care. (I should clarify, I have nothing against biking, but I can't help but laugh at those sperm helmets they wear, Craig I'm looking at you. It seems to me that if they can wear gear scientifically tested to make them faster, and most of them are already using the first 40 years of their life to focus all their energy on something that will likely break their bodies and probably not be that useful to them once they are done, maybe a little juicing isn't totally unreasonable. It's like the olympics, people bust their asses day in and day out for years just to place 16th in an event that a vast majority of humanity probably doesn't care about. Can you imagine if the curling guys were allowed to juice?I'd watch the shit out of that. If we're gonna force these athletes to forgo preparing for a viable career, atleast we can give them the opportunity to literally become superhuman. All I'm saying. This wasn't well thought, so don't hate me please. I love you Craig, and gods know I have nothing but respect tinged with jealousy for you and your casual 25 miles jogs back from the tennis courts.)
Wednesday, July 3rd, 2013
~I got my hands on a free newspaper, and it looks like I'm in for an undending chain of festivals and events.
~I'm back to washing my clothes by hand, and it's giving me flashbacks of Africa. Ironically, they had a better setup out in the bush than I do in my apartment shower. There's a subtle cultural difference for you, though. Just moved in, and there is a washing bucket in the bathroom and a drying rack on the balconey. I've never handwashed my jeans before, I think it's draining the color.
"What cannot be thought with the mind, but that whereby the mind can think: Know that alone to be Brahman, the Spirit: and not what people here adore."
-Kena Upanishad
~Boiled the crap out of a bunch of potatoes, carrots, and broccoli, put some scrummy goat cheese on top, called it a stew, and gobbled it up. Still have most of it left, actually. Bloody laundry has taken all day to dry, and because I'm really smart, I washed both of my pants, so I have been stuck inside.
~Got myself pretty badly sunburnt yesterday (during my impromptu 8 mile walk to get around the impassable road). Head, forearms.
~I think I may have damaged my left metatarsal arch.
~(written on a main pedestrian walkway) I think maybe 1/3 of these people are wearing clothing that is wildly inappropriate for them and their body type. On the other end of the specturm, though, every so often somebody will walk by who is an absolute vision.
~These teeming hordes of humanity... I can feel my writer's soul swelling over with inspiration (how's that for conceited? i guess I got caught up in the moment). Each one a story, each story a lifetime, each lifetime a treasure. Would that I could say I thought they were all unique.
~It's remarkable how much one can discern from a single glance. Happy couples, angry couples, couples of convenience. Lonely men, single women, jungry hunters, and the hopelessly out of depth.
~This is the first eim I've lived in a city of consequence. I'd forgotten that. No offense, Columbia and Boone, but let's be serious.
~The Playmakers at Watauga did a sketch during Punchline of '09, I believe it was, with Ethan Woodring and some girl, maybe Jessica Presnell. Regardless of who was in it, it was poorly written and sloppily executed, as per usual for that august collection of thespians (I'm allowed to say that, I was one at one point), but the concept was intriguing. It concerned the idea that exists amongst the more attractive people of this world that, by dint of their being attractive, they must therefore only ever engage in relationships with people of an equally attractive nature. Physically speaking of course. Gods forbid I should open up the can of worms that is the mind of a self-affirming attractive person.
"I'm not going to rape her. I'm going to fuck her."
-Salvador San
~There does';t appear to be much middle ground. Either their clothes are tighter than their own skin, or loose enough to set sail with.
~It occurs to me that women will almost always be inherently more attractive than their partners. Nature of the beast.
~These guys are amazing. I think samba dancers would be hard to pressed to beat the fluidity some of these skaters have. (I asked one of them, a youngish lad of maybe 16, how many hours of practice, and he said about 4 hours a day for 8 months. He was amazing, he did things with inline skates that I still am not are actually possible.)
Thusrday, July 4th, 2013
Happy independence day.
~Went for a swim, water was cold, but imagine it's wonderful come the afternoon sun.
~I think my pseudo-stew has finally reached the end of its lifespan. Starting to taste a bit funky. Well, funkier.
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