NOTES

AY

[for-times-gone-by]

[for-times-gone-by]

Under The Bridges Of Paris

A moment passed after the clink of my lighter, and we were both lit…

American? Hmm—What is your name?

Aziz, yours?

Caroline, what are you smoking?

They’re Gitanes

Those are disgusting, and for old men…

My friend told me to try them while I’m here, I quite like them actually.

Did he die from them?

No

Where is your friend now ?

He’s in America, he’s American

So he knows nothing

Tous les Américains ne sont pas stupides..

Your French is shit, merde, you know?

I know

So what are you doing in Paris alone

I’m exploring

Alone?

For now, yes. It’s beautiful here.

It is, I love it. Paris will always have my heart.

Will you die here?

What kind of question is this?

I don’t know, I’m sorry

You are an interesting man. Do you have a lover?

I think so

Are you gay?

Do I seem gay?

No, I guess not. You never know

I am not gay

Where is your lover then

Not far from here, I met her in France

Ah, a French girl?

Italian

Ah, French-Italian?

No, Just Italian

You are a complicated man

Isn’t Paris full of them?

I suppose you are right, maybe you belong here

You might be right Caroline

So what will you do after Paris? What do you want in your life?

I will smoke Gitanes in every country that interests me. And my life? Je ne sais pas. I don’t think this far ahead.

Im sure you will meet many Caroline’s this way….And your lover?

My lover? She will watch me I guess. Either by my side, or in another’s arms.

You are a romantic man

I’m too romantic…

Too much romance? C’est impossible…When love is your king, life will be your queen.

Hmm…

Tu comprends?

I think so

Good. You are not so disgusting after all Gitanes man

I will try to remember it

Bonne nuit

Au revoir

AY

[for-times-gone-by]

Sometimes you look back and you don’t recognize a damn thing.

[for-times-gone-by]

Rocks and Minerals

10:30 at night

My girl is drunk in my car.

She wouldn’t shut up

So I pulled over in a park near the Rouge

And stepped out of the car

To let her sleep for a while

Alone

What happened next

was very strange

I stepped onto the playscape

To escape the cold winds

And maybe go down the slide

Once or twice

But just before the slide

I found two books

One on Buddhist concentration methods  

The other on self realization  

I picked them up to keep

I think the one on self realization

Had an immediate impact

Because I realized I am a grown ass man

On a playscape

So I got off, and walked a short walk

To the river

I stepped on the bridge

And gazed

In an easterly direction

At the flowing water

Wanting so bad to freeze

And feel what it’s like

to not move again

Even for a few minutes time

And in the water I saw

60 fucking ducks

Not an orgy or anything

Just 60 ducks

Floating in place

In a relatively neat line

Silent as can be

From the visible first 30 to 40

To the dark silhouettes of the very last ones.

They must have just read

That book I picked up

The one on concentration.

You can’t make this shit up.

AY

[for-times-gone-by]

Untitled

I wish I could feel again the softness of your lips that lit the up the dark streets of my mind, and warmed the frozen chains locked around my heart. I felt free from those chains with you more than anyone. You were my honey, my tea, my morning biscuits with milk. You were a medicine that perhaps I did not deserve. The pretty moles across your naked body are forever mapped in my eyes like ancient Roman constellations. What else should I say?

[for-times-gone-by]

Untitled

There’s nothing worse than wasted potential. Life can be complicated enough without making more excuses for ourselves. If you love, love completely and understand that nothing is perfect. Everything takes time and sacrifice. If you’re angry, relax. Consider your health and those around you who care for you deeply. If you don’t have money, be patient and spend your money wisely. Save and seek opportunities aggressively like a person fighting off a mob for his life. Be elegant but fierce in your ways. You can’t have everything you want, but you’ll get damn close to it when you decide that you are comfortable with yourself, who you are, and where you’re from. And lastly, remember that you are not the only author to your story. God, chance, science, fate, destiny, coincidence...call it what you may, but acknowledge its inevitability. Recognize its impact and potential. There are great rewards in the unknown for those who are patient, and that’s all I have to say about that.

[for-times-gone-by]

Abstract Timeline of Love

Prague    Parallel park       Kiss          Eye drops       Belgian discos     Castles   A race to the hostel European Christmas    New Years with Caesar       Thieves          Goodbye amore        Flixbus     Nancy   Cafe Turkey    London        Queen of tarts       Nancy    Kebobs  Hospital Paris   Denver     Detroit

[for-times-gone-by]

Parallel Park

Isn’t it funny

How we broke the hearts of two others

Outside of Le Place that night

To start our own little love story

We shared that Camel Shift

And I watched you, breathing minty breathe

As you helped that drunk man park his car in the street

So he wouldn’t crash

I’ll never forget our first walk back to my place on Boulevard Joffre

I had never been so turned on by a parallel park

[for-times-gone-by]

He Likes Orange Juice

A moment of silence

For the miserable man

who falls asleep with his shoes still on

The one who Forgets to brush the horrid taste of Reds out of his mouth

And sleeps through the complimentary hot breakfast at every hotel

The man who needs a few days to sober up

Just to fuck himself again at the end of the week

Him

Who dresses comfortable and loses all his shit

Who’s pomade sits thick in his hair

Who’s music is always blaring

Who’s life is like a book that was left in the rain

Who’s pencils always break

And pen is always inkless

Who’s car is always fucked

And speech is always stuttered

The mystery man

Who is always changing

And loves no one save himself

And maybe his mother

Who’s coffee is disgustingly dark

Who’s friends are always livid at his foul ways.

A proper man and thief

With his big boy boots tied tight

With his knife and matches in pocket

With his willowy looks— his devilish ways

The ultra charismatic

Subtly stylish

Most interestingly miserable man

Life has shot him out of a cannon

Without a helmet

into a circus of sluts and monkeys

Who all seem to need a light

And are so unintelligent that it pains him

They all shutter at the thought of facing the world

the world that claps and cheers as he flies through the air

What a miserable man

Simply perplexed

Who’s only hope and dream

Is a happy ending

AY

[for-times-gone-by]

Canada

You’ve been sleeping for miles

What things did you dream

In those precious hours of sleep

The sun rises over farms

Glowing like honey through the wheat

Even your drool is sweet

I’m happy we’ve escaped

All fortune and fate

For a moment in time I’ll always keep safe

And though we’re nearing the beach

Our journey is not yet complete

There is far more to love

Than the sand and the breeze.

AY

[for-times-gone-by]

Not All Roads Lead To Rome

How do I forgive myself

For all the things I will never become

For what I won’t achieve

What a painful thought

For a detailist

All things come to an end

But I want such an end

That when Death will rip out my soul

He will do it

With the slightest regret

He will see a man

Forged by constant thought and adventure

A man of remembrance and bright imagination

Persistance

Not an artist, but himself a work of art

A lifelong art

Like a painting perhaps

One that depicts many lessons of life

Every stroke of the brush now a beautiful memory

And I hope he sees your eyes in mine

In that moment

Along with everything else

The endless swordplay of emotion

The pain endured

Peace

Happiness

I hope it is gentle

Like a cool breeze that lifts the hairs on my skin

Maybe in that moment

I will finally accept

That anything could have been anything else

And I will see it true

After all is said and done

What was for me

Was never kept from me

It has indeed followed me to the end

My purpose will be what it is

I am not the only author of my own story

And unlike what I once thought

Every time that I felt the softness of your face

Not all roads lead to Rome

There was life beyond your grace.

AY