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diff --git a/published/2011-05-29-from-here-we-go-sublime.txt b/published/2011-05-29-from-here-we-go-sublime.txt deleted file mode 100644 index f53f564..0000000 --- a/published/2011-05-29-from-here-we-go-sublime.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,24 +0,0 @@ ---- -template: single -point: 48.861291192122714,2.3879055928465687 -location: Paris,Ile-de-France,France -image: 2011/iceland.jpg -desc: It's a mad world. Just arrived Dulles-Reykjavik-Paris, 26-hour trip, no sleep. By Scott Gilbertson -dek: Just arrived Dulles-Reykjavik-Paris, 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 bulbs and 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. -pub_date: 2011-05-29T02:35:00 -slug: from-here-we-go-sublime -title: From Here We Go Sublime ---- - -<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. - -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" /> - -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/ - |