#1 - Running is flying intermittently

 
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London, 30 days before xmas, a busy retail shop, a messy flat, an English girl named Catie, a housemate called Leo, a long table of skateboarders drinking at the pub, a multitude of red double deckers, a broken saxophone, a Chinese take away, Santa Claus chilling out before his biggest night of the year, a French girl called Anaïs, a concert in a gallery, some girls from Eastern Europe wearing stockings and suspenders backstage, a film festival, a recording studio, some impenetrable balloons on a dance floor, some puddles on the streets of Hackney, some tinned sardines, some pigeons above Covent Garden, a karaoke, a café called ‘La Bouche’, some grapefruits, some green cigarettes, a book written in English by a French Londoner on his telephone.

 

Day 1

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It is November and like last November, Catie dumped me.

We were having a warm bath together and i saw it in her big wet eyes, she needed space.

Catie doesn’t like the size of her thighs, the shape of her feet and she often moans about her hair, i used to feel a bit like one of those to her, part of her life but not fully fitting to her taste, i guess it is a relief not having to find room in the field of her contentment anymore.

She had my sentimental devotion, she was a muse and mystery, kind of a musetery, messing with my boundaries without intentions, transforming the gap of our cultural differences into music, she was born in London, i was born by the French Riviera, we were a nice composition.

We were like velcro with all the noise it makes when you take the two pieces apart, hugging like staples, we went until there, this time for good it’s over. 

I should be looking for a job but i’m still in bed writing this, lying on my back like an omelette in a pan.

I grew a moustache recently, i mean, not really, i made a hole in my beard whilst trying to trim it and decided to keep a moustache with the leftovers, some people say it makes me look more French, i believe it makes me look like the hipsters of the neighbourhood.

I’ve just moved temporarily into a new place in Hackney close to the previous ones i used to live but sightly more East and here the bathroom is very bad, the pressure in the pipe is weak and you can’t get the water at the right temperature even if you tweak the knob with precision, even if you are usually good at it.

The thing with this apartment is that my landlord is also my housemate who is also a decent stoner. 

We have been living together and with other people for a couple of years in two different houses and he managed to buy this place recently, now it is just the two of us and i am wondering how it is going to be living with him knowing that in two years, i’ve never seen him cleaning his bedroom or spending an evening totally sober. 

Two nights ago, he came back so wasted he passed out on the sofa whilst cooking some peas. When he woke up there was smoke everywhere in the flat and the alarm was off, hollering, introducing us to the other residents of the building in its loud language at half past five in the morning, promoting our lack of concern, shouting to our souls our stupidity.. 

I was upstairs when it happened, asleep, and none of this humdrum woke me up at all, my state was not glorious either, anyway, my state had too much to make a statement. 

The walls still stink, as if the flat had smoked a very bad cigar but we are still alive.

The weed we smoke these days is pretty strong, they call it ‘cheese’ which is nothing like fromage, except that it may tickle your nose if you smell it too closely, its fragrance is so powerful, i wonder how our dealer does to not get caught when he comes delivering it.

I don’t do drugs apart from salad sometimes, the rest and its supposedly incredible power doesn’t interest me.

From what i remember, there are in my cupboard, two tomatoes, a bit of honey, a bit of pasta, one egg, a box of Indian herbal tea and a soup in the fridge. It is not enough to take me out of bed.

I have booked three more days of studio in December to re-record the vocals on the songs of my future record as i had a cold during the recording sessions and you can hear it on the tracks, i also have been advised to work on my pronunciation for some words of my lyrics. 

‘Pronunciation’, even this word i find difficult to pronounce. Maybe the amount of croissant, pains au chocolat, Camembert, Brie, Reblochon, Bordeaux, croque-monsieur, crème brûlée, brioche or tarte tatin i have eaten in my life, has shaped my mouth in a way that is more appropriated for speaking with French words.

Today i should work out my mouth with words like ‘roof, crowd, window, shampoo, fresh’ or ‘dancing’ when at some point i’ll dare facing reality and getting out of the consolation of this bed. For now let’s stay under the duvet, leaning on the pillows, close to the dreams.

For some reason my left thumb smells of garlic but i don’t remember cooking or eating anything garlicky last night, that is weird.

Our relationship has lasted for something like a year and a half, even with a month break stuck in between, i haven’t managed to do that in years, 

it is encouraging, 

it is encore ageing.

I am glad i have started writing, it feels good to write, it gathers words together, it stimulates my opinion and cleans the window of my perspective, it gives an aspect to my life by looking at it, it values it, it makes it sound more romantic.

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