glaube an den Schuhmacher...

[in the window of the workshop of bespoke shoemaker Benjamin Klemann in Hamburg]

AERO

partial reveal...obvious reverse...interior mysterious...

specific nomenclature...remnant onomatopoeia...rearranged alphabetics...

AEROspheric EROtomania ROdomontade Or not...

multiplexapiary

babeelonienne ruche d'abeilles... paroles mielleuses s'envolent...

[the most coddled bees live in the Jardin du Luxembourg producing much coveted honey for the connoisseur few...]

l'endurcissement vert

a stone veil...
a verdigris frost...
a slotted regard...
a faraway heart...
quelque chose demeure un peu sur la montagne...*

[*line from "Beauté des femmes, leur faiblesse..."  by Paul VERLAINE, 1844-96]

 

banana livres

across from the quartet of glaringly obvious open glass books that is the sleekly contemporary Bibliothèque Nationale de France to the glory of a certain french president, there is a messy little storefront office with a wilting banana plant shoved against the grimy window...

a stunted unloved exotic with no hope of ever fruiting any bananas but still bearing witness to all those millions of books turning ever so slowly to mush in the unrelenting sunlight, books that nobody in this freely downloadable world has the time to leaf through their precious parched pages anymore...

paris-mutuel

it is always hard to say goodbye to a space, an era, an entity that has been so physically encompassing, so emotionally enriching, so gloriously uplifting...but as one volume empties, another fills up, so one must make the leap, the graceful entrechat from the one to the other, to a newly shimmering pas de deux, and to a sparkling fresh territorial gambit...

[in an empty room with muted christmas colours in the Petit Palais, 8e Arr]

au premier

it is easy to imagine delicate things gliding up these wooden stairs to more private tables where the food is neglected and hands are surreptitiously preoccupied with caressing other warmer parts... and no, be they not be palm pilots, sourberries nor vibrating mobiles, but soft and scented, smooth and responsive, and taking a long time to come down those narrow stairs again...

[meandering down the rue du Pont Louis-Philippe towards the silently flowing Seine...]