Mike Pfau

Valise 2004

 VALISE (unedited)

par Mike Pfau

 

Its first hard for me to explain what I'm running from before explaining why.

Watch for consistency of tone in chapters.

Use all first person narration i character on 

Consider POV and tense. 

Wait until all the worlds cultures mix to form a global culture, with a dominant race...

 

After not smoking for a year I smoked one cigarette over a period of three days, this is the memories and emotions it brought back. It's as if all my Europe memories where rolled up in a single tightly rolled bunch of tobacco. It a romantic story of finding myself. Explain exactly what happend and try a describe what you were feeling and realised while doing it, this is your story. Only now two years later can I fully understand the impact this trip has had on my life and my way of thinking. I hope you connect with my experiences in some way, preferably a way to make you savour and enjoy ever moment you experience in this planet. Describe our generation, lay it out there for the past and future. Try and understand european culture. Go to library every day and write you story it'll help you understand yourself and the world. So often people forget how they became who they are, this way I will never forget.

Today you are some brilliant physicist mathematician, the kind the space program calls in to set-up gravitational drop-off functions. One day, walking a park on the champs, stoned, your listening to children's feet dancing to a an old man fiddling a Vivaldi tune

The human mind gets ahead of human nature.

It was nice to be somewhere warm were my limbs were not numb and cold. All i could think about was that I just wanted to be holding Charlotte. I was sleeping on the ground in wet cloths in a tent off the map in a dark French countryside. Occasionally the roof of the tent would light up from the heavy storm moving south, otherwise it was a lonely black wanting so bad to be grey, the faint edges of the tent caught the blue and purple pastels of moon light. My socks. I missed companionship, being needed, I need to care for someone, lying here makes me think of camping with my dad.

I just dated her to tide me over until you broke up with him, the regrette of not taking my chance is so unbearable but to some our love could not be forgiven.

Create and create and create but then organize.

So this cat jumps onto my key pad, moves around a bit and then jumps off. Can you infer the scenario by the following phrase. Think about time direction and paw location {

 jnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnln;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;kkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk.

    ````````````````                                                                                                                                                                                                   )

 And my family. These were my first feelings of homesickness. This door at my home in SB you had to lock to close the door, handle was so rusty

Like a boat getting struck by lightning about at the top of a mid ocean squall, the old sailor man tells us.

Societies grow in their different geographical locations at different rates, until they eventually become top heavy and collapse with in themselves, starting a new seed of diversity. The Romans, major civilizations, pop culture is so different than it was 400 years ago but always advancing.

 

I carry a womens hair bracelet around my wrist, just incase I need a cup of joe, no I understand the thing about coffee, it a high , and people need it. Conform a mr. coffee filter to the throat of the bottle and then I wrap the band aroun the neck of a cylendrical neck of achargers cup and

 

gangstar mofia, like we look at american society in the 1920's with mafia's and gansters running about, it like today with

teens 

taco bell

mazes

 

humans are really good at identifying patterns, that why there is variance in life, i went to a party as saucy, tricky, and dodgy as a brit get together., patterns routines 

 

we walked everywhere,

 above the clouds looking down I couldn't help to think that this is were dead lovers dance,  

i sat there on some dirty carpet steps writing my first entries to my travels, those feelings will always stay with me even if i cant put them into words.

 the lights go out at the little frch house in the wood at the same time as we walk up.

 

as i was finishing telling them the story, I kinda hoped they couldnt relate to whati was talking about, if everyone thoughts were like mine i don't know what state the world be in.  

 

waiting in the rain at the louvre for colie, holding his shirt over his face

 

being under the louvre such a beautiful sight, tangirine lamps lighting the sheer classic gaudiness that is french pride. 

 

picking colies shirt out from everyone on the metro really bizzare

 

i dropped the finished cigarette on to a gutter grate, stomped on it and watched the ember fall into the darkness, and heard the sizzle of them being extinguishedin the water below.

 

the old blind french bum, we though was bleeding from the mouth, it was actually a pool of red wine and vomit, he ranted of french socialism while yasin lit his cigarette for him.

 

a sparkle of black paint looks like a spider in the window, i just couldn't get myself to draw i just didn't have it. So I strummed a few chords on a classical nylon six string but could find anything interesting. So I sat down to write a story, listening to a paul simon record. It just started flowing.

"If a certain expression does not feel natural don't force it, channel it somewhere else. Sometime we are in certain modes, luckily i have a vast amount of hobbies to fill each mode"

Cat, Cat, with your arched back.

where do you stretch out your claws.

shit i've been smoking for a while now, I'm starting to doubt that i'll stop, five years could go by like this and I wouldn't ever know it, i have to catch myself before i run out of time. Smoking doesn't change me, I can control me. It's all still gonna be there. 

Sometimes I scare myself when I drive, i barley have to think to get from point A to point B, it has become too comfortable too detached.

 

 you use a spoon to stir a boiling pot of pasta instead of burning your hands, you use tool to do unpleasant jobs. I use people that way I use people to do thing or make me feel a certain way, i think we all do really, this harsh reality hit us full speed and the only way to cope is narcotics, like the living credit system they fulfill your needs instantaneously, can be over used, and must be paid off, and worst of all your are someones money making tool. wrap that up and put it under the tree, or take it to the kitchen.

 

he told me of how he was so sure that this girl was right for him but they broke up and he saw her a year later and couldn't see himself with her. He told me how at that moment he fell so unsure of his judgement as a whole, he had actually been in love with this girl, and now he couldn't find it in him even if he tried, it just goes to show how subtly unpredictable people are nothing in life 50-50, black and white, or even multi-colored. It was his theory of what he called internal perspectives.

 

i keep getting this nagging feeling that im gonna die sooner than everyone else, I wanna live so much but have so little time.

 

My bottom left eyelid, in the corner closest to my ear started to twitch. it felt as if something were hangingthere and i had to get it off. The pressure to blink was unbearable, but I did not want to blink. I would give a little squinty blink and the whole cycle would start again.

 

your travels mean nothing unless you have someone to share them with

cig burns hole in carpet,bookshelf falls in marly le roi.

a warm evening settled into the gleaming parisian roof tops, classic characters start to dot the sap green teek furniture of the corner cafes and parks. I mumbled useless excitements, while yasins attention seem to be somewhat distant, preoccupied. Hamid meet us just outside a metro junction in the latin district. We where all there, colie, eric, yasin, hamid and myself. all we had todo now was find a restaurant we could eat at. After scaling the blvrd once or twice we finally decided on a inviting corner sparking with evening flare. The bright yellow trimmed restaurant had smooth pale yellow paneling. I forget the name but the title had something to with des moules, or mussels. We sat in the back of the restaurant half under a staircase. Restoraunt ambience is so bright and cheerful, full ringing pings and muffled interaction. I along with colie got the mussel in white wine sauce, johnson got a biere and hamid a glass of wine. I spent half my meal trying to convince yasins dad that we had a plan for the trip, but then again i didnt even convince myself. the red and white checkered napkins . we passed little baghdad again and left Monsieur ait by the macdo in front of _____park. Then the four of us walked back down alley way to end up in a little street and square all lit up. the bars were all inviting, glimmering with hundreds of little white lights and yasin and i decided to get a drink, eric and colie said they would wait outside, but then decided to make there way through the lively friday night crowd towards the nearest franprix. 

 

weird wedding ritual while drinking beer and limonade

 

 With in seconds of turningthe next corner. we happened to be drawn in by a garçon san habille lying slumped over in a puddle of red vomit. Resting on his filthy blue peacoat, his bald head was like a ship, rising and sinking to the tide of his shallow, heavy breathing. Passing by himhe raised his tiny arm and whispered out

"du feu"

yasin pulled out his little black bic lighter.

His blind eyes focused steady somewhere in his imagination almost staring slightly off into the skyline, he is almost hard to look at because his state is so hard to comprehend .

" he groans out some curses for the french well fare system and pulls a long drag out of his cigarette. 

two rasta kids walk by discussing how society and eras are influenced by apop drug. Alcohol, opium, weed in the 60 and Lsd in the 70's cocaine in the 80's, meth in the 2000s. it how the artistic community evolves. Drugs are a huge part of society, think about recreation and human tendency. think about the excess of evil, accumulating in each passing generation.

 

then i didn't know i was living my life to be told later on, i think thats the way it needs to be. Human ego cannot handle the temptation or pressure.

 

the record store shaped like a metro car at the tour de montparnasse, it was windy.

 

progress of technology

 

sitting next to the weird intelligent hippie kids on the plane, they were going to study at sussex, and oxford.

 

the evolution of a art form, exciting the senses, word-sound-paint- movies- whats the next progression of art.

will certain art forms ever die off and become obsolete, or will the new one incorporate the old ones? it has to its progression.

 

 

Simply just be an observer

 

the computer in making the individual more isolated, human interaction is slowly decreasing.

 

talk about evolution of math and how we could only know a fraction of the math puzzle. 

 

also talk about how the natural world is chaotic and math in how our brains work to interpretation our surroundings.

 

the blond girl on the double decker bus in london. I' am sitting on the ground outside outside some market in front of traflegar square, yasin and eric are getting paninis. As i am putting my passport in my backpack, i hear the scuffled swoops of high heals. i look up and my eyes caught soft smiles on thin pink summer dress curves. Her light walk passes me in the direction of the near by bus stop. what if i where to follow her and just introduce my self. I wonder how many things would change. I might just do it, if i don't try how will i know the outcome. I am knocked out of my introspective tangent by the hiss and putt of a double decker merging into a busy london interception, then rounding corners with my blond regret pink silk flapping through the traffic.

 

50 british school girls.

Looking at Eric's passport with russian and Norwegian stamps.

 

i know its been said before but i can guarantee this one is different i came from my pen, my life and not another so it is uniquely mine. As you get older life loses its romance and not the kind that is so strongly associated with love and relationships, romance and it in the intrigue the soft complexity that keeps us content and interested . The trouble with being a kid is you have to make assumption on how growing up will be as like all assumptions end, they disappoint, you had a foreign familiarity before you even reached it and then your there and it uncomfortable and a lot less that you hoped, anything to get your mind of thinking like this.  

 

chaos wants to travel the shortest distance to where it needs to go. it all shared a finite amount of something and everything that progresses giving and taking some of this thing.  for example survival of the fittest. there is structure in chaos! and oxymoron proof in it self that chaos is structured, why? we are isolating ourselves, confining to only understandings we are acquainted not thinking that the world might have so many understandings that it becomes misunderstood.

 

i used to be afraid of complete silence, i would panic, i was alone. 

this went on until i devised a way to the erradication sound. i would steal music from the population, tonal theory will thus be eradicated. i will start a new system, if children are exposed to them young they will like the sounds.

 

showers where so nice , something to look forward to water and it life and cleansing ability.

 

it would be cool to experience music uncontaminated, like a blank white canvas open for interpretation. Every thing is technically in time, but the high minds can enjoy the complexity of the sounds, to know nothing about music.

 

how would it feel to know nothing about music, never heard it before, nothing, and then one day your where given a piano, how do you think music would evolvefor that person and the isolated(they know nothing of music as well) community he lived in you think. the problem with going from no music to a piano is the gap of human thought that had to go in to it. would the evolution of thought that takes place change musical systems, would different things sound better, do different timings sound better, if we are conditioned on it young it would become normal for us as adults. would the mind repeat its aural love for simple ratios, or would it find more complex ratios to make for (to our ears) bizarre sounds.

continuos sitar 

 

think of how people will think of the time right now and the early 2000's like we refer to the early 1900's, like how latin, roman and greek seeds for modern languages, englishwill be a spawn of a new set of languages in the future,

 

i love to think how pompous our culture and society is today. we this we are progress, people forget though that we always have been progressing, but progressing towards what, this is no end and be all we will always just keep progressing. Progression towards Progression, life is pointless. your personality is not a spirit, its chaos acting on the formation of your brain cells therefore starting a chain reaction some people like to call life and experiences. when you die you just return to the great whole to be chaotic yet ordered out in some random fashion. you have no recollection of memories. Is increasing complexity being mistaken for intelligence?

 

set in futuristic france, worlds leading brains try and cracka mathematic equation that when solved renders mathematics unworkable.

 

you solve problems as confusing as a cat on a windy day.

 

how awesome are verb tenses, its the time variable in speech along with emotion, diction,  and visual

 

    I light up a cigarette. This will be my first grit in years.  Grey billows of chalky smoke pour out my lips and around my chin, it takes me back to london 2004. The belly of the pale blue steel bunk bed frame looked like an Ed Inks sculpture.the word TIPOLE was scratched on the bent cross bar cropping the top off of the white wall creating a snapshot of a dream suspended in reality. A sharpie sketch of long slow lines rounded the form of a magic mushroom and its colorful cross legged guru was floating amongst mistakes of brown fingerprints and textured scuffs. Half slumped up behind me was a musty old hostel pillow, early warm sunlight stabbed through heavy slabs of excited air. London was loud almost enough to ignite the air. A thick purple dust from the velvet curtains covered the base of some old dirty glass window and a chapped wooded pane. Beyond the dripping sheets of glass is Leinster way. 

    Heir soir I had been operating in a state of delirium,  so i had looked forward to getting some good sleep after that eleven hour flight. I was still damp from a afternoon shower that tried to block out the trivial details of life as we sped down a wet British freeway.  A pissy old toilet after several attempts decides to finally accept heir soirs delinquency, and then a saggy old mattress moans while I tie the laces to a pair of light blue nike dunks.  Skinny doors, and even skinnier corridors lead to the reception area. I check my video camera and laptop with the clerk behind the desk. behind me harsh noise is screaming out of an electric straton the sluggish brown couch. Kenji an immigrant from thai land adjust his studded belt. His wallet chain kept getting caught on the broad felt button fitted atop the couch cushions. 

    The inviting orange pink walls of the dining room were just big enough for a pastel green door next to another old window. A TV set above the door blared out the latest football scores, the picture was muffled by a cloud of smoke hanging from the ceiling like toy planets and stars. Several complicated patterns diced the linolieum floors tiles into beautiful works of modern art. I put a spliff out in an expired bowl of cereal, the black ashes float in a soggy mess. Il etait l'heure I proceeded to my appointment over in Kensington park.

    Outside a buzz of cheery brits were walking there dogs and making the mornings errands. A bustle of blond girls were singing conversations In Norwegian. Making our ways around the crowd and passenger vans, the only things we could understand were there heavy laughs and passing exclamations. After a few crowded blocks of ghetto trimmed white residential buildings we happened on to busy Queensway, once there we decided to look for something to eat.  Lines of people snaked and smoldered along the sidewalks, and homeless men were sleep in little doorways to abandone buildings. Finally we found the cambino de change, i changed out 100 american for 50 british pounds. Now the we had currency yasin eric and I choose a subway to eat at . 

 

1234.5kmstarsmoonbigdippermikpfaumediocre off clap

 

subway5

john from french class.

weird coke dealer.

London was loud enough to ignite to ignite the air, while lines snaked and smoldered.

supermarket

 

 

I come back and go into the internet cafe to see if I can contact some old friends from home.

 

drinking and smoking in the london waterloo station watching pigeons fly through the huge bright ceiling, white steel framework. mano chao

 

dust on the walls, written words

 

tube strike

 

cartwheels in front of royal procession. 

 

there was this favorite bench of mine in paris it was sandwiched between two books store and the sorbonne. my friend and i would usually play frisbee over the fountain. all little ways down the blvd san michel was an old building with tiny bullet holes in it.

 

hacky sack cite universaire.

 

stopping under the ocean on the Chunnel.

 

in the train station we, i am eating some olive bread, we almost miss our train and have to sit in the middle section of the train the whole way down. 

 

yasins ear infection, cigarette wine pizza walks around paris with eric.

no cares in the world, i was the most vulnerable i had ever been and was the most comfortable as well.

 

smoke with linsey, bathroomat soccer bar

 

At the top of the champs Elysse there was a little market selling fresh fruit and vegetables, I had a smoked salmon panini and saw a room for rent above a cafe, it was a single room with a kitchen, 400 euros a month.  I wanted move in there that moment , i just wanted to just get away severe all my attachment and relationships. I felt that one day they would let me down so what is the use of becoming use to them.  

 

a old black store clerk trys to sell me a suit, i ask him how man girls i will get if i buy the suit, he say how ever many i want , i say 20 and lose interest in the conversation.

 

I ran into and old french lady on the side walk, she had a lazy eye,  i need to find a franprix so i could buy some beer, she didn't understand me, tatoir

 

tire buchone

 

pomme de pain

 

colie, joe stride, taymoor

 

trying to tune the guitar near the the pigeons. 

 

the studio in marly le roi, rain the market, yasins childhood, his old house, the school he throw a rock thought

sitting the window sill for hours and hours just watching the weather change and people live there lives. wine pasta guitar sleep cigarettes and hash.

 

.

 

the rave in poitiers

some old american tune remixed to a house beat played as the taxi cab dizzily spun in a road about just outside or versaille. 

 

thepizzaria where i watched the greek portugal euro cup, 

 

the awkward skater girl julia.

 

my smoking jacket, given to me as a gift by this girl i was way attached to in high school, i fucked over my best friend, never got a gift like that before.

I wonder how different my life would be if I had chosen to go to SF state when i get back.

 

This morning I awoke to rain. I love the rain here, i am amazed by its discretion.

Its as if the world is a collection of black and white divisions, and when wet the colors bleed and wash from the parched contrast to create a splendor seldom enjoy by anyone but dreamers.

 

the wind was picking up i had to cup my hand to light the end of my cigarette, it felt like a storm was building up, there was a certain amount of tension in the air, it made everything buzz, then it all stopped and everything was quiet, that when i felt a drop of rain on the top of my hand. the afternoon storm had started. I sipped on a glass of cheap wine we had bought at grand jury and smoked a camel turkish lite. outside the window, my little portal to the world, was a lady across the streeton the third story, taking in laundry she had hung out to dry. she was yelling commands into the house at someone, her voice was slowly replaced with the precise sound of an RER train coming backfrom the 5 zone. you see marly le roi was at the edge of the 4 RER zone, living out there made you view paris completely different, you could see the popular skyline unfold itself in front of you on the way into the city, the eiffle tower letting you know where you were in the huge world. the train would pull through long veins of track side by side, passing old brick walls tagged with beautiful french graffiti, until you where in the heart of paris an living breathing city all it own. even the graffiti seemed different, more artistic than defacing, or maybe that just because i do not understand french slang very well.

 

talk about the metro, 

 

I once had a teacher that told me, "if i were to paint a violent picture, i were to use a feather, and for a quiet picture to use a knife. "Then" he said "you have two extremes, both with endless possibility in between. 

 

taking showers with a hose, and the warm french air.

 

the errie night bike rides in past the l'eglise de luxey. walking back blistering feet, nice french girl gives use a ride in her blue peugot.

 

the thunder storm walk to aurores house, with martin, the little family in the woods and the cats that followed us.

 

showing up in luxey without a key sitting in a phone booth hackie sacking arock. bike flat tires. 

 

cooking sardines over an brick fire pit.

 

hanging out at night at the picnic tables 

 

random adventure to dead old skeletons of concrete power lines, i was completely alone, the most alone I had ever been, no one i knew could find me. 

 

only farm house in the middle of the pines and ivy, i hear the french air force jet fighters fly over head and felt the rumble of bombs in the distance. target practice.

 

looking around in hamids room was was humbling there sat a youthful hamid in a algerian army uniform , and there another 

 

listening to geroge brassens and 

 

bike ride to roquefort, Voiture! charlottes asthma

 

blind drunk bastille day, so dark put human skill in dire situations to the test.

 

i fit in better there

 

in and out local hang out, ate here as kids meet her a young adults, respira. seeing colie at in and out.

 

 

i sip on some chai while eating bread switching between nutella or lavender honey and coifiture

 

duck, pepper pasta mashed potatoes, is this death!

 

i like train stations the voice on the intercom comforts me sometime a faceless soul caring about the details for me. so times i'll just walk by as a train is coming in, just in chance that i might find someone interesting to talk to, traveling people are interesting.

 

happiness is directly realted to how much you want out of life.

 

i love airports, the blue gren lights on the runs ways, SF airport and the cool textures in the mud under the water right before the landing strip (swirls, the translucent rainbows cast life into the delicate mud swirl a few hundred feet below me/

 

anytime we could yasin and i would take the trash out, it was our smoke breaks, we would have the best conversation over a cigarette or two.  Smoking was hurting us and yet i was our choice to make, this was freedom, the human decision, yes-no, vrai, faux, positive negative. each decision only has two ways to go don't mistake this for simplicity, because many decisions and be made as fast as need, 100, 1000, 10000 in a second if we need to , we do it every day, its called life, but still a single decision can only go two ways.(have two outcomes) or infinte kinda like a tree diagram two branches get two branches a pieces and so on and so forth

 

pasties Ricard

 

how auruoe fanny and charlotte were so content just dancing to the french farm music in sore. 

 

kayaking, sitting alone with charlotte under the low lying branches just slowly drifting alone. i thought to myself this is how i want life to be, next to charlotte slowly drifting along.

 

dancing is amazing the eloquence of human form mimicing intangible sounds, what an awesome visual representation of sound, it really expresses and decodes the human mentality. 

 

the masses of dancing people in the clubs in mont de marsan, i met or rather saw charlottes boy friend, the cattle head, spanish bask music.

i am meet charlottes mom she bised me and told me I was very cute american boy, the alley way was the most romantic spot in all the world, red satin stone walls washed over by gold lamps sit comfotably under a an inky french sky. 

 

the best kiss are the little goodbye kiss charlotte gave me, so much meaning was packed into such a small kiss, if i were to rewrite the definition of sincerity and love it would be the way she kissed me before I got on the bus the last time i saw her. our realationship is weird, it cannot work yet i still think it might. i am fickle.

 

luncese it was the first time i kissed another man on the check besides my father. he was truly concerned for me. he did want me to do any physical labor. he drank coffee and smoked for 15 years he had to get surgery just like me. we were on the same page. get the laundry before the storm comes in.

 

i wanted to finish putting in the pillars of our bridge so bad. the sky started muting out light and color assharp rain drop fell. i sat there hunched over try to get the dirt around the base.

 

panic attackes fear of death, heart surgury depression, never felt like myself, tried to write music but could not.

 

the tunisian couple a strong woman and man, a mother of all mother.

 

it was raining again, and i decided to take a walk , put on my coat, found my umbrella, and headed out. I nervously crosses the street onto the sidewalk in front of the brown halfway home once across the street, i headed around the corner onto french street, i called it this because everytime i walked this narrow street I am reminded of the bright afternoon strolls in the east end of paris. Suddenly jolted out of my reflections a soggy pack of parliment lights sat there on the dark pavement next to this pale pink sheet metal silo in front of me, i bent down, picked it up and flipped the carton open. There were three dry cigarettes. Now i had half the mind to throw them to the side and keep going but something inside of me had forgotten the the regrette i fell when after smoking one. So i stashed them in my sweat jacket pocket and keep walking.

    As i was crossing anacapa street I could help but feeling like the world was so omnious and impeeding and the library was my retreat from this huge uncomfort.  I gradually adjusted to the buzz of traffic. I felt in front of victor florist. I happened across a girl with the same headphones. anda cop.

 

when i write i have to find something in that subject that I need to write about, then it easy. Everything has so many tangent just find one you love. There are concrete ideas and the there is the way they are viewed. 

 

Once in the libray i search for a place far away from everyone else. I finally sat down by the steps. I started to read a book, halfway through the secound page through muffled headphones, I heard a woman steps scuff and thuds, but as she went up the stair and got closer the scuffs and thuds meshed into the snaps and booms of a bass and kick drum.

Smelly lady from work pulls chair away.

 

i think the less fresh weed is when you smoke it is realted to how up you fell during the high, an old tired bud , make an old

 

another two weeks will come along and ill forget why i quit

 

root system poster.

 

cercle, meet all of them bastille day 2004 in front of the public restrooms behind le cercle,

 

bastille day picnic, wine, music, cigarettes, 3 bottles. incense, whisky and water.

 

i was kinda attracted to maja, 

 

its all about human interaction.

 

charlotte sword fighting, she was to teach me her form and stuck, holding our imaginary swords she stood ready and in form , moved quick and stuck her beautiful sword into my heart. I loved her from that point on.

 

 

the two british kids on he sidewalk ran back to the group yelling, hear comes the scuffers

this is where i try and describe love.

 

get the laundry before the winds blows it across the yard

 

lunece, family and friend dinner. out side 

 

 

i want to find someone I love and start a family it seems like a point to life, it'll will also keep me from circling down a negative tornado. i cannot be dependent on it thou because that will set me up for disappointment because nothing goes the way its planned.

 

i remember when i was a little kid my dad came home from work sick work one day, he collapsed on the bed and slept for two days straight, he worked so hard for his family and still does. the whole reason i on this trip is because he funded it.

 

humans love cycles like my mom for example, she is so entrenched in her routine that she falls apart when it is altered. 

 

the old oak tree with cancer, another by product of progress thing our physical bodies are not yet ready to handle carcinogens. 

 

we are ruining our world. to see the future just look at the past.

 

reading book in the loft.

library, cooking magrit

 

 

yasin pulled the white peugot hatchback down the fire road, the sky was cloudy and the moquitos where out, the tree where green and vibrant it made the gloomy day enjoyable, here is where we would have our smoke break ( taking out the trash.)

(philosophical talk)

 

 

the bridge we built out of old logs, the dirt will eventually rot the base and the post will fall. 

 

 

cutting down trees, the selection, the act, the transportation, the de-branching and barking, then sawing 

 

watching the tour doing ether and playing a out of tune pianos. I

 

the king planted these pine trees.

 

smoking with yasin on the other side of the dilapitaed farm house under the trees. the rocks and stumps there where perfect benches it was very serene.

 

yasin crasch over a log here

 

the smooth smooth putter of the four stroke engine in duet next to the hisses of the cold night air rushing through my helmet. the dogs that were on the road 6 hours earlier we nowhere to be seen, i wondered if the had been found or were doomed to wander around the wilderness until they died. motorcycle back from sore. the cold wind, the first time ever riding a motorcycle, i was drunk, yasin was holding on behind me. we had to drop it of at catia house then walk the 2km back to yasin's house. we saw a little hedgehog and the moon was awesome. 

 

if i get high i need to focus on something artistic to keep my mind from wondering to bad places, anxiety runs in my family.

art calms me down.

 

people can do what ever as long as they don't interfere with other people lives.

 

the soggy end of a rolled cigarette collapses under my quivering lip, as my mouth pulls away little bit of shredded tobacco clings to it, and I have trouble removing them with my numb hands.

 

are we really in love for sex, and the more comfortable it is with the person the more you think you love them?

or is there a higher relationship involved, kinda like an addiction.

 

bus rides, drinking chopin on our way to mont de marsans. stopping in little french villages along the way, meningitis, french doctors anit-biotics, eric left we were worried for him, red piss. 

charlotte inviting me to go swimming a her house. 

 

i just get an uncomfortable itch that rolls up the back of my gut and numbs my extremities, shaking, i am high but don't have a cigarette. Its funny how i can mistake mild indigestion, for my heart ceasing to beat. i hate this nicotine addiction bullshit, you

 

Sarafina Journey of character.

Perry

Oscar

Macy

Heather

bones told me to think of 5/4 two sets of 3/4 minus a beat, or 4/4 and adding a note. He told me of one night he jumped into and pool and while under water he realized that smoking pot wasn't for him, he was the same person weed or not, it didn't make what he is. he says the guitar is infinite, in its music possibility, and adding a effects pedal multiplies it by so much more.

think about the pulse, note patterns to chords and strumming, practice slow and correct start to finish, over and over, consistency hour after hour, day after day, make it seamless, patterns at every level of music, just find them. i wanted to learn drums so i bought a pair sticks like JD. think of intervals in relation to each other, think of melodies that "work" and (rythm) flow. if the rythum in on you can play with weird melodies just make sure you get the accents on. think of music as chunks put together in time, write melodies is chunks. be able to move, be able to keep phantom time.

paint with sound color the way and artist uses a brush, see a picture in my head and draw it with sound.

 

teenage years makes a lot of questions answered later in life, it seems so strange you could not answer them in the moment . Always new question always new answers, 

 

some people are astonished by my actions and i just reply i put no restrictions on myself im open to all influences, i am a direct product of this society I live in. We both live in.

 

I rewarded myself with a eccelente pasta dish i invented one night in the kitchen,a pinch of brown sugar, sparkles under a sheen of olive oil and melted magarine, like dark monoliths erupting from the ocean, the olives begin to steam. I mesh them through the ragged little cooking fork , pressing them in mushy little olive fragments. I then squeezed in a couple swirls of chili paste. A tablespoon of pesto starts to loosen encircled in little browning mounds of diced garlic. I lick my thumb, all the flavors hit me at once, and all in all I was pleased.

 

 

some times i fell like i lose control of my mind, i' am afraid of following my mom path down the road of mental instability, the world we live in is only so fragile sometimes certain personalities cannot existwe the collective. 

 

 

this morning i woke up, four years into college hopping, attending a new city college each semester getting fucked up and wasted going to local hangouts. the thing is when rooted people, view a adolescent community they ..., its like a clutter before cleaning. We are rags, we get dipped in, pulled out saturated with things, and are slowly rung out for the rest of our life time. The streaking green and navy colors eat away at the char black italian sky, dicing colors through thick shadow. Outside a bushy short pine rippled in knotted shambles from the cold night breeze.

 

tonight was dark, and the rain was falling, i walked about five blocks before i saw a still shilouette under a canopy of chattering rain drops. each raindrop glistned with the street lamps and the head lights of the. the pull of water on wet pavement under car tires. with every foot step beads of rain would bounce down and rolls of the tip of her nose, i offered her a dry place under my parapluie, we walked and talked... a lady walked by gave a small smile and rehtorically asked us if we were staying dry. personality really comes out in clutch situations like the bum grabbing the pigeon, accidentially scuffing over the bird ladies bread crumbs she curses at us.

 

send me apicture to see if you changed.

 

hand rolling a cigarette on a the porch in a jacket three layers thick, watching the blacks changed into blues. I spit the acrid ashy taste out of my mouth Im so tired i need to go to bed.

 

downtown SB is void of busy day time chatter, i'm q 

 

 

describe the feeling of seeing napolean tomb for the first time, it a good setting

 

the morning I left the yellow sunlight had more white in it, it was a bright day almost as if luxey were bidding me a fond farewell. Yasins sister had made me a tomato and roquefort sandwich. passing through cities seeing old churches, and old french couples so used to there relaxed routines this was the way life was meant to be lived simple and happy. 

 

 i fell as if my thoughts were a fountain i can gather most of the water in my basin, but sometimes water will escape me and splash outsideto drip down the my carved stone to the cement , where they are trampled on and lost.

 

i love getting lost in cities, there is such opportunity to get lost and find yourself viewing the world from many new perspectives, a crowded street, a lonely ally way.

 

I keep getting this dream of myself holding the woman i love walking down an empty a street in a light snow storm, i could care less that its freezing and neither of us is talking because, we are just feeling each other, enjoying the company, in a world and reality where we are so alone, love fills a necessity, a desire to be cared for, we need each other. You know the saying if you where the last man alive, what would you do, i'd tell you what you'd do you would go insane, no human contact would destroy your concept of society as we knew, and it would make one face and solve the question to what is the purpose of life. love and love, the first is love incorporating like, unconditional , round , . then there is love with lust, confusing and intense. love is false, you cannot live a life for two as one, then human is an individual, we are built an individual, we do have many levels but at the basis of humanity is the individual. love cannot be explained because it cannot exist it hits walls in our logical thinking, we are individuals. love is like complex numbers, they exist but only because of there necesitity, if they were not need then they would not exist.

 

outside gare du nord, i left paris where i found it. talked to a kid about american politics he though i had hash but i gave him a rolled drum instead. i started to hum a ben harper song, while buying two packs of rolling tobacco to bring back the states for yasin.

 

guard with machine guns and little beries hats, yasin told me if your in the french army for two years you get french citizenship, 911 terrorist.

eastern philo versuswestern philo.

 

my sentimental attactment to objects, almost compulsive.

talk of capitalism and how it is destroying morality.

 

futurescope 8p-12a-6a-10a-8p-10p-10p sleep cycle, blackhaired french druggie rolls a spliff on the floor of exit ramp,yasin and I are about to pass outon the floor, french paramedics keep asking me if i am Ok, i feel fine, i get up crack the door and piss outside, a red pink sunrise through fogged windows, williams wired, french porn,  nyquils passing out dying20 hour sleep wake up for 2 then sleep again.

 

i like smoking it makes me fell intelligent, it so calming 

i have never been good with money, part form watching my mom learning by example.

 

 

philosophy is more real that anything else we know, it has no boundries there fore it approaches the complexity of reality, also it is just an extension of human though which in it self is infinitely variable therefore approaches reality's ability to be chaotically predictable.

 

with smoking hash i am afraid of becoming another person, changing so much that i dont even recognized my self, but the i know that anything i do is utimately my 

decision. I dont wanna burn-out. I dont wanna be one of those guys thats to lazy to live life, and just sit around to watch the bills pill up. 

 

I could see myself a couple of years from now wanting to be something more, but held back by personal limitations. I could see my life quickly passing away in front of me caught in a constant cycle of saying and not doing. Meaning well but unable break pockets of reoccuring temptation therefore forfeiting my healthy anxiety for a soft mind and quick easy passage. In conversation I would use words like, "almost" and "just enough" to show my understated ethusiasm for letting (my) life live itself for you.

 

 

 

wandering around london smelling like body odor, over my, inside out army green t-shirt, a black Fila jogger fit snug under a fleece lined cordiroy jacket. My backpack bulged with inanimate stoaways, and my little black duffle bag sagged at my hip. 

 

almost did not get my chunnel ticket.

 

trying to find my dads hotel, it was so nice to see him. I drank a glass of port with him. it was weird, i had never been drunk with my dad before, it put him on the same level as me, it weird because you always hold your parents as being perfect but there not, and it weird we you realize that.

 

eating indian food, having panic attacks so glad my dad was there to comfort me.

 

mani critiques my video as if i had an oscar in mind, i just want to tell him "it not about an oscar it about the memories, not the award but the nomenation but he couldn't understand that. 

 

the girl from kuwait, picture, im on a picture somewhere in kuwait just because i was a blond kid from california, man if the world could only see the real california, it is so fake.

 

 

 

early dismal london, A2 bus to the airport, finally Picadilly circus,  trying to find my way back to the airport

 

i do not understand why terrorist do what they do, i enjoyed my time there in london, and to see people dying on the same line i was on was unreal( watching the news at colies house before there road trip.

 

i got chosen to be searchedbefore boarding the plane.

greenland, upper canada, nobody was there to pick me up from the airport, they forgot i was getting back

 

being above the clouds looking out seeing nothing, blank white, flat blue, how nothing mattered, nothing didn't matter?

 

good to see mom jenny, sara, tia.

 

I'd try and go to bed but i kept getting this nagging fear that I wouldn't wake up in the mornings, i had to exhaust myself to fall asleep. Finally after a month of sleepless nights i realized that everytime I thought i wasn't going to wake up I did ad i had nothing to worry about. 

 

i am addicted i need to be in that society to be happy.

 

I think i left happiness when i got back on the plane back to american and its glutony, its fakeness, i was glad to see my family and friends but i was forever changed, forever over denying to myself that i was only human.

when i found out chase arnetet died in a car accident snapped me back into reality, life is .

quitting smoking was just a challenge to keep me occupied in america the boring. america is so weird because it is so young compared to the res of the world , we are stupid teenagers and the rest are wise elders/

 

if i died today the preceding is what i want the world to know about me.

 

it funny cause i keep talkng abot the fear of death and thats one of my reasons for writing this.