If Paris came to you in a dream, would you recognize it? The boulevards, the milling people (a true termitary), the anomie? How about the grandeur, the temples of glory, the ever-present dog shit? The odors will certainly wake you up: fromageries, boucheries mixing with motor-cycle exhaust.

Linda and I went to Saint Sulpice for seven a.m. mass on Sunday. The choeur was being renovated, so we attended in a small but heroic chapel with enormous paintings from the 18th century. Maybe next week, we will attend the mass with gregorian chanting at Notre Dame.

Then we went to Giverny and became impressionists. The flowers there are as multifarious as the people here, clustering, intersecting, crossbreading, something that can only be expressed in person or in painting, in very different ways.

The other truth is that I go to McDo for its internet. I don't even always buy something. Here they play Michael Jackson, Bach, Tupac, and contemporary Christian music.

Post-dated part (from Sunday):

Last night in Paris occured an event called Nuit Blanche. There were manifestations open all night. Linda and I walked around what at one time was a swamp paved over by monks. They call this district Le Marais. It is what would pass as the historical district, with buildings outdating Haussemann by several hundred years.

In a Gothic cathedral, loud atmospheric electronic music (comme Aphex) waxed and waned while Parisians swung ropes to which large stage lights (red, blue, and green). These lights briefly illuminated icons, cruciforms, and dark recesses. The acoustics set over 600 years ago wailed with reverberations entirely otherworldly. This was after midnight. People milled. Chairs in a permenant state of toppling were stacked in one corner from the floor to the height of the doming ceiling. Confessionals loomed. Candles flickered. The music stopped.


Dated today as posted:
If you picture in your mind what living in a European city of great import is, that is the neighborhood of Paris Linda and I live in. Attention: these people know more about simulacra than you. This is not advertised: this is tradition. We go to various stores with the suffix of -erie which sell general one product along a theme: fish, meat, cheese, paper, books, wine. The cheese and wine are almost free. So are the vegetables. Cold cuts, however, are very pricey. So is fast-food.

Classes have started, and Linda and I are students of La Sorbonne. I attended a colloque on Acadian literature in an amphitheatre that was flanked by 18th century paintings of Descartes, Pascal, etc. There is an importance here that creates an intensity that is hard to explain or fathom. Ideas propell themselves, solely because one feels they should be propelled.

Today, I will visit the Louvre with my Impressionism class (to visit the pre-Impressionists). Yesterday I began my philosophy course. Tomorrow, I will be instructed in French and La Civilisation Française. And the next and the next.

Linda and I are indebted much to a beautiful family on the borders of Paris. They have helped us with language, customs, cuisine, and a general feeling of home. They have opened their doors.

I wish you all to see something this glorious. My eyes are open.