Sunday, July 6, 2014

Thursday, July 3, 2014

Nice - June 2013

An old villa in the baroque style. Nice has an Italian history, and reminds you of it often.

The lid came off and the smell of white wine, garlic and seafood nearly knocked me out.  

The Riviera. Somehow it always feels like the 1920s here. 

A lovely American couple I drank with on the rocks all evening. He was a marine who had survived a very long campaign in Afghanistan. She works as a hair stylist and has been studying business at college. They were friendly, very sweet, full of the promise of youth. I lost touch with them, which is a pity. With the absolute faith and frankness of a complete stranger, I wish them a long and beautiful life together, and hope they see the world, and it is kind to them.

The wine dark sea, like velvet.
The Apollo at the Place Massaena

Marseille - June 2013

Gare Saint Charles

Musicians at the Vieux Port

Well, these things are debatable and these labels are problematic, you know.

Bison at the Vieux Port

Notre Dame de la Garde

A local court

Chateau d'If
Feeling like Edmond Dantes

Pastis at a cheap dockside bar full of Olympique Marseille supporters

Friday, January 17, 2014

Cymbal #47:: The Golden Saviour

In winter, you want to die. You want to get married. You want to close your eyes, close your books, close your mind to change. You want to start an afterlife, a new past, a nostalgia trip that never ends. You want to write your first song, eat your last meal, drink your last drink, blow out the candle. 

Elliot Smith - Roman Candle -1994

There are no miracles on par with the rebirth of life after winter, no dream so great as that of the sun shining down on us again, like we are children who have apologized. Forgive us, we knew not the size of the forces we were arrayed against. In the cold roiled mud, kneeling, looking up, looking for any golden saviour. 

Perhaps there are no miracles at all. There is no hope of resurrection. There is nothing to life but mechanical endurance, nothing to keep the cold from your bones but your flesh and skin and thin wool. Only the heart keeps the blood flowing. Only your courage lets you shut the door behind you. Only the love of ones more cold and damned than you. 

Blackmore's Night - Village Lanterne - 2006

Till the burning eye of the sun returns, drink with me.