Paris

So I had peered over the edge into the belly of conflict between my imagination and fear of brutality. It was time to move on to another city, a place where one has to pay to pee but where you easily make up for that when purchasing day old bread. It’s strange that I did not visit a single museum in Paris and equally perplexing to know that I did go to McDonalds. It’s true I broadened my taste horizon while overseas, starting with canned calamari in American sauce and pungent cheeses as an upgrade to bizarre foods over baked dough.

Paris was the first place I felt absolutely on my own. I found solace in the fact I didn’t speak French and I could just stroll around lazily as if my purpose was to pick flowers for a painting I would be working on later. So I milled about nodding and smiling, feeling sober about the fact that nobody “knew” me nor had expectations of my underground development. I was blooming and abstinent. Tromping around the city, with many miles behind me and many more to be absorbed, feeling intellectually stimulated and seeing beauty in all places from the extravagant and boisterous to minuscule and meek. I saw it all in the same light. The sun was shining on all of our faces and all of our places.

Thinking back to Paris upon my return to the States when people would ask about the trip I couldn’t remember a damn thing. I had one image in my mind that I can recall after all that wandering with happiness. The image is of me smiling under the Eiffel Tower, leaning against a railing and speaking with a friend about how perfect life was at that moment, and where should we go next. And also we were drunk. So it seems there has always been a correlation between sobriety and my memory, and also drunkenness and me remembering the path ahead of me of which I didn’t like. And how could I not like somewhere I haven’t been yet? Why should I form memories to suppress, when I would only repeat them because I forgot?

As much as I wanted to remain in Paris and not forget happiness, a part of me wanted to flee the city and get back to nature. I have an eye for nature’s beauty as a whole, only when the landscape is in close proximity to me as I had yet to explore mountains. I spent a lot of my extra time back home trail hiking, dune climbing and body surfing the freshwater waves. I’m a Northern Michigan man, come out of the water, come out of the land! If I had to choose between the human species and animals as curators of the earth, I would choose humans. Because I’m a human and that would be suicide to choose otherwise. Animals and robots. They can go away. Just see how far robots would get with animals as their curator. I’d much rather see the animals in our position than robots. Robots come out of the land and rust in water. I’m headed to Ireland!