Wednesday, July 10, 2013

lumière souterraine

Deep in the underground.  Listening to the somber rock of Noir Desir, which sings such melancholy French rock anthems.  Passing betweeen tunnels, watching the reflected subterranean lights off the reflected visage of my countenance.  The passing yellow bars across the brown circle of my reflected eye.

That was then 9 to Franklin D. Roosevelt.  With a hustled gait, I bounced through the bowels of the Paris metro until I got to the 1.

I found an exit wind tunnel as I waited for the train.  The vacuum breeze fluttered through my yellow sanskrit-calligraphied shirt. One aboard the wind-tunneled car, the breeze sent my camise undulating like a mustard hindu prayer flag.  I closed my eyes and dreamed of other prayer flags fluttering in the Tibetan wind.


Le vent nous portera, the wind will carry us.

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