I dedicate this post...

to the news.

Read it.
Qaddafi is dead.
If you don't know who that is, you've been living under a damn rock.

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/10/21/world/africa/libyan-fighters-say-qaddafi-stronghold-has-fallen.html?hp

http://english.aljazeera.net/news/africa/2011/09/20119493450743624.html?utm_content=automateplus&utm_campaign=Trial6&utm_source=SocialFlow&utm_term=tweets&utm_medium=MasterAccount

And if you find the time -- I recommend looking into the Occupy Wallstreet Movement. And who the potential Republican candidates are for the presidential election in 2012.

Politics. One of the only reasons I wish I was back home in the States instead of Paris. Someone have a debate with me, please.

you always...

know a band is good, if the bassist is good. fact.

familiar strangers

sometimes when i'm procrastinating (i.e. right now)...
i find myself reading other people's blogs. not my friend's or my cousin's.
just a stranger's.
it's interesting -- to read a thought in progress.
because isn't that what we all are?

google. random articles. links.
usually, i just stumble upon them.
or sometimes, i click from one facebook page to another, until i find a random stranger's livejournal, tumblr, blogspot. a friend of a friend of a friend of someone's mother's daughter's son in law's twice removed cousin.

by the time, i find one i like -- i've completely forgotten the process as to how i got there. like getting lost, and finding the perfect reading spot. i imagine, it's a bit like blacking out and waking up somewhere comfortable the next morning. not that i would know, as i've yet to black out...

i don't know how i've found some of my favorite blogs. i just know -- i was meant to find them.

i actually have a list of ten blogs that i've bookmarked... that i sift through, periodically, randomly, once in a blue moon, everyday, quotidienne...for inspiration. because of curiosity. because i need a break -- from my life, from yours, from something comfortable. because i like to romanticize.

and i find myself wondering. what would it be like? to sit down and meet any one of them.
a familiar stranger.

currently, i've found myself perusing through one particular blog -- mainly because he's kept it for the last five or six years. there's so much to explore. it's still a mystery. it's still novel. sifting through. i don't claim to know him because of words or phrases. i just have snapshots. i don't know who he is -- nor do i want to know. i simply love his thoughts. his entries serve as a companion of sorts. a penpal? i imagine i know him as well as i would know someone from another lifetime -- reincarnation, if you believe in that type of stuff. because... what i have is just a collection of emotions that have been evoked, memories that have been stirred, experiences from not my own life -- but from his. experienced vicariously through images made of words. do you understand what i mean?

i take my time choosing a post each day -- an arbitrary process -- an autobiographical process. choosing dates that have some relevance to me. other times... i just keep clicking, from one post to another.

and i imagine. a face. any face. would i like his thoughts more in person? i wonder. if i were to ever reach out and invite this face to coffee -- what would happen? in a random city in some other country. i'd probably be disappointed. once i meet him, what if i couldn't view his thoughts in the same way anymore? a tragedy. a comedy. i'd be upset. or would i be pleasantly surprised? who knows. perhaps i'll never know.

to add onto my 100 things to do before i die list -- meet a random stranger, whose thoughts i already am familiar with.

this post will not be edited.

writer's block

i admit.

sometimes i think putting on my glasses will help me write better.
or a cigarette.
or damien rice.

i'm trying all three right now.

nope, still nothing.

fml.

cheating.

too lazy to actually write a blogpost. so here's something i actually laughed out loud to.

to my best friend

because I know you're reading this.

http://thoughtcatalog.com/2011/this-is-why-youre-my-best-friend/

my morning anthem

These are the days of endless dreaming,
Troubles of life are floating away like a bird in flight.

so do me a favor

and picture me this --

after spending a day;

eating. tasting. drinking. and just loving

the most exquisite cheeses, sausages, and wine.

almost constantly;

catching a whiff of heaven.

aroma after aroma

double take after double take.

with gluttonous eyes

followed by moans of appreciation

completely content with;

meandering aimlessly through tents --

sipping on rums and juices.

eating slices and savoring.

mumbling through bread and foie gras.

while taking small sips of wine
and dashing

without risking a glance back or asking

la fête des vendanges à Montmartre

and then.

imagine;

a good bottle of red wine

sitting on the steps in front of the Sacre Coeur

the city of paris sprawled out in front of us

centre pompidou in the distance -- unsubtle

the eiffel tower just past the trees, to our right

at our feet, eyes stepping down to

-- a singer, singing off tune

-- every step space completely covered with laughter

night closes in on us, around 9

apartments twinkle into life

one after another -- not suddenly

but we're caught by surprise. it's 10.

four figures huddled together,
arms awkwardly interlaced.

music commences, over the din of hundreds of people

can you feel it? the bass.

then fireworks brush the air.

slowly, working it's way, to the finale.

a sizzle, the smell of something burning, singed.

a whistle, and a burst.

if you put that together -- it's a bit of a swizzle and a !snap

trails of brightness, and dusts of gold

bits of magic and whispers of light

brilliant, then fading into a quiet crackling

sparkling between gentle and exuberant

arching across and fainting

a toast.

and with a shiver, it's over.

we smile.

a breath.
satisfied.

for a split second,

afraid to move.

here's to paris.

and just for kicks --

here's to being born... in the USA.

to Sarah, Rachel, and Sam.
one of the best memories so far.

Normandie & Bretagne

A pilgrimage across a wet desert...

Mont Saint-Michel is in the distance, just a blue-grey haze in front of us. The sun exists only to accentuate the contrast between light and dark. Delirium playing with the water and the two dimensional landscape.

One slow step after another. At times, water rushes to fill in our footprints -- chiding us gently.

And at other times?

The sand breathes out, pushing up against our steps. Like walking across the skin of a living creature, a sea monster. I create patterns with my eyes. The terrain perfectly molded to replicate the scales of the animal underneath. The receding water effortlessly chisels the ground before me.

I press my feet deeply into what seems like charcoal-colored cobblestones - to reassure myself that it isn’t stone, but sand – not paved, but natural. The sea’s own handiwork.

A stampede of footsteps is the only indication that it’s safe to proceed. Translucent blobs of jelly remind us that just a few hours ago we could see nothing but water here. We march through rivers, stamping adamantly through puddles, and side step pools of muddy water. Deteriorating mountains of sand...decay beneath us.

Walking perpendicular to the current of different rivers, our bodies hindered. Struggling against the pull of the tide, we push on... only to forget how to walk once our legs surfaced from the water. Clambering onto the banks of damp, packed sand – our legs seem to float onwards without us. Free of their watery chains, they move a bit too quickly – rejoicing in freedom. Like stepping off a treadmill – basking in the ease of movement.

I remember breathing in, the wind was only slightly scented of salt. How strange... I taste the spray of water in my mouth. Yes, I accepted; it was salty. I breathe in again. Lost in thought.

We’re walking across the bottom of the ocean.

But it’s been transformed.
The scenery coruscating and beckoning to us as I surrendered to imagination.

Trekking across a moment in a fairytale, journey, quest, adventure -- to save the princess, kill a dragon, or possibly uncover some arcane treasure trove. The way clearly etched out if we listened intently to words blown from somewhere ephemeral.