am in a foreign country for the first time since Isreal.
I am lagged and exhausted.
Fed and inspired.
Taken care of here.
I wish I had it in me to take off on a night stroll through these new streets.
But my eyes cross as I write this.
Some things on my mind are:
The French Appitite
And French Eye Contact
Thank you for every experience that has come between us
Us as brothers.
WHERE I IS
Photographic fruit tray
beside my sea urchin bed.
I pass the fruit de mer and go straight for the duck.
Is it French to eat slowly?
Is it American to eat quickly?
Is everything really more than we need?
At times I am the white minimalist
And others the swine.
I'm thinking about control issues as the waitress takes away my uneaten fries.
TO BE OPEN AND KIND AND STILL GET WHAT YOU NEED
I am self conscious about:
HOW I AM PRECEIVED BY OTHERS
MY ART WORK
WHAT I CONSUME
eye contact or lack there of
windows and the actions within
the way the city is organized
our habits while playing foreigner
is what can be found
in places of vulnerability
I know it belongs to me.
And how do I let go of the other?
void of emotions
laid emotions within
I can go nowhere to escape the insecurities
Security doesn't live outside of me
It's within these walls wherever they may be
ALWAYS SHOW THEIR HEAD AS MONSTERS
BUT WHAT IF THEY CAN BE MADE LIGHT?
OR EVEN FUNNY AND EASY?
Is that my age or the nature of the use of my time?
I am surrounded by support and love and creating beautiful things.
Learning exquisite lessons.
I feel through play as a child I am able to speak as an adult and that it's ok
I am ok
I can become vulnerable and there is strength
OH TOGETHERI went for a long run with Stephanie yesterday afternoon and remembered that more things bloom between myself and another when I can let them in. Or let me in. Or let me out.
We ran for an hour. We talked.
I ran slower for longer and my body felt very different afterwards than it usually does after a run.
It was strong but also light. As one of the pigeons swooping down for a small piece of the infitinite amount of bread in this country.
HORSEI ate horse.
Along with some great conversation.
It made me feel strong. Maybe the way one feels after eating buffalo. Or elephant. Or another man.
UHAs much as I love being here at a certain point I become anxious for home. For my routines and my privacy. My secrets and my vices to be indulged in alone. Without the eyes of others known or foreign.
It is always the future perfect version of me that I chase. I'm not sure if it's blindly anymore.
But with a snipper's percussion
What makes us forget that we are human?
What makes us forget that we are beautiful?
her hands stop shaking
and she can speak her mind
What has this place done to me?
Or was it the act of moving my body to here, around here and back again?
Or grow old and fat and not hate myself so much.
How do I get to them?
ON A PLANE
from Toulouse to Paris where I will get on another plane that will take me back to the motherland.
Everyone's persons are so exaggerated at this point:
He replies in an all knowing tone (but maybe he does actually know all)She seeks videos relentlessly, or something from within a magazine
as does he.
The other girls have their eyes closed
and I play the tour de control
and I'm ready for a break from this me
Toulouse was nice
Toulouse was winding
No one sees you like you do