when in paris, pick me up some dragon lotion & some poodle juice & then let’s make dirty love and climb the eiffel tower

In Paris, I bought a leather portfolio with very large white pages in it loosely bound—I spoke to it thus: “I dub thee Novel Accessory Ground. I will cover you with obscene thoughts and terrifying images. I will drown you in half-baked ideas. I will use you and I will love you.” The book’s inside covers have stains of black ink & I try to imagine who wrote into it before.

…many transactions that we have during the day could have taken place one hundred or one thousand years earlier: we look at each other. we size each other up. we reach for our money. when we sit down we check behind us for danger. we eye the food with suspicion moderated by our hunger. we hug when we meet and depart. we carry pictures in our head wherever we go. we train our tongue in verbal combat. inside, we buzz as long as we live. we stretch our toes in our shoes…

The guy who sold it to me for too high a price at the market on Place Monge had a wooden leg. He gave my daughter a free little writing book perhaps because he felt guilty. I shall put his face in my novel. He looked like a buccaneer: gold teeth and double earrings, callused hands and tenderness when he picked up the results of his craft.

…we hang on, we hang on. we sing softly in choirs and in the rain. we say we when we mean i. we lecture our children and dry their ears. we eat and we eat again and then we shit. we’re lucky and we know it. our backs are bent into shapes of our choosing. when we die, we commune with the earthworms, who confess that they’d rather have been born as lions and we nod because we, too, had some other plans…

Zappa howls: “Pick me up some dragon lotion … I’ll just put in a coma with my dirty love.” Paris is the city of the poodle juice alright. There’s so much history in this town that it begins to burden you after a few days. Not to mention how your feet will begin to hurt.

…we circle around the sun but the sun also circles around us. we are at the center of our universe, which contains all that we are and that we want. the happiest place is on the lap of a loved one. i could go on like this for a long time, about the length of a dragon’s neck and back and tail. when you translate all these images into your language then you still won’t have seen everything that is there to be seen. so we hang on, we hang on…

People and their habits reunite Paris and Berlin. And the friendly attitude towards love and youth. Walked around Tiergarten, our largest urban park, today which felt like a jungle after this warm and wet summer, and the plants in all their glory, I swear it, were humming Goethe’s aphorism*:

«Nature: her life is in her children; but where is the mother? She is the only artist; working-up the most uniform material into utter opposites; arriving, without a trace of effort, at perfection, at the most exact precision, though always veiled under a certain softness.»

And we were happily home, chirping along with nature.

(* Quote from: Goethe, translation by T. H. Huxley for the first issue of NATURE, Nov 4, 1869 — some of the text of this post was grafted onto my tree of 100 leaves, soon to be finished).

2 thoughts on “when in paris, pick me up some dragon lotion & some poodle juice & then let’s make dirty love and climb the eiffel tower

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