I would just like to share something.
At 9:50, I joined the queue to enter the European House of Photography in one of the backstreets of Rue de Rivoli. On the first Sunday of each month in Paris, most museums offer the public a free entry, a gift many take with eagerness. For an hour and a half I waited. Having thrown no book in my bag, I remembered I have the KJV on my iPhone and began reading Job, then flicked to the book of Paul. Since mystery makes more sense to me than rationality, I satisfactorily received the required dose. Later, the music section of my iPhone replaced the homescreen and my fingers scrolled quickly to Cohen’s ‘I can’t make the hills’, a poem spoken to music, a poem I can relate to when the surface of the tangible world is too transparent, a poem which brings me some comfort when I begin to feel that darkness is driving out the light. Tears filled my eyes. Myself, with nothing to distract me, waiting, with no body to speak with, with no promise of another there to speak with, and this mind, which has made hairs fall from the roots at too young an age, has flipped the coin 6 times a day, day after day, week after week, month after month, and on and on. My mind is driving me to the abyss. An hour and a half later, still standing in queue, but having advanced, I peered through the window to the reception desk and saw money being exchanged from a pair of hands on one side of the desk, to the other. I asked the woman in front of me ‘l’entrée et combien?’ The entry costs how much? ‘8.50’. I have 26 centimes. I’ve had 26 centimes since the 3rd of January. I turned and left that fucking queue.
I walked the streets, staring down at the hole at the right toe of my 10€ shoes, with a thousand thoughts invading me, wondering who I am, who I was, who I will be, time wasted, despair, what to do with the day. I saw Starbucks, said fuck it, went in and took a table. There was a tray with empty plastic plates, spoons with traces of cream and used tissues. I am going to pretend it’s mine and I have been here for hours. I took out that notebook and pen from my bag and began writing, like always, to reach a point of freedom. Believe me, I know how foolish that sounds and is. Old habits die hard. Okay. I have no excuse. A half hour later, I decided to ask the barrister for a cup of water. I asked and waited; he was making coffees for a couple. ‘Mademoiselle, le verre d’ou’. I moved toward him for probably the only thing which would touch my lips that day, and at one and the same time, he held a hot beverage in his other hand. He made the wrong beverage and offered me it for free. Me, without money, with no food in the fridge or pantry, since the beginning of the year, for another 3 days probably, offered a free drink! It had cream on top and coffee at the bottom with milk all round. Not what I would ever take, but with changed circumstances… Who’d say no?
Man, the gratitude I felt, my amazement, my awe at such a happening. I thought of the reversal of my luck, just of my luck in general. I said, it’s working for me now, whatever ‘it’ is.
And yes, I am writing this from Starbucks.
Thank you, thank you, thank you!
That is awesome!
I have a similar story I want to share with you. I was at an Armin Van Buuren beach party in Bulgaria. I had spent my very last money just to get in. I partied for 5-6 hours but I got extremely thirsty. The party ended and my trip to the hotel room was 5-6 km walking on the shore. It was 7AM and I was dehydrated for a while now, so lets say I was not thinking straight. Halfway through my trip back I decided “fuck this, i’m so thirsty, i’m gonna drink water from the sea” . Worst idea ever – not only did it taste awful, but I also got 3 times more thirsty. When all my hope was gone and I was contemplating on how I got in this situation I gazed down, and right in front of me I saw 1 euro – exactly the amount I needed to buy a bottle of water. Like yourself, at that moment I felt great gratitude and amazement!
Whenever I read anything that is French, it always has a certain kind of whim on how a story is written creatively. Coincidence? I believe not.
I would like to share something.
Today I discovered a button on the computing machine keyboard that has the word “enter/return” on it, and if you press it your subsequent text will move to a new line.
I’m thinking of calling these segments of lines “paragraphs,” and the artform will be called “text formatting.”
The result I shall name “legibility” and “common decencey to anyone who would consider reading.”
Sorry, but posting a wall-of-text on an internet forum in the year 2014 just isn’t acceptable.
If you want people to reply, make your post readable. If not, people will just click that little x button and forget you ever made the post.