Paris Private Parts

[exercicedestyle]

[witchus]

[knitted-snow]

Tracey Emin, I used to have such a good imagination, Monoprint, c. 1997, 59 x 73 cm.

[parisprivateparts]

All this old

Fluff of fur, feathers from something that once flew, down and dust

What did they stuff into your jacket to make it so warm? What did they stuff in you to make you this Cold?

One glass poured and then Bottle put briskly back it in the fridge.

Bus stops I couldn't do, nor cigarettes outside My jacket a joke among the winds, but the only one I own Reason to stay another hour in your home.

Also this year brings it back The season I have failed to forget

The outerwear of another wardrobe, back on my back, The weather remind me of things,

Old winds and how The red wine at yours was always so cold.

[parisprivateparts]

|ˈʃəːbət|

My computer corrects “shabbat” to “sherbet”. “A frozen dessert made with fruit juice added to milk or cream, egg white, or gelatin”. Gelatin? Definitely not kosher. 

At sundown I drop myself into a bowl of frozen fruit. I don’t pull myself out until Saturday night when it’s late and I’m sticky and properly melted.

Sangiovese I used to drink in my Scandinavian apartment during weekend afternoons, with someone sweatpanting in the same room in the sofa, maybe facing a muted TV. Now it’s just me, out on the scaffolding, on the imaginary balcony, hovering over the city, over my park, sipping & squinting.

[parisprivateparts]

Once you've tried dulce de leche mixed with cream cheese you will never become a vegan. It's amazing how self-destructive 6 months of a broken heart can make you. When someone on the bus comes up to pour some acid on the shaving wounds on your legs you just shrug. Just kidding, you've stopped shaving your legs ages ago. You need all the protection you can find, all the fur coverage you can grow. The sunrise over the Atlantic. You were still trying to sleep when the sun knocked carefully on the airplane window, flirting, giving you the eyes. Immidiately you rose to get some coffee from one of the hot stewards and, it turns out, get chatted up by a 75 year-old in a kippa walking around, flaunting his bad posture. Nowadays you just float along, accept things, look at the acid burning holes in your skin. You've gotten so pale, but then again: you've always been. You celebrate B:s new job with a glass of daytime champagne, but to be honest, you ordered it before she got the call. When a waiter asks you if you need milk in your coffee you ask if you can substitute it with a coupe of sparkling on the side.

[pinkfairyarmadillo]

“When I Say Love” by Meredith Martinez

One of my new favorite short stories.

[pinkfairyarmadillo]

this is still so incredible

[parisprivateparts]

Parisian Special Skills

* Holding the eye contact with basically anyone in the metro. Also, avoiding eye contact with basically anyone in the metro. * Getting on and off a scooter in tight jeans. * Knowing that "J'ai faim" (I'm hungry) doesn't always mean that he wants you to bring him chocolate. But then again, sometimes it does. This is one of the trickier points to master in order to smoothly integrate into French society. * When a stranger bumps into you on the street, pronouncing pardon like you really mean "Bitch who do you think you are".

[hellanne]

I used to make long speeches to you after you left. I used to talk to you all the time, even though I was alone. I walked around for months talking to you. Now I don’t know what to say. It was easier when I just imagined you.

Paris, Texas (1984)

[parisprivateparts]

All the things

[parisprivateparts]

What I did one year ago today.

[parisprivateparts]

When the plot of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind is both a nightmare and the only possible option.

* I have this potent fat bouquet of lilies on my dining table. It doesn’t smell of anything. * I never dine at my dining table. I only dine in bed. * When I press my nose against the new throat, it doesn’t smell of anything. * Tobacco, Paris air, this particular boring brand of shower creme, skin, the best skin. When I pressed my nose against the old throat it smelled of everything. * Stop thinking about it. Stop thinking about what the old throat smelled like. * I email a Mexican perfume company to track down a scent that I used to sample on my wrist and daydream about giving him as a gift. * His smell was already perfect, it was everything, and anyway there’s no point in buying him gifts anymore. I order it for myself. * Tomorrow the liles will have metamorphosised themselves into maturity, soon they will whither and soon they will die. * I will carry them to the trash while reminding myself not to think about the old throat. * I will go the post office and pick up my new smell. It won’t smell of everything but of something and from now on I will carry something that is not nothing on my throat.

[parisprivateparts]

[parisprivateparts]

"We might yearn for love but we can't handle love" (Source)

[parisprivateparts]

[parisprivateparts]

One year ago according to iPhoto. Have started obsessing about this, what I did exactly one year ago. 

[parisprivateparts]

[parisprivateparts]

I feel that when she moves time doesn't

Nice relaxing night in: soba salad in bed, zen mode, maybe a movie. Pfft. I do eat my dinner but change my mind about the rest. Throw myself out of bed, put on outerwear on top of pajama and RUN to the cinema. "C'est en allemand", the cashier warns me. I shrug. I don't remove my coat in the salon. Maybe I understand German, who knows. I try to eat my kitkats quietly in the dark because the cinema is full of judgmental elderlies. The candy wrapper is as always louder than the stormy weathers and guns of the big screen. The movie is about a girl making it out alive from a concentration camp, returning with a new face to a husband that doesn't recognise her anymore. I eat my kitkats, I cry, and then I fall asleep and miss the ending. Lately I fall asleep everywhere except in my own bed.