Sisteria

The problem with shooting heroin is the heaving. Eventually, you reach a point where you have nothing to throw up and it doesn’t matter anymore. But, until then, you shoot it, you want to heave.

So there I was with Chris, crashing at his parents in Enghein, some ritzy suburbs of Paris. We had been shooting up heroin and drinking beers downtown and getting fucked up and suddenly catching the last train back to bumfuck paradise where they raise horses and polite Christian girls and where Chris’ parents lived. I had never been there and I had no idea when was the last time Chris had been there.

Too late

The sound systems’ voice
Says
“Last train in 10 minutes”
So what do you do?
Hang yourself?
No, you wait

Notes about Charlie (5)

It’s been a month and a half since the big rally after the CHARLIE HEBDO and the Jewish deli massacres. Here are few thoughts about what is happening lately.

Singles

Last train
Five, six, maybe eight women
All looking ok, alone, single
Same number of guys
Isolated and losing hope
Not a word is spoken
We all finish the ride
On our own
Lonely city

A day at the beach

I’ve never forgotten Annette although I’ve hardly known her. I was a quite poor and quite unhappy young guy living in a small town in France about 80 miles from the sea, the Atlantic Ocean. I liked going to the ocean, which I would do, on my own, every chance I got. I had found this place, by a small fishermen village. There was a great beach and lonely dunes and the wind, always.

First I started to camp there by myself four or five times a year. Later, friends, boys and girls, hitchhiking from the city, later driving on motorbikes, would sometimes come with me. I remember going there as early as March and we’d go swim and the ocean was cold. So very fucking cold. You had to have balls, even if they shrunk, to go in there. And the girls sure took notice.