day before the last

its the last before the last this evening. i met austin girls and ended being with them the last two nights. weird.

i stayed up all night and went to a brazilian dance club. dope. never seen anything like it. dope. most eclectic mixes i've ever heard. crazy brazilian drum shit mixed with old school french music into rage against the machine into the ramones into james brown with house beats. and the crowd was a fascinating mix. had to wait for the morning metro home at 530 and didnt sleep until 7am. woke at 4pm and was sick. drank a bunch of really strong coffee and everything worked out fine. i really want to be open to everything, but partying and me dont mix so well. i am tired and i wish i would have stayed home and practiced yoga.

missed the train tonight so i am staying at my friend's......the others are watching sarah silverman on the other laptop......

they cant tell im building a fort, and i quite honestly, i forgot until right now. its getting big though, i dont even know what it is yet. that worries me a tad, but then i realize i've never known, so perhaps that will be the case forever. fuck. but i want to understand. the really frustrating thing is that i feel like i am building the fort no matter what i do. therefore, even if i try to quit, i am still building the fort. fuck. everything fits into the fort. what an inescapable bitch.

i cried for the first time in a long time the other night. it was because i love lia so much.

good luck everyone. i hope all your lives work out as conveniently as possible and you may casually accept and ease into the various conditions.

yours
angelo

It’s Christmas at 11:59PM. So, Jesus was born today. Cool. I am listening to Elliot Smith on my personal laptop computer 2006 years after homeboy was born. It’s funny being with all these secular European people who think the religious Christmas thing is even dumber than most Americans think it is. They, however, don’t think its dumb to set up dead trees in their houses and make themselves feel guilty every year about having to get other people gifts. I personally prefer the myth to the guilt. Tell me some stories about saviors and pretty afterlifes. You can keep all the built-up expectation for imaginary ideals in this life (e.g. the perfect gift or the perfect Christmas morning). Although, I do like the trees—they’re pretty. Plus, the Romans were into them too—I like anything the Romans did.

Okay, moving on…women, that’s my next subject. Nope, not gonna talk about that! Well, I will say that I want to marry one and make babies. Then, my family will cook and eat fantastic dinners every night, drink red wine (including the kids), play board games, read short stories and poems out-loud (in all kinds of languages), eat great cheese and chocolate, pray out-loud, drink espresso (not the kids), laugh, cry, play music, do yoga, perform family plays, sleep all-day sometimes, hug and hold each other a lot, go on walks in the woods, do anything else that we think seems fitting to who we are, and then watch each other die one by one.

So, Paris…I want to move here next year, if I don’t go to Egypt. Just watch me.

What am I doing with my life?

Aight, let’s go. As I dig into the spaces in between the larger cervices, I find little notes I wrote to myself along the years. I found one today and it was excellent. It told me that I wanted what I used to have, but that I gave that up. Moreover, it said that I can’t ever get it back because it’s different now. I couldn’t believe it at first, so I looked for another note to refute it. None. Next, I tried to prove the note was inauthentic: “This isn’t my note! I swear I didn’t write this!” To show how serious I was, I went ahead and tried to tear it up, but I couldn’t. I mean, I could have, but it would have hurt. And I would have been bleeding all over the place. I am staying in a guest room, you know; that’s just not polite.

After I accepted it couldn’t be destroyed and conceded its authenticity, I tried to remember when I wrote it. The problem was, when I wrote this note (and most of the notes I write to myself) I was in one of those external life-changing moods of mine and I wrote it in a rush, as a contrary view to the actions I was taking. You know, just a second thought I might like to remember. What if?

Well thank God I believe in Gospel of Jesus Christ and know everything is moving towards Salvation! It would seriously suck if I didn’t (or at least seem like it sucked). I can’t even believe God makes people choose other ways of perceiving life. It’s seems cruel.

What’s weird is that I don’t ever think about Jesus, don’t know if he ever existed, and don’t care. Weirder: I don’t even know what I’m talking about when I write the word God. And God still lets be a Christian. And anything else I should/want to be.

So, I guess what I’m trying to say is: Thank you Jesus for being born on this day and letting me not care about anything while being tortured by the constant feeling that every instant is of the utmost importance.

Merry Christmas

okay. okay.

Me go to dope parties in Parisian apartments with beautiful foreign people. The Spaniards are great...Me actually able have a conversation with them. Me start internship mine today. Dope. Me have to read and speak in French. They me speak tres vite. Oh boy. Oh girl. Oh gosh. This fun. And me go already to me new home. Very nice. Very big. Wow! Oh yes.

and me get better at speak the french, everyday, little at little. yes.

and cell phone mine c'est 011-33-6-99-90-65-87. it free if you call me.

chao

2nd day

This is amounts to the end of the second day.

First day:

I learned that the French eat their bread without a plate. The bread does not go on the plate.

I rode in tiny cars.

I spoke French, badly. But the French loved it. Any French is better than no French. They feel free to correct you, and almost viciously they laugh at you. I like the French.

I went to the birthday dinner of Cecile's (the friend I am staying with) friend. The food was wonderful, very expensive, and the birthday girl bought my dinner. I like the French.

On the way home, we arrived at a subway stop just seconds after a man jumped into the tracks. Cecile saw the man caught up underneath the train. I didn't look. We left and had to walk a considerable distance to the next line since that whole line was immediately closed.

Second day:

Today I slept until 1pm and then drank a bunch of espresso. Yum.

The French have no problem alternating between bread, butter, stinky cheese, wine, and coffee. I like the French.

I got to talk politics with Cecile's family. They are well-educated on history and contemporary politics. Furthermore, they like to have heated discussions and pose tough questions to guests. I like the French.

In full, I like the French. This is gonna work out great!

J'arriverai

I'm getting closer. It's getting closer. We'll meet soon. Obviously, I can't see it, but I'm fairly certain it can't see me either. If I am not in it, with it, or ever there, then how can the future know me?





And as that completely unknowable comingness, does the Future/God see the present ripping open before it? Am I, as the present, actually getting closer? Or rather, is it that She feels me constantly tugging behind her?...Forcing material and sense out of the over-saturated-with-meaning nothinglessness.





God doesn't know me. God is always coming and will therefore never meet me. Prepare! The Lord is Coming! You'll be sorry if you don't, cause She'll never be here.

Je pars pour Paris en treize heures! Et j'arriverai, j'arrive, contrairement à Elle.

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This is what occurs when I avoid studying the History of Shi'ism.

Me First

Me first. No me first. No.

This is my blog. Welcome. Sit down. This is my chance to abandon myself to the lie of language. Who knows though? I might just smash it all up next to itself and watch it give to you. Not a good chance though. At least we will have records of what I lied about. And perhaps if you've heard the ways in which I cover myself over enough times, you might get a glimpse at the lie you associate with that which I really am and feel.

With this in mind, I am going to France in two days. Who knows what that means? I don't. But I will be there, moving through space like I do here. And as the planets shift around us and stars blow up, I will be lying in a different city, a different language, and a different bed (actually, just a bed).

Inspiration come over me and Jesus give me strength. The demons are a watchin' and they want to see me die/eat/faint.