who reads this.

Ca me pête les couilles.

I want to take up this phrase. It means “that farts on my balls.” Well, it technically means "that breaks my balls," but break and fart are homonyms so I'll stick with my interpretation.
It's ungraceful, but French, and so all crudeness is smoothed by soft double el's and forgotten es's. My boss calls us “choupinette” and “choupinours” depending either on our gender or on his mood, in which case we are occasionally all choupinettes. Though it makes it difficult to tell exactly who he is talking about (“go tell choupinours to come here”) it's the most endearing term of endearment that I've ever heard.

“Charlot” means fool or incapable person, which is pretty good as well. In the Matrix, when the Marovingien fairly sings an aria of French profanities, he overemphasizes the grace and misses the hilarity. Yes, they sound silly, but when they're used most effectively they're highly entertaining. The film I saw today (the one set in Washington) had French subtitles, and their filling-in of the profanity was truly inventive. They don't really have the same ones as us. Their versions of the word jackass are inumerable, but also more specific in their meaning. It makes me nervous to use them without fully understanding...

I was going to pick up “cabron” from Madrid too, but that never happened. We'll see if I can work in some colorful French. Maybe just with my French-talkin' friends and my annoying problem sets...

C'etait bien, les vacances

The alps are more than I remember. I, who can never be bothered to take out a camera, took so many pictures. The problem is that my head cannot hold an accurate memory of the alps. Every time I looked up from a path I was struck again by the enormity of the mountains. Every time I felt the need to remember it better. Why are they so far beyond my ability to store beauty?

I am home again. The rent is late and the air is hot, but I have nothing to manage and so life is manageable. My nose is still pealing from alpine sunburn. I was closer to the sun, so it was more mordant. I was very close to the sun.

I don't know what mood is coming, but a feel a change. This heat, these books, this stage in my journey... I am at a threshold. Two days ago I cried, yesterday I Slept, today stagger like a lock following the blade of a knife, wearing down to give way to something great.

I saw a movie of little consequence today, but it was set in Washington. In the winter in Washington. The green and the trees and the sea and the voices came back to me. At a party which was the cause of the Great Sleep, someone asked me if I was impatient to go home. I answered no, but that is only half true. I am not unhappy here, but I do want to go home. I don't get to go home right away, but when I finally get there the wave will have crested an I will run out and get everyone's feet wet before they see what's coming. There will be cool breezes.

Here there are cool breezes, but they are artificially procured by means of a fan which I bought today, and sing into now to hear the choppy little reflections. Then I spent almost as much money on a 170 page book, but I think more J.M. Coetzee is what I need. I think Disgrace was the most important book I read this summer. We will see what comes of Waiting for the Barbarians.

I think that they will write an article from my research on biofilms. It feels less hopeless, at least, though it is still far from invigorating.

So for now, I will wait-to-see-what-comes. That's not really waiting. I hate waiting. This is just fine.

The Answers Marching One by One

Getting inspired by Kate Zambreno. Sunburns and silence. Alone while my family rides bikes. Ants crawl between the keys of the keyboard. What is sweet here? Oh right, everything.

Also, rereading this  and thinking about how carefree my dreams have been lately.

And reading this and smiling.

La Côte d'Azur

Pretty bug. Two amazing meals. By the beach. With my broski and Popsicle. Vacances.

Holistic Attraction

When a stranger asks me to have a drink, there is nothing there to want. I know only one thing: the stranger is attracted to me.

When I am in bed, and we've just had sex, and my lovers eyes trace my collarbone and a hand follows the curve of my hip back and forth because the shape is pleasing, I see a similar attraction. This time, however, it is meaningful. I relish the desire; it leads to so many experiences. It also brings my attraction out of my mind and into the world, because until I see it in a mirror it is only a part of my imagination.

But the stranger's desire is not reflected. It is not real. Or rather, it is caught in uncertainty and is flailing blindly until it finds an image of itself. In its helpless state, sometimes it catches a single shard of mirror, or mistakes an irrelevant sunbeam for its reflection.

But one shard is not enough. One shard is not a broken piece, but rather something that is not anything. Two shards, however, are parts of a greater creature. The more shards there are, the more interesting it is to assemble them. The assembly is the crux of the adventure. And then to look into it for a moment and relish the creation before the cracks appear again.

The mirror I make is concave. It has corners. It's a box, and inside it goes as deep as I look, images of itself stacked within each other until I blink. One shard alone is flat, and self evident.

The truth of the matter is that attraction is not enough for me. Especially not a monopole, but even a monopole with some extra aspects is worth it. The hardest part of seducing someone is deciding that you want to seduce them. And one shard is never enough.

Yeup, rehashing old ideas but lets just call these drafts and one day I'll actually know what I'm writing about.

The world is holding its breath and I am begging for a breeze

The air is stagnant after ten pm, 4 stories above the ground. An artificial wind device would be most appreciated at this juncture, and I will seek one as soon as possible. With the arrival of an unexpired debit card and a father, all of my needs will doubtless be met immediately.

I have had a period of gentle certainty in my place here. More social opportunities arise than I am interested in participating in these days, which leaves a security blanket of potential escape on the shivering body of my hermitage. Anna is done, and so I began Le Trone de Fer, which, to my infinite disappointment, is not literature. It is a book, it is a story, but if it wasn't poorly written it was poorly translated and my patience for it is strained. On the other hand, I have read 300 pages of it and will certainly read the next 200. There is something to be said for stories. But I doubt I will look for its sequel.

Pierrot le Fou. That was literature. No, it was film, but it felt like literature. Maybe I will write a story of Pierrot le Fou, maybe it is inspiring. Maybe it's just conversational, and the conversation should be kept private. How would I write the colors? I saw it outside, in the night, and the bells of churches rang during the movie.

I am still uncomfortable at work. This is because I don't really have any. I'm not taught, either. You know I study physics because I don't think I could learn it on my own. Well, these summer adventures are all about learning physics on my own and it's all very contrary to my central beliefs about physics. Do I learn? What can I relay from my readings? Vague things, and only with specific questions. If I reread my summaries I do a bit better.

So there. There we are.

Oh, and I am eating luxuriously. Rillettes de Canard is meat that melts like summer on your tongue. However, I am starting to believe that my appreciation of food is somehow linked to my menstrual cycle. I find I have phases of everything-is-delicious and other times nothing-tastes-right and still other what-does-hunger-feel-like periods. Maybe there is some other cycle, but that is the cyclest cycle I know.

Next weekend, to the mountains! I didn't speak directly about the subject of this weekend, but it was pleasant though too hot. Apero at la Daurade, with normal conversations. I did the laundry! It was very pleasurable to do, I wish I had done it more often. The movie, and today the natural history museum which has an impressive collection of skeletons.

C'est ca la vie. La vie, c'est là.