Art and Writing from the world Part V (Dancing for a spot in your time)

Running accomplishment, stimulation coming from both sides as I scrape my hands along this palisade, along this fortress.

I wear what the sprite of time has woven for me, it is my garment, it is my vessel, my bucket, barrel and bin; it holds me and my belongings as it saves me down this tunnel.

But I sparkle, I dance, it is not prison but animation. Hands lifted and a toe tap for each approach, each day and each moment; even my suspense is music now.

The rope begins to swirl, the bucket is cracking and my cheek smears along the blanket, what happens when there is no more expectation?


Snap, release, fall... and then?

Sweet Paris

Sweet Paris,

What is not happening in Paris should be the tittle of this blog so I can keep it short, so I do not have to choose between all of the amazing things that happen here.

Paris is not a city which I would have given strong desire to without seeing, originally I had little interest in this place and would have passed on it for a lesser place in France or another country all together.

"The French people are rude" "You will not get by in France, without at least some french" "They have body odor" 

All bullshit, sorry. The french were amazing, the city was grand, beyond grand. The only thing that stunk, was having to leave.

Where to begin, where to end. Paris itself has over 2 million people but the metro and surrounding areas bolster it to a stunning 11 million.

I arrive into Paris early from Milano and my back is killing me, probably something to do with the 5 hours spent on the autostrade trying to get the fuck out of Genoa, sorry Barcelona! Maybe next time!

I nestled into a hostel and hit... a nap; Yeah thats lame, but fuck man gimmie a break, I am tired. 

Again, what is not happening in Paris? From the Louvre to the Eiffel Tower deal, this is it man, remember when I said that everything in Genoa was big? Well turns out the french invented big.

One of my favorite things was this roundabout by the "Arc De Triumphe" The Arch of Triumph. 12 lanes of crazy bat shit nuts french suicide drivers pouring into a virtual cycle of destruction. No lanes, no rules. It is said that an accident happens here every 30 minuets (I sat there for an hour on more than one occasion and did not see one) it is also said that no insurance company will cover a claim made in this bees nest of chaos! this photo I took, does little justice.

So, as I was about to leave, saddend again that I did not see a crash, something better happened. I was thinking to myself, man, what a fucking nut job you would have to be to walk across this pandaemonium, well... Here comes this man of all men strutting across the roundabout in true heroic fashion.

The world could have been crumbling beneath this man, the entire mongolian army could have fallen victim solely to his glare; every strong man you can conjure up in your mind to compare him to, was just sent home for soiling their pants in his presence.

I looked at him walking towards me (to afraid to photograph him as though my camera would implode) and I grabbed my own junk and motioned to him as to congratulate him on his unusually large area of what we lesser men consider a groin or balls, he has entire solar systems down there.

He just looked at me as if I were a coward for not just assuming this, as if he needed reassurance. I could hear is displeasure in my lack of manlyhood "Pfft puny american sissy, would not cross roundabout!! Pisha!" all in a french accent for effect of course.

I could literally go on forever about Paris, about what it has to offer. I did all the cliche things that a man does in Paris, I filled my heart, and made some stories, and then, I left with the Idea that of all the places I have been, sweet Paris; I will come back to you.

Thanks for reading. Here are some photos I took, some are extended exposures from atop the tower, you know the one. Its hard to get them right, because it sways back and forth by up to 6 meters on top, thats a lot and you can feel it. 

Cheers.

Milan

I arrived in Milan after a long failed day of hitch hiking, only to decide that, I don't want to be in Milan. 

I had previously disregarded the idea of a train from Genoa to Barcelona because of the price, 130 Euro!! No way dude, hence the brilliant idea to swoop on a car ride. However, now that I am standing in Milan, tired, no place to stay and about to spend 40 euro for a shit hotel and still a spendy train ride to anywhere? That 130 to Barcelona is starting to sound awesome.

Back to the train station, "There are no more trains to Barcelona. you can go to Paris, but you will have to wait until the train gets here because I can not sell you the ticket' (don't ask me why, its just fucked) 

Ok so I wait 4 hours for the train to get in at 11pm, it's an 9 hour train ride to Paris. The conductor at first says, nope this train is full, you're not getting on. I wanted to cry... fuck me GET ME OUT OF MILAN!! But alas, he tucked me away in a sleeper cab, so not only did I get to go to Paris, but I got to sleep at the same time.

So I do not have much to tell you about Milan, except that the train station seemed huge, the internet was expensive, the shitty one star hotels were 40 Euro a night and the restaurant that I went to did not give me bread.

But, here is what internet says about Milan  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Milan

Art and Writing from the world Part IV (The Theater)

I know now as I beam my glare with admire, this quiver only screams that even if your words were to lie, your face is hooded with truth.

Raking and siphoning in embrace, I target the breath that hovers and lingers above your lip, 

Mouths connect in perfect and accomplished collision, one single fit like continents.

And as such, at first draw only oceans can pull asunder and disjoint such crowning glory, as if only one direction existed.

And now this scrolling marquee at an eternal show is cast not by actors but by memories, and performed not on stage but upon my heart, fingerprinted and grooved so that it will only ever accept you forever.

-Barta

Genoa

Hmm, Genoa, is nice?

This is big difference from Cinque Terra, a much bigger city first of all, in fact everything here seemed bigger, resulting in a belittled feeling. Giant and confused architecture. At times It did not seem as though this city could decide what it wanted to be, a fucked up person; duplicitous and confused, similar to myself I suppose.

One turn in this city and you were at the doorstep of something amazing, the next step, a seedy back ally as narrow as arms length and buildings tall enough to block out almost all sun, then the next turn giant fused buildings torn from one era to the next. 

I booked a place in this town, a single room for once, I needed some time to myself. I stayed at some sort of bed and breakfast with a nice couple who had two kids. They were engulfed in some online video game the entire time I was there, so sadly the internet time I was looking for in this town was negated by an italian adolescent addiction to virtual life.

This is a town between worlds, escaped from time and walking on a dream. 

I wanted to head to Barcelona, so the next morning I spent five hours on the "Autostrade" trying to hitch hike to Barcelona... No luck, which is not what I wanted, so? Milan!! keep it loose kid.

Cinque Terra

Sorry about the delay, I have not been motivated to write as of late, you understand? but, I have some catching up to do, so here goez

All I can say is WOW. This is a magical place, "The Five Lands" comprises five villages: Monterosso al Mare, Vernazza, Corniglia,Manarola, and Riomaggiore.

I arrived from Venice here pretty late at night, originally I had taken the train into La Spezia, but after an hour in that town, I decided to hop back on the train to Riomaggiore in hopes that I can wing it. 

Well it worked out, I wandered up the hill with my hobbit pack on, draped in Tibetan prayer flags and the dirt of several other countries I fumbled into what was probably luck, the only place open a little bakery. I asked for a "ostello" (hostel) the women nodded, picked up the phone and made a call, and after a brief undecipherable italian conversation she put the phone down and eluded to the idea that a man was coming to get me.

Awesome job, I sat and had a pastry and about 5 min later an older italian bloke came in and told me he had a room at his house for rent at 15 Euro a night (about 20 US)

Riomaggiore, similar to its sister cities is steep and narrow in nature, kind of. as if you were to take big colorful building blocks and arrange them in a fashion that almost seems unreasonable.

There is an amazing hiking path between the cities offering views that only the greatest words can describe. I have some photos here, but they simply fall short of the display you capture with your own eye.

Two nights here, I take a good and needed swim in the ocean, then head to Genoa. Yeah, thats me...