c’est n’importe quoi
Mes jambes sont longues et avec eux je traverse les mers froides pour que je puisse t'attraper, toi, aux grands yeux.
My French is so rusty. It took me far too long, with far too many trips to the online translator, to write her a long-overdue letter. Now it’s just a matter of transcribing the thing. Handwritten things will forever trump anything produced by a machine.
Days pass. They crawl towards the precipice of August while my thoughts collapse and re-form again like a teasing cloud, never coherent long enough to make any sense in the written word, although spoken bits have come to me now and again lately. There are so many things I want to write about, about ambition and vision and postmodernism, but it doesn’t come. It doesn’t come.
This is an evergreen continent compared to the deciduous realm of the old world.