Everyone should wake up today after having not slept. A cascade. A 3-D star stethoscope, barometer meting out the affections. What is the bag of trash scrawling on that wall? We are the faded lilies on the maroon(ed) carpet tree. Where is the nature in our natural habitat? He would pee red, dressed as a dog, in the shade if given time to consume enough beets, the ability to wait out daylight. We are waiting by a bus that is not going anyplace. Just CDG. Only Orly. I feel closer to the air after a bottle of rum. I want to go a few city blocks, but no one will carry me. He says it is not quite like that, set theory. He is measured out by her gaze. Pleeaasse come out, she says. The dancers are, unfortunately, not naked. When she tackles him in her small slipdress in the shadowy audience they skid a long way on the satin. Did you hear the ice cube melting? Was it sugar? Over and over, the block drifts off. We, too, carry ourselves into the dark. Stop at a streetcorner by a stand of bananas and beer. The trumpettist raises his horn and plays a few notes as he walks. We keep parallel. Our footsteps. Mine. Timing into the day. The statue there spies at us, lounging on the angled lawn. She has been waiting since 1864. Black smoke, boat stalled, the stranger who wants to shake my head as I enter the code into the door. This is what she means, in the case, speaking out from behind glass. There is no cure, after all.
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Shows we went to included
--"Cure" at a hospital in Ivry,
--brige with lit up tv screens and free neon lights for audience
--Notre Dame with fake lit crisals by some Swiss artist, then
--espace blanc manteaux with dansers intermingling with the audience
--then to a church with 3-D images on screen + music in dark,
--bought a fifth of rum like a teenager to split as we wandered on
--to fakes tree on carpet with real flowers on its limbs along rue des francs bourgeois,
--then opposite the centre culturel suedois into garden for 3 screen show in silence of sugar cubes melting
--then to the centre itself for a series of short films, many funny,
--and we ended by watching a waterfall on a building accompanied by music on the corner of rue Pearl.
--Bus home, out at Gare de l'est, then a walk past the late night insanity of Paris.
That was Nuit Blanche 2009.
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