day 60
the courtyard of invalides, built by louis XIV for his returning wounded soldiers (without any disabled access we noted), with the tomb of napoléon shining in the background...
so, I don't want to go on about it, but there is something strange about a country who employs men to stand around all day and whistle at people who step on the grass. we went to the front of napoléon's tomb (which, while it's no taj mahal, let me assure you the french know how to guild), and this guy was standing there, whistle in hand, ready to pounce on anyone daring to step on the sacred grass: two measly squares of it. we stayed until we heard a stern whistle - and then day 60 was complete...
posted by clare in paris at
17:21
4 Comments:
well I thought day 60 was complete, that was until I took my friends to a dance performance where 6 very young women in their underwear spent an hour enacting every lesbian fantasy they had ever harboured. literally. I'm not sure if a 'viva la france' is in order here or not. I'm leaning toward the 'not': this is the second day in a row now. french choreography is not what it used to be...
the poor skinny child of a policeman was probably doing his service militaire so they had to give him something to do i suppose but i must admit it is un peu ridicule. Still at least it seems he was more interesting than the lesbian fantasy dance piece. Do lesbians have these same fantasies as 'wanna-be's -- I often think such common place fantasies are not as interesting as the people having them think other people will find them. Know what I mean?
On a dance note though, I dreamed the other morning that you had constructed a dance work which had live fat bouncing babies attached to thin red strings. One string each. Boing. Boing. That's Glen Innes for you. The town paper is in uproar this morning over the old tractor being removed from the childrens playground (it is looking a little on the rusted out side) but it is apparently an monument to a farmer's generosity and too nostalgic to part with - much like napolean's tomb i imagine but with rust rather than guilding. And here my rainy ramble will end.
Oh dear god, I thought it was just the Swiss! Once I went to visit a friend there. I was admiring his apartment block, all surrounded by beautiful lawn, and went just to touch the rather luscious-looking grass. "don't do that!" shrieked my friend "my neighbours will call the police!"
I think you're playing with the idea of death, yet remaining within the transparent flesh of a moment on the frontier of life. Very beautiful.
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