On departing Cahors/Chemin de la Saint Jacques @ Cahors, Toulouse & Montpellier

-

On departing Cahors/Chemin de la Saint Jacques @ Cahors, Toulouse & Montpellier

Why just retirees? Have the young forgotten their feet in a consumer dust? All teettoring on the gulf of cracked tooth and forked tongue wag. No matter what I say, and how close to pronouncement, I am sounding more like the French Policeman in Allo! Allo!

Fucking dick Hank! Good riddence to appallingly arrogant man. Yet au revoir to Serge; a splendid homme! I spoke to my Irish cousins no more; carrying the hopes of disappointment on their furlocks and moist hiberian palms.

Bought petit fraise, €2, figue and banane sans moisture, €8. The Moroccan crook wanted €10 for 100 grammes of dried banane and fig. C'est la swindler!

With a change of pace becomes a change of place and change of pleasure: hello Edinburgh University persons! Bonjour pretty journey femme heading to teach in Italia.

Rant to university boyo from Leicester via NUT and Edinburgh History degree over. Jump on another train before the day of rain commences. Thunderstorms await in Montepellier ... Splish Splash; Shock and awe.

Thought they were of the first class creature variety; inner tone maybe in pocket perhaps non!

'Mon Couq has a blockage.' 'Hello Ruth.'

Most amazing Winchester fayre. The petit dejourner of the first leg of the tourist trip. We talked and walked and coffeed and parted a carriage apart on the TGV. Her eight me seven. I wish to meet her again if there is any chance for us to say salut once more.

A swift grand/petit café noir and I'm raring to reach the Saint Sebastian Relais for this hopeful week. It is good; even if a French chavette would move not to allow me the aisle seat. I couldn't care for the change of mood the journey could become post Ruth hast. Happiness from neuf to onse will remain happiness before apres midi!

Have a southporter for me! Just meet a Winchester lovely; lovely. Best two hours of ever. Between sunrise and sunset!

Fraise and eau to bring on the future and turn to tonnes of tuneage to complete this ensemble! Smiling dried banane exhaust the path tracking down the rungs and a flat landscape filled with clenched fist clouds. I care less as I observed the sunshine of her face today. A cave could not occlude her visage from my eyes; my eyes have seen her.

Red stained fingers stack against sulfur bright fugue fugue figue. Turning to S potify a bon Deerhunter - Monomania.

Summer sounds feeding my ego free mind that is guided by right thumb thrusts; repetition.

Delta to the Bay; right through the Plans. Not quite, but on my right Carcassonne. The viability and ventures of my right hand view suggests the other route I go: depths of greys beyond the legumes and greens and vines there on. As a rain falleth east to west our carriage ripping up muddy miles; hoe! Arles we go? One stop is Nabonne and an hour from stopping to investigate Montpellier.

Around half an hour of distinctly unfree uncaring travel left. Just get me there so I can jump and blow and single out. Time is for me free to plunder plucking strings and jazz bar jives.

As the distances stretch behind me and the zip zip zip gets closer spaced I am finally in the bored place. Twelve more minutes in waiting to jump off this painfully solitary journey; one coach might be one league and then some. I watching time turning over and expect to be drenched, refreshed and no longer fatigued.

Arrived and its rain once more! I mired missed the time :: previous I am to three hours. Rest to await the rain to hang five. It flows in torrents. I will fetch a poncho regardless as this kind of rain probably falls on my waterlogged pate and sack au Spain? Food for an available hour my hymn it is at the base of Saint Roch Chapelle, in town Montpellier. My stomach pains me from overdose of North African fayre and now I pay for my €2 barter.

Carpaccio of boeuf not in Saint Mawes but sat outside le Chapelle Saint Roch. The wine list? Trentino beckoned me then; in France stick to belle acidité Viognier, Domaine de Virginie. And canard completed a the retour de la violence politique and Trestanton.

The rain falls and I already wish to forget it. I am looking forward to seeing the English guys but in the Orchis there is another zombie eyed news channel doing the same empty 15 minute advert plug and densely empty smothering prometheus of expectant feelingless faces.

Location: Centre Historique, Montpellier

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

An Essay.

-
Introduction. My name is Pilgrim. I walk through this life much as I walk through my allotment – a space I often describe as disorganized, yet to me, it feels profoundly holistic. I don't fear wasp stings; I stride through nettles and thistles and brambles, finding a curious interest in the cut skin, a quiet control over the bleeding. I have no fear of the dark or the unseen. What truly disturbs me is the chatter, the small talk that ripples through existence, obscuring the profound truths unfolding before our very eyes. I prefer chaos to order, perhaps because the imposed order I witness around me feels so deeply, fundamentally false. I literally eat things along the path, unbothered by what others might deem unsafe, for my perceptions lie far beyond the superficial. I’ve come to see this world as a grand, unsettling performance, a "game" played at the highest echelons, designed to "manage the populace from cradle to grave." It's not a conspiracy in the nea...
Read more

France is ... a powerful antidepressant

-
I have to resuscitate a dying sense of spirit and enthusiasm into my present as I have become detached from the real joys of my life. No reading, no writing; no contemplation. Even now I am tempted to throw down the device and forget it, but why - because it's a dead end... Surely I can stay here a little longer until something infinite moves within and without? *** As I sit on Ruby's sofa/bed and listen to the sounds of spring, with the gentle murmuring of the pond at the bottom of the garden and the distant hum of the A1(M) I am aware of the distance growing between what I truly love and what I am become; in despair. Oh the alcohol fuelled me. The forgetful me. The desperately lonely me. The one I've cordoned off for the world to see. Ruby is happy with me, Lola is happy with me but I am unhappy with me simple as I am - Mother Nature's son: tranquil and unimpeded by mental noise... Knowing the truth will set me free, but being forever unable to accept it entirely. It...
Read more

You and I.

-
Are we joined, you and I? When I sit squished up, alongside thee, It seems we are: Dog and boy Man and mutt. A symbiosis between homo and canid, A combination of smells, swells and warmth, which is rarely malignant. What a lucky man I've been, knowing  She's going to rest assured and easy, These last many years, as we both Age gracefully and greying towards separation; where the winds blow us  Disparate, sometimes warm and often Cold, back to the single I; alas! No more the we. She of a gray face, And I an ashen shadow, But always brighter  Than a swarm of photons, Alighting a while, Out of their cosmic array...
Read more