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Archives d’auteur : Stina
Swim to shore
I have written before about my absolute frustration, my maddening disbelief, at people who do not allow lows. I am currently reading Hammerklavier, a novel from Yasmina Reza. It is a somber but refreshing book about death, in all its … Lire la suite
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Walls become welds
It is my last two days in Paris, the sun is shining, what shall I do before meeting A— at five near Gate de l’Est? I am a bit anxious about meeting her. I have dropped in on some friends … Lire la suite
Paris, day eight
Le jour de l’an, 2017 No meat, no milk, no eggs. Daily meditation, exercise and water. Lots of water. Lots of breathing, C——–. No more rage. Oh, just let it go, let it all go! Be kind. Be silent. Smile. … Lire la suite
Paris, jour sept
Le réveillon I awake at six, how splendidly spoiled it feels to nuzzle into the last dusty corners of sleepiness, bundled in big blankets, able to choose more sleep, no alarms, no appointments. After ten, I rise, I shower, I … Lire la suite
Paris, jour six
Le 30 décembre I was still awake last night when the fog arrived, thick, heavy, low. Like a cashmere blanket, this morning it hovers still. The roofs are powdered with melancholy, the streets are dusty with introspection. I drink my … Lire la suite
Paris, jour cinq
Le 29 décembre I think the neighbours are drug dealers. They never work, they are always up very late, they are home all day. I am standing in front of that big, white wheel they’ve installed between the Jeu de … Lire la suite
Paris, jour quatre
Le 28 décembre A dispute in the night between the neighbours wakes me at 3:30am. Actually, it’s perfect, my normal rising time. But there is no need nor desire to rise this early here where the sun only rises at … Lire la suite
