No time to write. thesis, www.laboiteasorties.com to take over, my grandma broke her arm and I’m having diner every night with her before goin out. And of course, the novels of the “rentrée littéraire ” to read.

And anyways, my broken heart has chased poetry out of my life…

At parties, people think I am cold, cold and elegant, always, I try too…

The thesis is really a pain to write and I suddenly realized last week that no one in the world will read it entirely, which is quite depressing… But there are good moments like this morning in the sun reareding Etty Hillesum and realizing how close I feel to her.Same age, same belief that love is better than fear, and that I should get riper rather than tougher (“s’aguerrir et ne pas s’endurcir in French, my Ducth is still not good enough to read Etty in the original).

This week I could finally see the Lars von Trier movie, which was one of the best thing I have seen in months. The bet of shooting a Tarkovski without transcendance is baffling.  Charlotte Gainsbourg impressed me, I am in love with Willem Dafoe, and Trier is once again soo right about man/woman relationship. Tough though, but worth it. And the only music is “Lascia la spina” by Haendel on beautiful black and white images of an original scene talked to me, as the first poem about my little new-york destruction is called “Lascia la Spina”. 

Among other activities : chatting with dear girlfriends on beautiful terasses, taking a salsa class, drinking lots of smoothies and champagne, going to the gym and the sauna, watching other movies (awfull Michael Mann), hating Anselm Kiefer whom I loved to death, and buying a single ticket for myself to listen to Leonard Cohen before he dies. Dancing too, and I realized I missed the french crapy songs, and the eurotrash dance music from the 1990′. One cannot live of Bach and good american folk.
I also tried to catch up with french music. Jean-Jacques Goldman is still rocking, the song he composed for Calogero is nice. I especially like the line : “On n’est riche que de ses amis, c’est dire” “You are only wealthy because you have friends, this says a lot”.

I sould write a poem about my tears, my sadness, my mourning and how I don’t feel anything in my body, but I can’t. The mind keeps me standing… rationally…

I have to run and get beautiful for another night with three parties : one at my grandma’s place with opera singers, one woth cinema people with a friend, and either the closing evening of “paris cinema” at trendy “104”, or the cabarock of Nicolas Ullman’s where I did discover lors of new singers, once upon a time. Tonight it takes place at good old Régine.