spreadingwingz

Today was tight. I was invited over to have lunch chez une amie. It was three of us and we ate a delicious Hungarian chicken meal. DELICIEUX.

Then all of a sudden after conversations about feminism, rape culture, humanity, love, the future, starting companies, starting fresh, STARTING A WORK OUT ROUTINE/support group so on and so forth I looked up to realize that 5 hours had passed.

There's nothing more valuable than connecting with people in new and inspired ways. I didn't think I'd ever be close with these girls and after a few casual meetings and courtesies we were spilling our guts.

It makes me feel less alone in the world knowing that just down the street there's someone who understands you and thinks your wonderful. Pay it forward.

finally bought a frame
little things

Je suis libre

This weekend was the breath of fresh spring air I needed.

After the weirdest train ride back to Paris yesterday afternoon, where I sat in the "hallway" of the train instead of my paid seat cause I just didn't want to be near anyone, I met up with my dude Tangerine to play some basketball.

He bought a really nice Nike Elite ball that we are splitting 50/50. It's beautiful.

We found a small parc that's in the middle of us and started playing. I beat him. Twice. I'm so out of shape, but I was scoring, and balling, and dribbling like I never quit. It was freedom. It was respiration. It was amazing. The feel of the ball, the sound of the bounce, the sun setting on the asphalt, and the success of swishing a ball through a hoop with no net.

HOME.

After that, Tangerine and I parted ways to do our own thing. None of my usual crowd was in Paris so I ended up going to a party by myself. I was invited my one of my friends that I met here, she studies in Paris and invited me to a party being thrown by some of her Uni friends. It was awesome. I met some sweet people, and it's so liberating going to a party by yourself where you don't know anyone. You don't have to check on anyone throughout, you don't have to time your exit, you don't have to provide, or include, you just get to be. I've really missed just BEING in a situation.

I got the last metro home around 2am and even found a new way to get home without transfers. Line 3! Throw it up!

Sunday was lovely, woke up early and met Verve's roommate at the train station so i cold pick up their keys since they're both out of town for the break, it was a beautiful morning. I came home, ate some granola that I'm SO GLAD I BOUGHT! cleaned the apartment, left, sat at the Tuileries and read (okay napped) for an hour before heading to a dance workshop. It was so fun. Great way to meet people and to let loose. Afterwards, Tangerine and I met up again at the park and ended up played 3 different pick-up games with other dudes there. Two games of 3v3 and one of 4v4. My teams won every time and I was even scoring a decent amount. My defense was on point and I think the guys were NOT expecting me to actually be able to play. I had been told that French guys aren't good at basketball cause it's not really a thing in Europe as much as it is in America, but some of these guys were pretty good. Not Tangerine but he's the one who told me French guys weren't haha.

After ballin, I came home, chilled with the host-dad, and hit the hay. Laying in my tiny room, drifting, breathing...Gotta catch up on some SVU

it was beautiful at 7:30 this morning 

Puzzling.

I think I'm going insane.
But my run today was really good again.
I can't wait to go back to Paris tomorrow.
Also, tonight I ate lamb.
I'll never forgive myself.
Neither will that lamb I raised when I was ten.
Dommage.
I did a Spiderman Puzzle twice today.
Once with Dimitri.
Once with Olympe.
I ran and ran, but I just ended up where I started.

drew some sad Tarzans today

New Rocky in town.
Ran some STEPS!

Writer's Math

Today, Thursday, 20 of February, 2014...I wrote.

Yeah, yeah, I write all the time, and then not all the time but for those of you who are writers, you'll understand that to be like "Today I wrote!" Is a huge deal.

I began a short story.

After a lazy morning of wandering around the park with Olympe and then her chickening out going to the top of the Belvedere which, I realize I haven't quite explained...it's basically a large water tower, without the water thing on top, and people go up to the top to look out across Arcachon and the ocean and yada yada. Fin.

Olympe chickened out a quarter of the way up. NO big deal. HOWEVER!

Eléonore and I spent the afternoon at a spa? pool? Old person safe haven!?

It had salt water pools, jacuzzis, jets, a cold pool, a sauna etc. It was really nice to just swim and lounge about especially after my run yesterday. I was definitely feeling that one.

But then, I was sitting by the pool, and a story came to me. It uses the same techniques that I usually like to use.

• movement through time
• non-linear plot arch
• a character telling another character the story
• an omnipotent narrator 
• love and loss
• heartbreak with a little bit of joy to soften the blow

Basically, the usually criteria BUT it just started flowing out of my into my journal. The place, the date, the characters, the unfoldment, the conversations, I went to a party just in my mind. 

It's hard, you stop, you think, you get overwhelmed, but it's up to the writer to continue nonetheless. I like the thing that being a writer is like doing math, all the time, with people's souls. 

You can quote me on that. 

Because you're conjuring up live people, and you're playing with their fate, but it can't be random. Nothing is random. You have to calculate, manipulate, move, challenge, kill, and somehow make a way for all these occurrences to seem natural, and not just natural but believable. 

So, today I did what I call, Writer's Math.

And that means, that despite the spa, and the "relaxing" and "vacationing"

I had an exhausting day.

She's cute

Olympe, moments before she chickened out

classic Olympette

infinite possibilities in life

Free Afternoon

SO, as I may have mentioned, I'm like, pretty much working this week. Whatever.

I've also been extremely pensive. I've had multiple conversations about the meaning of life, our existence, the pros/cons of being alive in todays world, the cynicism of a young man, and frankly how we all need to do things to feed our souls.

Then I got the afternoon off.

5 hours, to my lonesome.

At first, I just kind of walked around, sat on a bench, drew, took some pictures, then I sat on the beach for a while, took more pictures, wrote in my journal. Amazing how sometimes being alive still feels like you're dreaming. When I was done at the beach-not that I'm ever truly "done" it was just getting real cold-I made my way up the big hill at the center of town to the park, and more importantly, The Belvedère. But on the way, I stopped in a Catholic church.

There's something really beautiful about sitting in a church. It's quiet. Quiet enough for me to actually hear my own thoughts. I lit a candle for my loved ones. I looked at the stained glass. I love the silence.

I was once asked, "Do you like the sound of silence?"

The answer then, as it is now, was yes. I find in silence there is the most valuable sound/noise because you are finally communicating with yourself. You're finally listening.
Furthermore, there is something equally unique and beautiful about sitting in silence with someone else. Whether it be a stranger, a lover, other church-goers, family, a friend, an animal...

And there is no better way to interrupt silence than with bells.

that dude

fisherm...lady!

Top of the Belvedère

Encore

the illuminated silence

I WENT RUNNING ON THE BEACH

IT WAS REALLY BEAUTIFUL

Insanity

"Oh good, you're going insane too"

These words made me think. Too? Who else is going insane? You? How? You live in sunshine and desire. Me? I live in darkness and uncertainty. The world? Well, we all knew this day would come when the world loses all meaning, and even the artists can't express themselves.
But I suppose even the most desired people lose purpose when they've given so much of themselves away.

I've come up with a phrase. Mildly depressing, but insanely liberating:

I write because it makes me feel like I have told someone everything, even though no one is listening.

I get it. Do you?

After a fun afternoon of bowling, which I always forget how much I love AND hate, (but mostly love because the shoes are dope, and throwing shit is always fun; knocking things over & destruction, who doesn't love that!) I was given an hour and a half to myself to promenade through Arcachon.

Instead, I just went to the beach where I proceeded to stare at the sky for an hour. Incubus playing in my ears, the cold of the ocean whipping over my body, and hard sand straightening my absolutely disastrous posture. I stared at the sky, and was entertained. I think it's becoming an issue in the world that no one can just sit in silence, thinking of nothing, thinking of no one. How often are we completely at ease? I want to be more.

As important as I think it is to use one's mind, I think it's equally as important to not use it at all. To give it a break, a rest, a cleansing of silence. Even still you think a few things, how can you not? I'm not a buddhist monk, I haven't mastered the art of silencing my mind. But to be tranquil and content with solitude is an art I have mastered. I haven't spoken English out loud in days. I haven't noticed this much beauty in simplicity in a long time. I haven't had to constantly redirect my thought to the positive so consistently in a while. It's a great practice.

I began to draw the shapes in the clouds. Dogs, demons, birds, fancy dresses, etc. etc. etc.
When I'm alone I feel most like myself...

Insane is just another word for interesting...

Add caption

Arcachon

This morning we left for Arcachon, a small beachside town not too far from Bordeaux. We caught a train at 11am and (after sleeping through most of the three hour trip) arrived in the beautiful Bordeaux with ease. We were met by the grandmother, Manou, and from there took a car ride to lovely Arcachon.

Nothing really happened today other than a little conversation with Eléonore and some sitting on the beach. I asked her if she was happy with me and she said that I was doing a good job and that the children love me a lot. That's nice. She then mentioned that I need to not be on the internet, on my phone, reading, or journaling as much in front of them. She wants me to be WITH them all when we're all together.

That's when my job gets awkward. The role of an au pair isn't really a role at all. You are there to make sure the children are alive, entertained, and doing (eventually at least) what the parents expect them to do. The job gets really difficult though when the kids yell at you all the time, make you feel stupid, and don't listen to anything you say.

In English, I'd have zero issue asserting myself over the kids, and having loads of fun but also knowing how to discipline and get what I want out of them. I'm an adult. I'm smarter than you, I know more than you. I don't need your advice on how to bake because I assumed the bakers role in a functioning kitchen that fed 150 of you little shmucks for an entire summer. Pipe down there petite fille. 

However, an au pair is kind of the doormat. The scapegoat. When the parents don't want to be near the kids, you have to be. When the parents don't want to discipline their kids, you have to be the bad guy. When you think you're going to kill them because they're being dicks, it doesn't matter, you're "being paid" to be the punching bag.

Ultimately, I love them. This is a lovely family, and we have a lot of fun together. Would I au pair again? Probably not in another language, and without firmer requirements/necessary accommodations. This is a really tough job, it's not just playing with kids all day. It's being abused, hit, ignored, fought with, and essentially taking the heat for any and everything. You're not a parent, you're not a guardian, you're not a friend, a sibling, nothing. It's a bizarre experience. You have no say, and no rights. You're just kind of there to make life easier.

But anyway, I'll do my best to step it up, well the kids just got home so I have to flee the scene and hide my computer.
C'est la vie.

Sometimes it is SUPER hilarious when they fight though

Sunday, Monday Happy Days!

As per usual, I spent the Sunday with Hannah.
But unlike most Sunday's that we've spent together, we've began something of a tradition.

HAPPY DAYS DINER.

It smells like America people, and they make bomb ass milkshakes.
Last weekend, in a fit of giggles we were attempting to find a mall that ended up being closed, but lo and behold an HD Diner popped up out of the midst and graced us with its delicious 5euro milkshakes, and rosemary seasoned fries.

A similar occurrence transpired today as well. After spending the afternoon at the Tuileries watching people get too intimate under the end-of-winter sun, we decided we'd stroll up Rue de Rivoli and see where the afternoon would take it. Both of us were pretty hungry, but that in-between-meals hunger. You don't want a full entrée, but a bag of chips just won't do. As we winded through the various shops and restaurants of Châtelet it appeared, once again, rising out of the distance with majestic promise.

HAPPY DAYS DINER.

The tradition is solid now. Chocolate and peanut-butter milkshake and some rosemary fries.
The rest of the evening consisted of visiting The Verve at her new place in the 10e that is DOOOOOOOOPPPPEEEEEE, and then a fancy dinner in the 16e Chez Melanie, a lovely friend of Lolo.

I ate more spaghetti, but this time there was champagne. Sooo...minor step up.

HAPPY[booby]DAYS

The Tuileries with a sneaky-peak at the Tour Eiffel

these people...

Let's be clear...

...about one thing, and one thing only.

I don't like being touched. 

If I have not invited you to touch me, you best not do it. I woke up with a sore neck this morning from being squeezed, turned, and "massaged" for basically the entire night. I'm kind to most people, and I probably even like you a little bit if I don't rip your face off for doing so, but please world take note: I don't like being touched.

Maybe it's because of weird childhood memories that fight through the barriers of thought to the surface. My dad used to stroke my nose to put me to sleep, adorable. It still works, and can be a really sweet romantic gesture that shows me that you not only listen to what I have to say, but you also wanna be my dad. Weird. 
But when my father would poke my face, flick my lips, and raise my eyelids for me to wake me up! Catastrophe!

I hate being touched!!!!

And so, I fled the scene after too much touching, waiting, walking, and freezing through the streets of Paris. Although, touché Lolo you did move an entire party of 12 to the completely opposite side of town. That takes skill. My hat goes off to you. You will make a great politician one day with influence like that ;)

When I returned chez moi I rapidly resorted to what any single, rejected human being on a Saturday night at 2AM would do: Put on my pajamas, sans pants obviously; turned on some Archer; wrote a shitty poem (that no one will ever read) about loss and unrequited love; did some sexy texting that really wasn't sexy at all because who are you kidding, Danielle; and then stuffed my face with two bowls of spaghetti that I didn't have to share.

Okay, three bowls.

And then I did some-a this...

Prayer in Bad Weather

a poem by Charles Bukowski

by God, I don't know what to
do.
they're so nice to have around.
they have a way of playing with
the balls
and looking at the cock very
seriously
turning it
tweaking it
examining each part
as their long hair falls on
your belly.
it's not the **** and sucking
alone that reaches into a man
and softens him, it's the extras,
it's all the extras.
now it's raining tonight
and there's nobody
they are elsewhere
examining things
in new bedrooms
in new moods
or maybe in old
bedrooms.
anyhow, it's raining tonight,
on hell of a dashing, pouring
rain….
very little to do.
I've read the newspaper
paid the gas bill
the electric co.
the phone bill.
it keeps raining.
they soften a man
and then let him swim
in his own juice.
I need an old-fashioned whore
at the door tonight
closing her green umbrella,
drops her green umbrella,
drops of moonlit rain on her
purse, saying "shit, man,
can't you get better music 
than that on your radio?
and turn up the heat…"
it's always when a man's swollen
with love and everything
else
that keeps raining
splattering
flooding
rain
good for the trees and the
grass and the air…
good for things that
live alone.
I would give anything
for a female's hand on me
tonight.
they soften a man and
then leave him
listening to the rain.

It's too late for this shit

4am and the lights are out
4am and the full moon points me home

This Saint Valentine Shit

Typically, there are two types of people on Valentine's Day.

1. The people who have a Valentine/petit copain and therefore enjoy the day, are in love & just freaking LOVE Valentine's day. Flowers, cards, sexy undies, dinner date, champagne, etc. 
2. The sad single people who just bitch and moan about how much they hate Valentine's Day/the other single people who overly celebrate their 'singled' but are really just as sad as others and are simply pretending they're happy today. 

Well, I propose a few ulterior categories:

1. The people who are in relationships and their significant others make them feel stupid about Valentine's Day so they pretend to not care/the people who are in relationships and can't be with their lovers so they hate the entire day (or suck it up and do the best they can).
2. People who genuinely enjoy life despite Valentine's Day single or not!

Personally, I've forgotten all about it. Maybe because I'm in France and no one really cares. Maybe that should be it's own category the "Who Gives a Crap" category also known as "Valentine's Day in France so it doesn't matter because here it is Valentine's Day EVERYDAY " category.

I choose to be a part of this category:

• I am a human being who, despite my relationship status, single or otherwise, genuinely doesn't give this holiday more importance than I see fit. I'm neither upset, nor thrilled on this day. I neither detest, nor count down the days to this holiday. I'm neither cynical, nor promoting of this day. And why not treat it as such? If you do something nice, that's great, if not...create your own holiday. Relationships are supposed to be between two people and just those two people. Who cares how or when you express that love in grand gestures. Say what you mean. Enough with all these bullshit "i like you, I guess" Valentine's Day cards bullshit. Yes, I find them thoroughly amusing, but still! If you have someone you care enough to spend this day with, make it count. Either way, shut up! And keep your romantic, personal, private, intimate moments to yourselves. 

Because I have one question planet earth. It's insanely hypocritical seeing as I am posting it on a public blog, run by a search engine that owns the rights to everything I post. Nonetheless, here it is:

WHO ARE WE ALL SO EAGER TO PLEASE? WHO ARE WE PRETENDING FOR AND WHY HAVE OUR LIVES BECOME ONE HUGE PERFORMANCE?

Happy Valentine's Day folks.

And then I posted pictures of my love life...
OH NO A KISSING PHOTO!

He likes to lay on my shit. C'est l'amour

You ain't artsier than me...

Actually, you probably are. I've been nothing but FART with my art recently. I need to draw more, photograph more, get lost more, write more, BE more.

Spending this whole entire week with The Verve has really inspired me to just do shit. To take out my journal and write down thoughts, poems, snippets etc. More so than I have been doing. She draws the most beautiful sketches of people and things. She only shows me her journal sometimes and at rapid-turn-the-pages-so-fast-I-can't-read-anything-speeds. I understand though.

Some of the shit we "artist/writers" produce is not for everyone. It's just for us. I respect that.

But she tries to draw something once a day and we had a good talk about "seeing" versus drawing what you know. It's a practice and a training you develop between your eye, your brain, and your hand. Best thing to do is start with one drawing a day.

So, I've been doing that. I drew a really fucked up looking bunny the other day...it looks good if you lay on your back and prop my journal up on your knees, but if you look at it normal the proportions are jacked. Yes, I drew it laying on my back with my journal propped on my knees. Sue me.

I just wanted to make a list of all the books I've read since I got here and the ones that I'm going to be reading on this upcoming vacation. It's just for me to see if I'm doing a good job, or if I need to step it up!

August 24-February 2

• The Girl Who Played with Fire - Stieg Larsson 
• The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest - Stieg Larsson 
• Super Sad True Love Story - Gary Shteyngart
• Tropic of Cancer - Henry Miller
• The Unbearable Lightness of Being - Milan Kundera
• A Secret Sharer & Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad

Currently Reading

• J'ai tant rêvé de toi - Olivier et Patrick Poivre d'Arvor (oui en français)

Recently Purchase for the vacation

• Tropic of Capricorn - Miller
• Farewell Waltz - Kundera

Ehhh...the ones I've chosen to read are good BUT...I need to do better and read more.

Let's get some book swapping on friends!

Leave a book somewhere on a bench! Give a book you love to a stranger. Let's change lives via literature.

Aux 3 Escales

Châtelet. We have a love hate relationship that place and I.
Needless to say though, we always end up getting along.
Tonight we went to this Spanish Bar, Restaurant. It was sit down.
Classy shit.

The Verve and I were going to meet Maya and her beau.
I was nervous for an evening en français.

Sometimes it takes me a while to get into things, and I was pretty quiet at first, explained that I like to listen because I understand better than I speak. However, when it came down to it, we all had a pretty good conversation. I did the best I could and he was really patient and silently encouraging.
So, I give him a "you're all right, dude" grading :)

You can tell that he really likes Maya as well, which is sweet.

At one point in the jolly evening, a huge, beautiful, black cat named Gatito (or "little cat" HE WAS NOT LITTLE) strolled into the bar. Nonchalantly, he made his rounds and then plopped himself conveniently between The Verve and myself. He didn't even lay down properly. I was literally holding him up with one arm. Lazy! But he was supa chill. Entirely black and ENTIRELY MUSCLE. He weighed a ton and it's because he didn't have an ounce of fat on him. I wouldn't wanna fuck with him in a dark alley, he'd probably kill you and take off with all your credit cards. But I would've taken him home with me if he didn't have a collar.

la prochaine fois

Vivent les #wednesdays
photocred: monkeyinparis.tumblr.com

Sharing Spaghetti

And I found myself becoming more and more intensely angry at her. I just wanted my spaghetti! I mean, I offered you a snack not the whole kitchen! Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free? GIVE ME MY DAMN BOWL.

"That guy is laughing at us," Geoverve mentioned quietly on the metro.
"Good!"

The metro dragged to a stop and the three of us chuckled quietly.

"Spaghetti is important," I told the Frenchman who understood our English as he get off the metro at our stop. We followed him onto the platform.

"You should share."

And with that he walked away smiling to himself.

I'd say that a day filled with sunshine (well the morning at least) good stories, French doctors, free coffee, finding books on a bench AND buying books later on, is a pretty successful day all in all.

It just made the day that much better that I ate spaghetti for dinner...again.

Fermes les yeux et je vais faire un bisous...

demain tu me manqueras,

Today was a great day for bench street art in Paris. Also, I got a sexy haircut that my lovely host mom [pre] paid for. I welcomed Lauren back from London to the beautiful Paris, and I ate my weight in spaghetti for dinner (AGAIN). Spent the evening at Geoverve's. I have the best friends.  

Remember that one time...

That Ireland beat Wales in the 6 Nations??

I remember the first half! I slept through most of the second.

Ireland came to shred, and much to Hannah's dismay, the Welsh were unable to rally.


Or maybe the ref just sucked. It was the messiest game I've ever seen. And then I ate spaghetti.

My Milkshake

Today, I had a perfectly pleasant déjeuner avec mes potes. I made chicken with mushrooms in a cream sauce with a side of rice, and a salad with homemade vinaigrette. I'm pretty awesome. Interesting conversations usually come up between friends. Fun conversations. Personal conversations. But everyone's favorite conversation is about relationships. More specifically sex.
Naturally, one of my friends (a dude) asked me if I'd heard from "What's-His-Face" recently.
I said, "Yeah, I texted him last night. He has a cold."
To which, my friend replied, "Are you going to see him again?"
To which, I came back with, "Yeah, probably."
To which, he responded (and this is the zinger)

"You must be good at sex if he keeps wanting to see you again, and again."

Hannah about spit her food out, and made a grimace I'm not sure a Jim Henson puppet could pull off.

First of all, QUOI?!

Second of all, of course! That MUST be why. That's obviously the only reason a guy would want to see a girl more than once. I'm sure it has nothing to do with my charm, sense of humor, or great personality. Cause that would make me ugly, right?

It's definitely JUST my milkshake that's bringing the boys to the yard.

Is this a conversation we are still having planet Earth? Are we living in the 50s? Probably not, cause if a beezy was handing out goodies back then she'd be a slut. I'm confused by this world we live in.

I'm the definition of an Epic Fail

So, here's to my February resolution.

Start writing again. I know that nothing I says matters, and that nothing I do is of particular importance to people not doing those things with me HOWEVER, I shall and I will get back on this bandwagon. Because it's a good wagon to be on.

Today is awesome for two reasons,

1. bomb ass lunch
2. gonna eat crepes for dinner

and I suppose the invisible 3. is that there was promise of getting me an appointment with a coiffeur or in English, someone who cuts my hair. 

To bullet point 2014 has been pretty awesome thus far. Here's a few things I've collected since I last posted before Christmas and some things I've learned so far this year.

• Airport bathrooms are not made for small people like me
• BE BOLD, what's the worst that can happen?
• Always know someone, who followed a crack addict through the red light district of Paris, and bought drugs from a man with his entire face covered except for his eyes. It makes a great party story.
• French is hard, but just keep talking!
• Don't ever have your phone in your pocket if you're in Paris. It will get stolen at Chatêlet 
• Coffee grinds are good for your skin (ladies I'm talking to you, bathe in that shit)
• When a French guy leans down to do the double kiss goodbye on a Saturday night, he's really aiming for your mouth. First kiss of 2014 stolen by G's World. Awesome, dude. 
• If your cousin comes to visit you, get her a sweet photo with a DJ her first night in Paris.
• #wednesdays are still a thing
• If you met on Tinder, make up a completely different story describing how you met organically before you tell anyone 
• Find a gay bar and sit in it with a girlfriend while the orgies commence around you.
• "Django Unchained" isn't romantic, but it's a good conversation starter and catalyst for plan making
• Your body is always changing, but don't worry, if you love yourself shit works out
• I don't think the French come into much contact with "booty" just saying. 
• My host-family has a device that records sound levels in the apartment. Oops that one party I had. Oops.
• Vienna is DOOOOOOOPEEEE. And so are the cops who chose not to arrest me last Saturday for that whole "near the cathedral" incident
• Always take a video of me if I am dancing my heart out in public
• If you don't remember it, it didn't happen.
• Hannah and I are still going strong. Don't worry folks

I want to get this right so I can look back on my time here and say, "Hell yeah I recorded all that mess and posted it on the internet for no one to see."

Carney Out.

That one time in London
(for the second time that month)