Skip to main content
[soundcloud]https://api.soundcloud.com/tracks/2629257[/soundcloud]
http://assets.tumblr.com/swf/audio_player.swf?audio_file=http://www.tumblr.com/audio_file/10310447606/tumblr_lrnwhfUrCZ1qa6icr&color=FFFFFF&logo=soundcloud

Sitting in a wicker chair covered in pillows (none of the chairs and tables match) in a café for only tea next to the drawbridge in the middle of town, music plays over the tiny radio by the counter. The ceiling sags. [The building is probably older than any building I have been in in the States.] The walls have pictures, mostly of women. Some nude, some old pictures. Two older ladies are cleaning up in the back as I am the only customer. [I theorize that they are an old lesbian couple.] They take their leave after eatting some salads to sit at the table just outside and next to the door to smoke and continue their conversation. All I can see of them is through the door one of their hands hanging down with a cigarette.


The radio anouncer says something in French I don’t quite catch. Drums start to play. “Send me a letter….” the song is so smooth, the tempo of his voice quickens, “she sold her soul for a flat by the sea.” I think of a redhead that I know who is in love with the sea and sending letters.

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

New Birth.

Hey. C'est moi.  It has been a few years. Since I last discussed into the void here I attended grad school for architecture at the University of Washington, finished the Master's program by the skin of my teeth, graduated into a global pandemic (I would not recommend this), gave away most of my worldly possessions, and am now flâneur-ing around Europe on the slim budget of my life savings. Allow me to reintroduce myself : I am the artist, Gaston. My interests include ; architecture, sustainability, art, vintage fashions, antiques, and flâneries. All while consuming massive quantities of tea. “I know where I'm from, but I don't know where I'm going.” I recently heard this line at a video playing at the Tate Museum in Liverpool, and it rang strong in me. In the film Casablanca, when Rick is questioned on his nationality he responds that his is a “drunkard,” insinuating that he has renounced his American nationality for that of someone who owns and runs a bar. From ...
1 comment
Read more
French underworld tattoos at the turn of the century. The man sports a tattooed mustache intended to foil the prohibition of facial hair in the Foreign Legion. The World of Tattoo by Maarten Hesselt van Dinter. I can only dream of being anywhere near that combination of badass and crazy. Though at that point the Foreign Legion was probably still the best place for criminals to get their record cleaned so perhaps he is as well quite legitimately scary upon all of that. I find myself flipping back to this page time and time again to romanticize the French underground from around 1900. Give him an accordion, a beret, and some braces. Prostitutes who could easily kill you if you ever come up short and tattoo the names of their ‘actual’ lovers between their breasts, close to their heart. Tattoo ‘Je mother fucking t’aime’ in a tattoo cursive along my collar bones.
Post a Comment
Read more

The Toulousian Painting.

I sneak in a mirror reflected reference photo. While we were in Toulouse we ducked into a nice little salon de thé that to me felt like something out of a 1940s representation of Europeans in Africa. Probably just the French dealing with the heat of the south. While at this place I noticed a girl sitting alone at one of the tables reading on her phone. Perhaps surfing the internet, perhaps reading a book, I couldn't quite tell as it was in Asian characters. I would guess that it was either Chinese or Japanese. In such a beautifully intriguing place I found it to be somewhat odd that she would pass the time ignoring her surrounding to immerse herself in her phone. I remember they also had nice restrooms. The girl then left and we stayed a bit longer sipping on our drinks, which if I remember right were not actually tea but something cool to counter the heat of Toulouse. Taking a breather in the hectic nature of our vacation. It was one of those towns where I ...
Post a Comment
Read more