High Vis.

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This is a new thing. The board stays in the car and I float around the breakers trying to nail beautiful glass curtains. Some days I cant fight those crowds in the lineup. The shooting ratio is obscene. Here’s the cream of over 1500 shots.

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I choose you, Pikachu

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I didn’t go in the Louvre, no time. Who would make time for the greatest collection of art in the world? Someone else. A considerable amount of someone else’s were making the time. The queue looked like it was going to stretch out the the Champs-Elysees before long. Past the big Egyptian phallic thing in the roundabout where they once rolled out a guillotine to cut off a few royal heads. Louie and Mary. Napoleon put the obelisk there. It was an offering of peace from Egypt. History stacked on history. They’ve ran out of places to put it.

The last thing I saw in Paris was a Romanian fella playing clarinet in the Metro. He was good. I gave him a few Euros.

A huge thanks to Madj and Shaz who put me up for a few days and showed me awesome shit like, 59 Trivoli and that cool Squat/venue with all the band flyers and mad graff. I know without you two my experience in Paris would not have been close to what it was. Cheering.

Vers le Haut


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Where is that iconic skyline? That iron triangular structure that can be seen from every window in every silver age film set in Paris? You’re standing on it.

If you find yourself standing beneath it, gawking upwards as some fella is trying to sell you key-rings, if you’re considering going to the top – Take the stairs.

 

The Aftersquat

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It used to be an artists squat, now its a gallery. There used to be good parties there. The art was cool. The space was great. Didn’t feel comfortable taking photos of it. It felt like a space where something real had already happened. Like walking through an echo of cool. Go check it out, see for yourself. Feel that hollow thud. 59 Rivoli.

Notre Dame. We didn’t go inside, the queue was obscene. Whatever, big old church. Then, padlocks, “HOLY FUCK! LOOK AT ALL THESE PADLOCKS!”. I am  an uncultured, shitty tourist.

My kicks are cheap.

Vin Jaune

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We got the old dusty bottles of spirits and wine, a few dozen oysters, butter and baguettes. We drank and ate our fill in the a park that was famous for something… I’m not a very good traveler. It was a lovely enough spot on a lovely enough day to be sitting about eating oysters, drinking ‘Vin Jaune’ that was opened with a stiletto . The dismembered cork was floated in the bottle. Fun.

We then set off down a few alleys, past an erotic bakery, through more squares and streets I cannot remember the names of. We were looking for a toilet.

One busker did a pretty good Jim Morrison impression, another was told to move on by the Police. The crowd boo-ed and jeered. People had been holding protests about the excessive police presence in the city the day before.  They were certainly omnipresent. Dressed in their riot gear and arriving everywhere in armoured vehicles. The Parisians know how to protest for their rights. It’s engrained in their culture. Wit more civility now maybe…less beheadings and all that.