It's a slow start to a fast skate dream of passing cars and scared pedestrians. Swooping through gaps and leaping over cats and dogs and vegetable sellers I'm gonna speed up again at last in this sweaty summer heat and burning Paris streets. Back to being juvenile doesn't concern me at all as the world's too serious, no time to wallow in constrictions and constraints like the victims of a social boa squeezing the life from our flowers. Instead to be like Christophe and get on never get off, get up and not down and spin around and around, like a record on a turntable making his existence a fable of high times'n'flourishes enjoying that which nourrishes and burn, burn, burn like roman candles going pop like spiders stretching across the stars.
Conservar tu fuego, dejar de fumar.
How can the US government ask soldiers on the battlefield to give up nicotine? It's a 21st century obscenity, further proof that we're losing our collective sanity in a world that shares a collective inanity, an ongoing insanity of desperately unhappy seekers lost in the desert of our citiesto drink and drugs while the world divides around us letting those less fortunate drop limp and lifeless into the chasm that opens up therein; a social limbo lived out under bridges and outside churches that close their doors as they criticise others yet offer not the warm sanctuaries of the chapels, he who throws the first stone will be free from critisicm, a messenger to illuminate the people or a cynical manipulator of images and opinions, the beast that drains the blood from the world's poorest communities by their own free will and coerced mental slavery... The hope massacre. Popes in palaces...
Boys of the night dash around drinking on street corners and arguing their books away late into the dark hours, not until the sun goes down can we really feel free to sense and express our innermost energies, our throbbing mind-flows. Stunted in the daytime we long to release ourselves from the chains of office chair tortures and underground rat tubes, to run free and naked across the parks and bridges, stumbling in the heady night air, supping from the cups profered by smiling bar-folk and mumbling about the essence of existence and nature as if there in out concrete dungeons we were to be liberated from the stench of the sewers .
The book I'm reading is technology and porno blended into an overly active nightmare that is ultimately unnecessary and overly extreme yet enticing, tempting our own currents of paranoia and sexuality to be combined and considered in an unhealthy light. Come back from the brink and realise that all is not lost and this is not the Watchmen but exactly what we make of it. Does anyone read these tracts on modern living and go home with an axe to smash open their PCs and automobiles, buying a horse to prevent more large scale erosion of the environment, writing with pencils to save our retinas from searing pale lights, cracking our wrists on a mountain trek rather than sat infront of a dozen digital conversations with other ghosts of the web.
There is no truth, trillions of perspectives experiencing each other at the same time cannot agree and yet we pretend that there is a way that is acceptable, a proper behaviour for every situation. It's a series of experimental compromises and determined thrusts of unexpectedness that provide character to our passage through our short time on this world.
Don't let the man get you down.
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