This is not the time. Maybe it is. This late night hours are merciless. In the good sense, i mean.
Tokyo, Paris, Barcelona, San Francisco, all beautifull. Their people: I like them too. This white wine looks so harmfull. Is because it’s colour. U can see thru it, so clear. My old man says white wine it’s the cheapest, less complex of the wines. I don’t know about that i just know i Like it. I satrted this thing wanting to talk about Paris and look what i’m doing, i’m just distracting myself and my reader with disgregations about wine. Pathetic. But again, i guess that in this wrtitting thing everything counts.
Paris. Paris. Parisparisparis. I like the name. Lot’s of writers said so much about the city that i’ll probably agree with all of them. Complex city. Calssic, modern, vangardiste. Yeah, that’s true, french it’s a rich lenguage. ( I allways misspell this word: LANGUAGE! Fuck it!). I miss it and that’s all. Like I miss all the other cities where I lived. I’m reading THE DICE MAN by Luke Rhinehart and makes me thing that maybe all this living in many places and taking chances it’s some how similar to the Dice therapy. I mean, I’m being many me’s, I’ve thought and wrote about it so, i guess, I’m gambling too.
Paris. Paris. Tokyo, San Francisco, Buenos Aires, Barcelona.
Paris, you have some of the finest women in the world. They have charme. Down here it just feels more relaxed, lay back, not too upnose but less exciting. Just a way of life, a choice in the dice, let’s say number 6.
No, i’m not gonna roll the dice this time. I’m feeding myself with the good memoires. And when I reach that point I feel SO LUCKY.