i'm writing this in paris at an internet cafe...i'm doing fine. everyones great here...i think it's the fact that i don't try to speak english, but use instead my (minimal) french or my spanish...and the fact that i don't like americans much either...
so yeah, i'm doing ok, i guess. i don't really think about the last seven months that much (they're in a corner somewhere). it only comes out at night usually around two thirty or so when the coffee is wearing out and all.
i like spain more than paris - andalucia is fuçking beautiful. i mean sunburst in the morning over green moors, green (snowcapped) mountains in the back, vinyards and villas with treeeeeeees. i wrote a poem about it on the train:
if i don't die in the city
if i survive the metropolitan life
the heroin and fistfights
if i don't die in the city
i'll be laid to rest
by the family - the relatives - in their sunday best
the mommas will cry
and my brothers will light my last cigarette
speaking of vices, i've been descending into a vaguley hedonistic (if sadomasochism is yr thing) binge of alcohol and substances. i don't have anyone to watch myself for so i'm going back to my fuçk-it-all punk rocker phase...there was an episode in villarobledo (a small spanish village of 5,000 or so) of heavy metal mayhem where i was assimilated into the local music scene and temporarily joined a rock n roll band. i've found that marijuana increases my capacity for improv jamming. weed does odd things to me. being stoned feels like the moment after orgasm where you're aware of every little bit of yourself. i rather enjoy it. i've also developed a taste for liqour, rum especially. i still don't like getting drunk though. cigarettes. boy oh boy. it's really hard for me not to turn into a pack a day chain smoker. i like it a whole lot. and even with the minimal smoking i do, too (two in the last month).
with that in mind, don't worry about me. i can take care of myself. france, spain, western europe in general is a lot safer than the US.
not feeling anything has it's advantages. you know the story...so why do you want me to love you anyway? if the draft was instituted, i'd leave the country. it's not worth dying for.
friday i saw the Mars Volta. best show i've ever been to, topping the Deftones and the Arrivals.
i'm really enjoying being exposed to all these european exposed bands, too, like las planetas and Holly...
yeah! oh i'm so punk rock again. i got a cell so the parentals can track me when i'm kidnapped ad sold into slavery, so i'm allowed out now by myself. woo! i'd forgotten how much freedom rocks. people here are great, by the way. its nice to be in a civilized country.
i wrote a song, here are the lyrics:
she sang a song called fucking
wearing her fathers tie
a silver silken belt
between breasts so ripe
benjamin braddock
was stuttering away
in the corner
of my
eye
she sang a song called fucking
wearing her fathers tie
----------------
i do have a real smokers hack now (as opposed to my fake one. that was my sinuses). thats two joints for ya.
the weather here has been fucking beautiful. like, 80 and sunny. mmm. yesterday i went out and sunned my increadably sexy body on the champ du mars. i missed the sun.
i got almost as big a thrill hanging out in the rembrandt room at the louvre.
check out klezmer. jewish swing. good stuff. any of the jewish radio stuff from the 20s-40s is good stuff, too. i heard klezmer years ago at a party, and i started studying the theory behind it. its awesome stuff. think clarinet solos at 200 bpm. rawk.
ok. this is the end of this rather odd little message. the n key and the c key don't always work (plus it's a european keyboard) so i have to look for typos (yes i'm an obsessive compulsive freak).
ok. that's all for now.
