It's Friday, yay! The final weekday of my academic immurement.
On Friday nights we go out - we’re up late - so late that it’s early,
but it’s ok, we’re young and dumb.
But if you think you’ll find me sleeping in on a Saturday morning - you’d be wrong.
On the weekends, the richest part of Paris mornings involve neighborhood street-life - which are invitations to sensory abundance - and it all happens before lunchtime.
The sensorial joys of the “sun-south” flower market stalls, overflowing with fresh lavender, peonies and powdery-sweet Violet blooms - tulips from Holland and roses from Kenya - that cool the air with fresh fragrances compete and mingle with savory baking aromas from local boulangeries (bakeries).
The dueling scents define mornings in the Marais (ivy-clad streets) or along the Seine.
Hit the snooze button and you can miss it (and trust me, napping later can be fun).
.
.
Songs for this:
Young And Dumb by The Bird and the Bee
under the milky way by the church
"in the Marais"
there once was a man from Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch
who preferred Picasso's over those of Van Gogh
so he didn't give a damn
about Amsterdam
but would rather be in Paris sipping Bordeaux
I need to be someone else or I'm going to explode...
I watch the gentle rain wash the blood off the road...
I'm in desperate need of a scenery change...
I feel alone, isolated, lost, and strange...
Perhaps I need a trip up to Grand Marais...
I check my balance... Yeah, maybe someday...
I have a screaming urge to get out of here...
Either deep underground or the stratosphere...
I don't care that much where I go...
I could sleep in the car or in a chateau...
All I know is that I can't take much more...
For this mundane repetition, I truly deplore...
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