The living room

Les Halles, some describe it as a hole in the heart of Paris. Today it has become an underground mall topped with park like open space on the surface. At each side of the Halles, escalators drag people up and down, from the subway to the shops, from the shops to the surface. Exit Porte Lescaut, the rolling stairs lead up to the bustling streets, shops, and houses. In the opposite direction a glass bay window looks out at Les Halles' surface: a cityscape spreads out to the eye. On the left an old fashioned merry go round turns, in the center the park ends with a view of the stately dome of the Bourse du Commerce. On the right a modern fountain spurts no water and maybe you can see the tip of old Saint Eustache. In a corner, half hidden behind a pillar, a woman with a crutch, belongings piled on an airport cart, sits on a broken down office chair. In this improvised living  room she sits all day,  looking out at the view from the window.

La Boudeuse

From above the passerelle I see the boat basking in the setting sun, resting on the still waters of the Seine. It is the Boudeuse. She has sailed around the world.

From the dock, I look at the cityscape, through masts and ropes

Rats in a tunnel

Public transportation, third day of strike. People walk, ride bikes cars, roller skates, or try to jump on whatever trains work.

Tonight the tunnel was crowded with people waiting to climb the stairs leading to the line number 4 platform. Others tried to squeeze through to line number 14.

A steady incoming flow packed the crowd to immobility: trapped rats in a tunnel.

Silence on the verge of panic.

Truth and lies

To lie is not easy. I never - almost - do. I believe in truth. To say the truth is not easy either. It is probably easier to say nothing. But in a way I admire those who lie as much as I do those who say the truth. Both are difficult to do. Maybe to lie is even more difficult. You have to be smart. I'm probably not very smart.

The umbilical cord

I remember the wave of horror and disbelief
	which overtook me one day while watching television.
It was not a horror movie.
	It was an interview of a  boy and a girl - children they were.
They had a child of their own and were thrilled by the hyper reality of their new parenting role game.
	The boy had been present at childbirth and was very proud to have cut the umbilical cord himself.
And while telling his story, he suddenly got stuck in his words and began to repeat
	I cut the umbilical cord myself,
I cut the umbilical cord myself
	I cut the umbilical cord myself

Mosaic

Words Words on the wall meaningless to all but the writer	W O R D G A M E S
Games Games on the wall meaningless to all but the player	G A M E W O R D S

On a boat

Click without a camera.

Hair

Her long blond hair tumbling down to her calves seemed to get always in her way. I'm sure that that she was a brunette died blond. When she sat down next to me at the restaurant, her hair almost swept the floor. It was strange how uncomfortable she seemed with her hair, so long and thick, that she had obviously always left it to grow. She would brush strands away, run her fingers through invisible knots and shake her head, as if she it was something foreign and alive that she had on top of her head like some fantastic hat. I then wondered whether it was a wig. No. It was her hair, or maybe it's just that she was possessed by her hair. It gave her an animal look and I couldn't help imagining her naked wrapped in her hair. I imagine that the man sitting with her thought the same.

Halloween

Is not a tradition in this country. But for once she gave a try at trick or treat. Strange characters gave strange foreign treats