le cru et le cuit

Mais si Julien l’eût aimée, il l’eût aperçue derrière les persiennes à demi fermées du premier étage, le front appuyé contre la vitre….

-Le Rouge et le Noir

Speech follows writing and I’m literally (physically, bodily) losing my voice; cigarettes remain my pharmakon of choice. I roll my own now, a heady mixture of tobacco and herbes de Provence.

For a while I thought life was punless. The only différance I savor in this vegetable world is that of slowly roasted sweet potatoes, and I sometimes even ruin it with raw radishes. John, something of a snide sniper, led willing assistantes up the winding, windy hill from Castellane. We sullenly smoked and for some reason sipped Scotch while Liz converted American GPAs to British (“You need a 3.0, which is…what, a 2.2?” “B,” John said flatly). These are dark times; when I turn on the Music Black channel, desperate to sing along to “Ayo Technology” with Marwan, I’m greeted with a literally black screen, void of the promised two hours of “Hits Black.” J’en ai marre de la technologie… My references are more subtle than accurate, more sentimental than artistic. If he had loved her he would have glimpsed her through the persiennes, but he was blind, not even jaloux of the jalousies!