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| author | luxagraf <sng@luxagraf.net> | 2023-07-28 13:43:36 -0500 |
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| committer | luxagraf <sng@luxagraf.net> | 2023-07-28 13:43:36 -0500 |
| commit | a30c790edea652494e7481f6798047a3bc1fd4ea (patch) | |
| tree | b0936860abd6767716f56c68e305d8f5e0e38bd4 /bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2011/05/from-here-we-go-sublime.txt | |
| parent | 9a620cf42bf1fe6977e378bd834b41ff4a593dde (diff) | |
added a backup of old pages that are no longer live
Diffstat (limited to 'bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2011/05/from-here-we-go-sublime.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2011/05/from-here-we-go-sublime.txt | 20 |
1 files changed, 20 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2011/05/from-here-we-go-sublime.txt b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2011/05/from-here-we-go-sublime.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4fcc9d3 --- /dev/null +++ b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2011/05/from-here-we-go-sublime.txt @@ -0,0 +1,20 @@ +From Here We Go Sublime +======================= + + by Scott Gilbertson + </jrnl/2011/05/from-here-we-go-sublime> + Sunday, 29 May 2011 + +<span class="drop">J</span>ust arrived Dullles-Reykjavik-Paris, just arrived, 26-hour trip, no sleep. I see things. I see a grizzly looking Spaniard selling old railway lanterns at the flea market, I see muslim men playing basketball in skull caps, I see a Michael Faraday experiment with glowing orange bulbs and copper wires enclosed in glass that turns out to be just an elevator. I see a stout Frenchwoman closing the gates of Pere Lachaise, no more dead, we've had enough of you.
+
+<break>
+
+I see the cars on boulevard de Ménilmontant, I see the people at the cafes, from the cafes, have a seat, have a beer, have a moment to think, we could have this moment whenever we stop caring, giving a little bit less of shit about the abstract, a little bit more about the actual. Trade your paper tickets for food and know that you came out ahead, know that that the food is the point.
+
+<img class="picwide" src="[[base_url]]2011/madworld.jpg" alt="la tour eiffel, paris france" />
+
+I smell fresh bread, the warm fecund of cheese, the acrid smell of cigarette smoke on the street. I hear the whine of mopeds, distinct and distant from the rushing wind of passing cars, or the roar of buses blasting by this park bench.
+
+I feel the subway rumble the bench beneath me, I feel the tremble of the aircraft in pockets of turbulence, the tremor of the wing jolts you out of sleep. I feel the flutter of pigeon wings looking for a roost. I feel the present, I feel the past, I don't feel the future. I feel better.
+
+[1]: http://luxagraf.net/2005/oct/24/living-railway-car/ |