White Noise

Wake up at 3 am, thirsty, disoriented..Take a look at your phone, nasty habit..In your drowsy state, foolishly decide to answer that blinking message..Believe you are capable of summoning reason, that water will magically reinstate your mental abilities..

Using Facebook as a notepad is my new level of lazy; I’ve been breaking record times on social media lately in fact. I clicked the one thousand’s like on some random post from a random publisher on the site a couple of weeks ago, and it sincerely felt like the highlight of that night for me. 

Aside from procrastination, I have recently found a sudden interest in superheroes and fairy tales. When series, movies and books started failing to fill those humongous voids in me, I turned back to the oldest trick in the book, daydreaming. 

Daydreaming isn’t an easy task when charming princes and farfetched fortunes stop being fulfilling. Beyond that point, daydreaming becomes an art in its own, it starts requiring chunks of imagination sprinkled with intellect and a shy sense of adventure. It’s hard to break free from clichés in this field. It takes absolute, irrefutable boredom to push yourself in the direction of making art out of what you’d always taken for granted. Suddenly you start focusing on your imaginary expedition and before you know it, you realize it has taken a life of its own; it needs to be nourished now. 

But what is art’s worth without a muse? And what’s the definition of a muse if not a torturous creature voluntarily subjecting you to mind games and psychological disconcertion? A muse has swag but does not realize it. It knows it has got something over you, but is unable to label it, for if you knew what swag is, then you probably don’t have it. 

Usually, the fact that someone is interesting doesn’t automatically make me interested. But in some rare cases, you may be the most boring or neutral person to the rest of humanity, but to me you’d be the incarnation of some sort of cerebral heaven hemorrhaging intellectual stimuli and heartbreaking inducements.

Am I too lyrical tonight? It’s the muse effect. 

One of daydreaming’s many side effects includes an obsession with finding the best way to manufacture heels for mermaids, because yes, there are many, many ways to do it. It also starts seeping into your regular dreams, the kind you involuntarily have while sleeping. Combining your newfound daydreaming habit with an insatiable taste for independent movies might also increase your chances of having nightmares versus pleasant dreams, well unless you don’t consider the fact that you had deprived children of available noses when they needed them in your dreams as vicious. 

Stop by the grocery store on your way home..Get basil, you need to fix yourself a cocktail as soon as you step into your place..Pick an energy drink on your way out from the fridge next to the register..It’s raining..Stand under the rain, sipping a Red Bull, and decide to revisit the nonsense you had typed at 3 am last night..Cheese, all of it, cheese..

I started counting on my new hobby to get me through the days. It felt like an automatic approach to compensate for the infuriating way my soul is being eaten every day. It felt right to let the daydreaming take over while I, little by little, lost my ability to defend the remains of my worn-out soul. 

Creative daydreaming can only last for so long though. When the candlelight flickering on top of your muse’s head gets blown out by unexpected winds, you start giving up on the very lifeboat you’d began to rely on to save you from the oblivion of giving up in the first place. 

The best way to save face is to explain how your senses were clouded by midnight thirst..That’s what your silly mind, fuelled by the flying effect of energy drinks tells you at least..Trust your contaminated instincts and type..

It’s about time you acknowledged your defeat. You are just as boring and pathetic as they come. Temporary brilliant solutions or none, you have failed in the end. 

Cheese..More cheese..Who are you really? No really! 

Go home, resigned..laugh your daydreaming out..Build an imaginary shrine of the muse in your head..Decide that the best fashion to drown your sorrow is older than the oldest trick..Make cocktails, you’re becoming good at those at least..

*Author’s note: this dismantled, devoid of any - and I mean any - sense or purpose, is brought to you tonight by Jack Daniels, DeKuyper and Davidoff.

Paris Paris!

It has been months since my trip to Paris, but I’ve been so taken with my move to the US that I never really had the time or the inspiration to give that beautiful city its right in my blog.

I was there to witness the celebrations on the National Day Commemoration at the Champs de Mars, I melted in the crowds in front of a fully lit Eiffel Tower, and then I went to meet my friends on what I will dub a pub trottoir in Montparnasse. While waiting there sipping blond beer and begging the waiter for more water, I took endless notes on my Paris experience, but alas, perfume spilled over the notebook in my purse and they are now lost in a multicolor aquarelle, but the memory remains. The details are awfully stained, but the big picture stands still in my head as I recall my long walks and my countless metro rides. 

My first surprise in Paris was to see people drinking more beer than wine. Could have been the summertime effect. In any case, I had no problem with that at all, because try as might, I still hate wine, and I will take beer over it anytime. And sure enough I tried wine again there for like the umpteenth time, but my answer is still no, my taste buds just reject it, even in Paris!

Paris for me was a parade of hunchbacked elders, warm suburban people and tourist processions. It was a carnival of the cutest little flowery balconies and the greenest boulevards I ever came to see. The wow effect was omnipresent throughout all the complicated trajectories I had to take, be it at something as monumental as the spectacular museums and churches, or while digging for little treasures at the Vanves flee market.

I stayed in Paris for a total of 11 days at my best friend’s apartment. I really couldn’t have asked for a more welcoming couple than her and her husband. They both made my trip a memorable one in all aspects, and I am forever grateful for having hearts big enough to share the sweetest little place in the whole of France with me. The apartment overlooked a huge breathtaking park that housed two schools and sunbathers at the same time. It was just beautiful!

Before I continue, let me get this out of my system: I was so unbelievably disappointed with the Eiffel Tower. For me, it was just a bunch of rusting metal that isn’t even that big. I know all the historical importance of the tour and everything, still, I wasn’t impressed, and I didn’t even bother waiting in that impossible queue to go up there. Otherwise, Paris was awesome!

Awesome for its magnificent architecture, minus Tour Eiffel. Awesome for the live music blasting in metro stations and on the sidewalks. For the familiar smell of fresh bread out of the countless boulangeries. For all the art pinning the walls and bridges surrounding the whole river Seine scene. For the bicycles on every corner and in every street. For high schools bathing in greenery and the newspaper stands wherever you walk. And most of all, for Montmartre and Place Pigalle.

Paris reeks of history, of marble statues and of chemically challenged monuments. I was shocked to find out on my first day that during summer, this city’s days become so long, but I learned soon enough to turn that fact to my advantage. I also learned that one euro practically has no value in Paris and that Charles de Gaulle airport seriously needs a better service department. I roamed Paris like a labyrinth, stopping by for meals of crepes and gauffre in colorful kiosks and never learning how to mask my stupid smile every time I saw a Lebanese restaurant.

Paris is the land of unisex hair salons and obnoxiously old, decaying nail polish on dirty fingers. It is the land of misplaced, odd McDonalds and problematic parking system. But it’s also the land of pedestrians, of respected disabled people, and of the Quartier Latin, housing the most inspiring bookstores and music libraries.

I fell in love with the little stores crammed in the metro, with the Moroccan corner stores and with the diversity Paris can offer you. I quickly realized how easier it was to negotiate with immigrants, especially when it came to ridiculously overpriced souvenirs.

Paris wasn’t as romantic as I had expected, but it made up for it with its Pont des Arts, with those beautiful engraved locks and with the Chinese couple taking their wedding photos at the Trocadero.  

I must admit I was baffled with the pubs and restaurants’ systems, which I would describe as bizarre at best, but it is part of what makes Paris interesting, of what makes me believe I would never be bored if I were to live there. I would still argue again again for my right to hold my drink in hand while walking inside a restaurant, I mean what kind of rule is that??

Paris in brief is the taste of the traditional versus that of the exaggerated. That sentence would sound a lot better in French, le gout du traditionel et celui de l’exagere, but it’s an English blog, and for that I am currently sorry.

If you are ever in Paris, you must pay attention not get robbed, pickpocketing is huge in the metro, and you also shouldn’t expect to hear Edith Piaff’s voice anywhere. Contrary to my logical prospects, the national events along with the pubs and clubs would only offer you English tunes for some reason.

Public cleanliness was a bit of an issue for me, I mean I never knew that I would ever see anything such as dry shampoo until I browsed Parisian supermarket shelves. I would also advise you against using museum bathrooms even if it puts you at risk of peeing your pants in the Louvres. Trust me when I tell you that it will feel less disgusting than using those restrooms.

I don’t wish to end this article on such revolting notes, which is why I will revert to the subject of friends. Once again I would like to extend my endless gratefulness towards the couple who was gracious enough to host me, and to all the lovely friends I was fortunate enough to make during my memorable trip!

To Paris, until we meet again…