PARIS. THE ETERNAL DREAM.
It began with dusk, remembering it stays that way
0720
What does it mean to live? Not to see or document, but instead, to be? It is dusk, and I am in Paris. To be stripped bare, to lay it all here, open. The cool air rushes in through this sort of corridor. The Architecture, framing the atmosphere more than anything else. It makes sense that people come here. It feels nice to observe and be allowed to only do just this. I have no phone, no camera, no way to communicate or share. I must sit inside this container. For once, I think I’ve been given the gift of real sight. ETRE. TO BE. The warm streetlights have turned on. I see a little boy on his dad’s shoulders. Gazing at a view he’ll remember or at least feel. The boy and the father look at me. Perhaps I’ve become a memory to them now. It could be just this. Early morning golden light. A coffee. Some bread. Cheese, Wine. To emerge at dusk, with orange ready. In all black, as the last drops of light fade into a memory that can only exist just this once.
It’s now two in the morning. I listen to Ravel, “Jeux Deux”. In this moment, everything is fine. The sky is the same as Rothko, with blue, red, and grey. It’s been an hour and a half now. I would like some water.
“The confusion is necessary for it is what the resolution is born from” - Cusk
CLOVE. I ordered an espresso, seamlessly. the first victory. I could sense a small smile of approval when using “bonjour”. As much as I don’t want to be a tourist, I am and must accept this. Nonetheless, my heart does leap when seeing a proper tourist only use English. It’s less about proving to the workers that I care, but more so a testament to French culture, and to life in general, that I care enough.
The girls at the corner, perhaps in their 30s, only speak French. The guys in the right, perhaps in their 40s or 50s speak on Tarkovsky. The espresso is saturated in my veins, and I should eat soon. But for now, I ride the wave, as it all floods in with guitar strum.
“Were she to look at him, he would instantly regain the formality of personality” – Cusk
0721
“Desire is dangerous, because it is magnetized by its antithesis” - Cusk
A grand reconciliation. A return of character, but this time with merit. To arrive at the view, having properly soaked it in. to have felt it, truly, as license to capture. an uncertain morning ends with a certain ending of day. The phone is fixed for now, the camera fixed, perhaps the best pasta I’ve ever made. And many moments in between. Asking for help at the g20 market. And not accidentally stealing the pen. The people guiding me along the way. The map. it’s “couT” hard T , not “cou” - the French being willing to help. Seeing the witnesses at the cart, defending Jehovah valiantly. Texting the sister from the carts yesterday. I was going to say the other day but that was only yesterday. Asking for batteries, being mistaken for French, and being so American all at once. Debuting the blue coat in France. God is good. Truly, so much life lived in one day. The highlight was perhaps talking to my family, and that pasta. It really was that great. I’ll make it again tomorrow. So much life. and this is just the start.
0722
I’ve only been here for 3 days, but it feels like an entire lifetime already.
0723
“Everything is poised between readiness and decay” – Cusk
-
There are days to live and days to remember. Today I will live, tomorrow I will remember.
It’s 09:21. “a la prochain”, “a bientôt”. I hear these words. I’m beginning to understand them. The waiter said good job on the French. I’m accepting that I may never be French, but I can try my best. My espresso, water, pain au chocolat has arrived. The crème brulee will be soon. My outfit consists of the navy-blue pants, and the blue overcoat jacket. They don’t quite match, but I don’t mind. There is a holistic harmony at play, or at least one that I’m striving for.
-
In this moment, I tire of writing. but the highlights are. The deux moulin cafe, the hand touch at lafayette, reading at Jardin Tuliere, Bource du commerce photo, the les Halle’s curse, Tanat, rooftop restroom, bex, best conversation, grand rex, golden hour walk, bon soir g20, dusk , lemon chicken, invoice, review.
0724
“the capacity to arrive where you desire” – Cusk
The bells ring endlessly. Their dissonance filling the air. 12 o’clock. It completely takes over the street. The atmosphere. Time. One must observe. One must notice. A final call, that time lives.
I sit in the Paris apartment, window open, halfway in the sun. Halfway through the day. Feeling half of a whole. The wait is over. The bells stop ringing. The crowds return to life.
The bells rang again. 18:00. 18:20 I left to the hall. I arrived eagerly, observant. I was greeted lovingly by the servants. Theo, Valentino, Eric. I think those were their names. It was the week of CO visit, so I arrived on the wrong day.
Something about that inner courtyard and seeing the vertical windows with bronze. 10:00 tomorrow for service. My intent must remain. Tomorrow morning will be a run, an orange, a coffee, the sunrise. I eagerly await for the eternity.
0725
It’s mid-afternoon, I’ve only been up for a couple of hours. I couldn’t bring myself to the group, my anxiety too high. It should not matter this much, yet it does. The lighting is quite nice, and I’ve had an espresso and an orange. I’m showered and dressed in light blue. The beauty of the city is what also is its flaw. If you sleep in, you cannot help but feel like everyone else has moved on without you.
Last night was abysmal. I could not fall asleep. At 4am, 2 drunk girls were riding bicycles. They crashed and fell right outside the apartment. They were loud, lost. It was blue hour, but the inverse. Dawn. A signal that my mind had failed my body in giving it proper rest. I press on, nonetheless. Today I will cook my lemon pasta, drink wine. Film Inception locations in the late afternoon light. Bring my journal, and my book. Read, write, drink by the Eiffel tower. Maybe a baguette and cheese for dinner. Nothing more, nothing less.
They stand 2 floors below, gazing upon my window, pointing. A family. A husband, walking hand-in-hand with his wife. The 2 kids, a boy and a girl. They look up, I catch their eyes briefly. They point again to this apartment. Do they imagine life here? I imagine it too. What is more, I imagine the life of that family.
“I know this bridge…
“This place is real, isn’t it?” - Cobb
sometimes I wonder
just what it would have been like
for us to walk here
-
I’m here. After all this time, I’m here. I can feel the memories- of before, and the ones being created now. My mind, whirring, only a few minutes left in this day. My body, tired. The years have passed. My soul, clenching at the fringe, grasping for the light that frays in the shadows. That unmistakable late afternoon. Coming up from the water, the cabinets at night.
The mythos of the desert, and the heart of the water, at the shore. My mother. in the sun, glowing. running free in the sand.
That winter sunset across the field upon arrival. And now, laying here, amongst the yellow lights, and cobblestone streets, awaiting forever.
0726
The grey clouds are beautiful. This is the first grey day here, and somehow my inner state is completely opposite. I slept well, for once. My dreams, vague. Fragments of a meeting. I don’t know what. The wind blows, cool. Ironically, this is actually the Paris I pictured. The tan buildings washed in grey. Hiver in Paris. Erik Satie, Gynnopedies, impressionist paintings of people walking across the markets, and past the statues, the birds, and the trees flying .
At night, my family called from home. I made an espresso with the moka pot. The grime is what makes for it. I just ran 2 miles to IO cafe. The best cappuccino here so far. I’m not sure if I researched this or if it was from Moya. Regardless, it is in the 3rd. Le Marais. That’s a beautiful name: Marais
The meeting is in just a few hours. I’ll go home, study, eat lunch. Shower, change. Perhaps a bit of reading, some sketching. I’ll begin working on the stories.
0727
So much life in between the two dusks. Let’s see what I can get up to in 5 minutes. I sit on the dark grey steps. To my left behind the ovals is a red awning, taking on all shades of maroon. Above that, the red light shines on the portico. I think that’s the term. Rue de Mont-Cennis. 18th Arr. I see a couple walk by. The wife is very pregnant. I can almost see it. Going for a dusk walk with the baby.
Another couple, the woman in a red dress, some floral arrangement towards L’Ascension. A lady dressed in black and white walks up the steps. These ones are French. The noise of the restaurant accompanied by motorcycle and cyclists. A man leans over, looking at the other edge, similar out$t to mine. A girl in orange, walking this way. We make eye contact briefly. She interrupts the 2 strangers that sat down, I think for a cigarette. The stone steps sparkle, and smoke fills the air. A runner, then a family walks by. Perhaps to be human is this. To do all the things we must do to live anyways, but with others. And to do them slowly, carefully. With curiosity. With intent. With love.
It is now that my senses awaken. The tearing of the day and night. It is threads that represent dusk. The transition. The lamp upends the day, and now, the mind really takes over.
Paris is a perfect place. A perfect city. The scale of the architecture feels attainable. The sounds, reachable. Nothing taller than 10 stories.. Perhaps this is the rule; 10 or less. On the hill is okay. Create a sense of wonder. Lostness.
A homeless person just ravaged this entire corner. Perhaps we are not that far off from each other. Walking through a busy street. The street now becomes crowded, and the light is fading quickly. See? So much in so little time. Self- mythologizing, as it were, in this place. I‘m 24, in Paris. I’ve never felt so in love with a city as I do now.
-
0728
The dream was in an office. They were asking for my credentials. We talked about adjustments for the final episodes of the Jesus project.
-
it’s 08:34, i ran about 2 miles to fauna. I love it here. reminds me of sqirl. So far. the morning run has been healing. A reset for the mind and body. I’m wearing my favorite running out$t. Black shorts, black shirt, and my new white Nikes with a hint of orange and yellow. A slight beige/worn dirty look. There’s something very beautiful about it all. The baristas have a sort of Danish affect to them. The wooden tables and the green seating. I do enjoy it. This is one of Moya’s spots. It’s in the Marais. I am hoping to run into her. But I think if I do run into her, it will prove my theory that it is best to in fact, search something out instead of waiting for it to happen. I think that alternative is a farse, because you’ll always secretly be wishing, waiting, wanting. It was always going to be this way. but I’ve gotten better about managing my expectations. Let the place be what it is. observe. assess.
The 3rd is easily my favorite arrondissement so far. it has the perfect mix of cafes, shops, and Jardins. the crowd appears to be the late 20s. It’s bizarre to be in the middle of this pack. I like the age 24. It’s almost 11, and I’ve wandered quite a bit. I’ve checked off many free places on my list. I’m going to make some lunch, probably go to Alexine and get some form of sauce at Intermarche. I’m at Partisan now, it was a spur of the moment choice. A test to see what the 3rd is made of. It passes on all fronts so far. A meal here will con$rm it.
The lady at the counter asked my name. That’s the $rst time I’ve been asked my name in French. I missed it quite frankly. My cover was blown and back to English it was. I realize that language can either be a bridge or a barrier, whatever you allow it to be. The delivery guy has $nished with the boxes. It’s now time to run home.
0729
It’s midafternoon. the air, arid. the breeze, hot.
the only certainty is this moment. sitting here, calmly listening to some sugarcat.
“Perhaps it is this authentic love that has shown her how incomplete the others were” – Cusk
0730
“Along the Seine,
singing.
Around the seagulls,
for as long as anyone can remember...
They haunt the valley of the Seine.
The Seine remains the Seine,
tracing its meandering curves
Along the river,
singing with the children
on the banks of the Seine,
enchanted
whatever the weather.”
- Unknown
0731
15:06. My mind, saturated with details. Perhaps this is the output, the inner limits. To observe, to write.
I was just asked if I’d like anything else. I was going to get another espresso, actually. But in the context off this moment, it felt like maybe a gentle nudge, that others are waiting to be seated. What an interesting dynamic. I’ve been here for a couple of hours now, and people come and go, like waves on shore. Or like breathing. I remember those days at Talbert. “Okay, deep breath in” a pause with the stethoscope, “and out”. The blue walls, teaming with sea life.
And just like that, 2 families leaving – the exhale. More arrive. A timelapse of life. Sami le chien wanders around, always curious. He greets new guests quietly, with a sniff, a look. Brie%y con$rming your presence. When it was empty, the owner and Sami would play. He scurries across the polished concrete, sliding like a cartoon. He got the zoomies, running laps like Leclerc around the bar.
A bit later, a girl with jorts and a yellow shirt arrives, with a small brown poodle, pocket size. The poodle, a girl. Sami and the poodle play, like young kids. An innocence, and a curiosity. I remember those days, riding bikes at the park with Jade. Or the scooter with Malia. Indelibly etched memories. This espresso, while still great, was rushed.
The 2 girls across from me speak English. There is a comfort in being able to eavesdrop and understand fully. It’s interesting how this generation mines the maps. Saved locations, trendy spots, local eateries. All a vast archive. A checklist to con$rm that you did in fact see the place. But not like everyone else. Something more niche, of course.
The music resembles Khruangbin, bringing me back to the desert. Immediately, my ears go up, hearing the word “LA” from the girls. Then they say, “Long Beach”. Little do they know I’m from there. Little do they know that those words carry an indescribable, immense weight. They are spoken casually, softly, normally. They haven’t seen my Trader Joe’s bag yet, which I’ve been proudly carrying as a branding. It’s no coincidence that we’ve found the same place.
Perhaps this is the comfort, knowing that if you stay true to your likings, your creations, you are bound to cross paths at some point with the other person, living an equally deep, alternative life. A life that could change yours, or may drift by, passively. Whether that’s Clove, or the beach of Southern California. Who knows.
Today felt the most natural. Instead of cosplaying as French, or even as an American, I wore what I’d wear if I were going to Maru. Black shorts, black long sleeve, clay hat, sandals. Going to Naturalia for some fruit, some water.
The clerk really made an effort to dignify me by continuing the conversation in French. That meant a lot. Truly, the highest compliment. My second favorite interaction, second to Le Grand Bex at the terrace. I will take the wins as they arrive. This week, I’m starting to ask, “Ça va?”. An open ended question – I welcome the uncertainty.
0801
In the dream, I was driving a red car back to NY from Arizona. I was passing through Texas.
DEV + SCAN BY
NICE FILM CLUB.