Part 28: FACEBOOK!
BLOGGERS, unlicenced (?) scribes, diarretic wordsmiths, literary rabble, or rappers (Dick's from Mars!)...I could go on...like Facebook friends:
"Let's Friend. Let's DE-friend!"
...who wouldnt give each other the time of day (even if their hair was on fire!) if they showed up in person and knocked on each others door...
Nobody has 300 friends, for chrissakes!!!
...dominate our superficial times.
In these (Our Man in Europe) travels, I have been pleasantly surprised or dissapointed by inter-net connections/lack of, when I physically-geographically made/attempted TO FB connect...and where/when I made NEW friends, socially; resorting to establishing Facebook friendship?.... -instantly devalued that union/connections Spiritual dynamic.
...AND!...in conversation with "real" friends who are ALSO on Facebook (or any inter net social network)...everyone concurs: Inter net social "reality" really DOES suck, yet everyone acquieses TO suck!
....During these present travels I have been in TWO, er...gunfights of note. It goes with the territory.
(Actually, it goes with being Delacroix)
Once in Milano, within the splendour of the Grande Centrale Stazione, where I slammed a persistant panhandler. He went down and - courtesy of that citadel/palazzo's pristine-polished marble floor - slid, spreadeagled, in classic Hollywood fashion, a good 5 yards...witnessed, I might add, by 3 Carribineri (cops) who, refraining from getting involved and/or singing a celebratory "Santa Lucia!", nevertheless signalled their unaminous approval.
Another time, in a bar in high Germany where I dropped a guy, pulling him off a high bar stool... Alas, I was in my cups, so - apparently - I knocked the guy out (his head hitting the floor), but mine did, too, so we were BOTH - equally unconscious - carried out on makeshift stretchers much to the entertainment of the vaguely bemused/alcoholic crowd.
I mention these two events in the context of cyber-spaces's superficial Social reality. In a knife fight...you NEED a knife!
(A gun is even better)
Life IS/can be, and perhaps SHOULD BE...wonderfully dangerous.
-Mornings, dawnings, epiphones, of course, at this point...become important,
Like Beethoven's 9th Symphony.
A sweetheart's kiss.
Or - critically - like Satellite TV/a Liquor Store (if you live in the boonies!)
The "sonambulism"
of how WE/ I
try to BE free,
YOU!
...reading ME!
c 2010/Schloss Ludwigshafen/dave delacroix/our man in europe
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
OUR MAN in EUROPE: dave delacroix: Part 27: "JA-JA!"
Part 27: "Ja-ja!"
Back in Deutschland via the ICE Train (Paris to Frankfurt-3 hours-220kms per hour) it's the end of November. Everyone is - financially - down to the wire. My return from filming/recording and almost DYING - that Pneumonia thing - in Paris couldnt be more ill-timed, party-wise.
The Schloss is bereft of its usual joviality. The KILLER PEAR tree is quite out of Ammo! I see little of the Count (Herr Graff, Alex von Ludwigshafen). The harvest , the October Wine fests are all stowed as a perenial memory. Barren fields & frigid forests wear their Winter mantle of snow. The Black Pearl (bar), my downtown Usingen office STILL sparkles - when Nicky bartends - but the Bier Garten is padlocked. A chill prevails, even after 6 whiskies and a frieght train of beer.
I "kick" sometimes (happy hour) down the street at "Jasmines Bier Stube" (with the lovely Jasmine; 28, gorgeous, Turkish!). Licher (is sicher) beers. Drink 10 and you find you've only spent 10 Euros!
Pity Paris wasnt so obliging!?
And, of course, the blessed church bells hereabouts, as - incidentally - I was cogniscient of in Montmartre, tone the hour, devotional times, and WHO (somebody) got married or kopped it!
November. Crueler than April.
Ask Guy Fawkes!
A particular evening of note, however, at the Black Pearl, witnesses a rare flourish of business/activity. The Count (Herr Graff, Alex von Ludwigshafen) and several of his courtiers/retainers, male & female, arrive, boisterous and full of "joi de vie".
It's infectous of course, as I, some farmers boys, housewives - staple publicum - also brighten and re-aquaint themselves with varied reasons for why they are sitting in a bar and getting hammered on a cold Winter's midweek night.
After the usual "tangos" (to the juke box) and several shots of Assbach rum, "die Swimming Pool cocktails, or whatever...and playing every - chewing gum for the mind - electronic slot machine, one armed bandit and "gauche" gizmos a typical bar provides (for custumers without a brain) one of the Count's pals suggests a a game of Table FUSSBALL.
The Count, plus one, 2 others forming the opposing team
"Positions, Gentlemen!"
-Money in the slot. Out pops the "fussball". The game begins. The Fussball table rocks!
BANG! WACK! SWIVEL-SWIVEL! -you've all seen this.
4 Germans, however, playing this game, is uncannily entertaining. Intense, "SEHR" intense, almost theatrical. Someone scores a goal then does a lap of honor around the table (to a chorus of SLOW hand claps). Shots (liquor) are bought, toasted, slugged, the play continues, a lot of "yatter", cheering, girls gather round, hoop-la, cursing, back slapping, etc.
At some point, I notice that the Count (Herr Graff) and his team mate are rapidly losing/being slaughtered...by the other two Bravoes, who hold nothing back in showing their satisfaction....AND....It is at THIS POINT - on the cusp of total, utter defeat - that the Count (Herr Graff) "emits" (?) the most loudest, the most pungeant, the most ODIOUS fart (known to man!)....where upon his own team mate passes out and crumples to the floor like a sack of potatoes...and the once victorious opposition, turning yellow and green, respectively (odd?) wisely withdraw and concede the game.
Ja-ja!
c 2010 dave delacroix/our man in europe
Back in Deutschland via the ICE Train (Paris to Frankfurt-3 hours-220kms per hour) it's the end of November. Everyone is - financially - down to the wire. My return from filming/recording and almost DYING - that Pneumonia thing - in Paris couldnt be more ill-timed, party-wise.
The Schloss is bereft of its usual joviality. The KILLER PEAR tree is quite out of Ammo! I see little of the Count (Herr Graff, Alex von Ludwigshafen). The harvest , the October Wine fests are all stowed as a perenial memory. Barren fields & frigid forests wear their Winter mantle of snow. The Black Pearl (bar), my downtown Usingen office STILL sparkles - when Nicky bartends - but the Bier Garten is padlocked. A chill prevails, even after 6 whiskies and a frieght train of beer.
I "kick" sometimes (happy hour) down the street at "Jasmines Bier Stube" (with the lovely Jasmine; 28, gorgeous, Turkish!). Licher (is sicher) beers. Drink 10 and you find you've only spent 10 Euros!
Pity Paris wasnt so obliging!?
And, of course, the blessed church bells hereabouts, as - incidentally - I was cogniscient of in Montmartre, tone the hour, devotional times, and WHO (somebody) got married or kopped it!
November. Crueler than April.
Ask Guy Fawkes!
A particular evening of note, however, at the Black Pearl, witnesses a rare flourish of business/activity. The Count (Herr Graff, Alex von Ludwigshafen) and several of his courtiers/retainers, male & female, arrive, boisterous and full of "joi de vie".
It's infectous of course, as I, some farmers boys, housewives - staple publicum - also brighten and re-aquaint themselves with varied reasons for why they are sitting in a bar and getting hammered on a cold Winter's midweek night.
After the usual "tangos" (to the juke box) and several shots of Assbach rum, "die Swimming Pool cocktails, or whatever...and playing every - chewing gum for the mind - electronic slot machine, one armed bandit and "gauche" gizmos a typical bar provides (for custumers without a brain) one of the Count's pals suggests a a game of Table FUSSBALL.
The Count, plus one, 2 others forming the opposing team
"Positions, Gentlemen!"
-Money in the slot. Out pops the "fussball". The game begins. The Fussball table rocks!
BANG! WACK! SWIVEL-SWIVEL! -you've all seen this.
4 Germans, however, playing this game, is uncannily entertaining. Intense, "SEHR" intense, almost theatrical. Someone scores a goal then does a lap of honor around the table (to a chorus of SLOW hand claps). Shots (liquor) are bought, toasted, slugged, the play continues, a lot of "yatter", cheering, girls gather round, hoop-la, cursing, back slapping, etc.
At some point, I notice that the Count (Herr Graff) and his team mate are rapidly losing/being slaughtered...by the other two Bravoes, who hold nothing back in showing their satisfaction....AND....It is at THIS POINT - on the cusp of total, utter defeat - that the Count (Herr Graff) "emits" (?) the most loudest, the most pungeant, the most ODIOUS fart (known to man!)....where upon his own team mate passes out and crumples to the floor like a sack of potatoes...and the once victorious opposition, turning yellow and green, respectively (odd?) wisely withdraw and concede the game.
Ja-ja!
c 2010 dave delacroix/our man in europe
OUR MAN in Europe: dave delacroix: part 26: "Heiter bis Volkig".
Part 26: "Heiter bis Volkig".
....(This post should be, er... part 19....but, whatever)
...Touching on European travel, singing that 60's song: "Planes & boats & trains (keep passin by), are infact in abundance. The Euro "Greyhound" bus, too: the Euro-Liner...
Getting around is a logistical/fiscal no-brainer...and Europe - tansportationally - is most definitely "united", ergo, connected.
Yet, still being something of a Bohemian wanderer I must always - especially in Germany - opt for the Deutsche Craigslist type rideshare, the MIT FAHR ZENTRUM. There's an office/Buro - usually run by scruffy-ish student types - located in most German towns & cities. You sign up/e mail, chalk in your destination, kick in some gas money...and BA DA BING! - you're on your way! -usually with a coupl'a cool kids.
In my formative years, this was how - when not outright hitch-hiking - I always got around (I dont drive) and thereby established a network of friends - who more often than not - made frequent-repeat journeys that I could...
TIME OUT!
.... I'm beating off Summer bugs & flies here in the Schloss (Die Kastle von Ludwigshafen) garden...And have I mentioned the garden's "KILLER PEAR TREE"?
It's abundant fruit (the KILLER PEARS!) dont just mature then drop to the ground... They fire off the tree's branches LIKE MISSILES at great velocity...seemingly every time I walk by to dump organic trash/fetch fire wood or lounge nearby, drinking, thinking or attending to this book/blog.... But RARELY when any one else is around, whereby I have a really hard time conveying to the Count (Herr Graff) or any one else that this Pear tree is actually trying to kill me!!!
"Pard" my lapse of concentration, Denver/dear Blog supporters.
Where was I?
Oh yes. On many MIT FAHR ZENTRUM trips...I'd meet the most delightful people. Musicians, characters, regular Joes, future girlfriends, business folks.
One morable rideshare introduced me to a van load of "kunstlers", a travelling Theatre group - always in need of gas money - named Heiter Bis Volkig (Sunny to Cloudy) who were pure Fellini and with whom I toured for 3 months until, as they say, the money ran out. And once - I remember! - with a NUN; Sister...something: Maria, maybe.... BOY! Was THAT a bust!!? -Koln to Koblenz (60 miles, tops). It took 3 days. She drove at 5 miles per hour (no smoking), but she DID play guitar and "swore on a stack" that she'd appeared in a movie about an aeroplane!
Irish-German, I think...?
Anyways, so GO Europe! GO Mit Fahr Zentrum. And save yourself a buck or two.
FAST FORWARD 2 days: Frankfurt to Paris (France) in 5 hours. And, in this instance, driving through the night, I arrive in the City of Lights, step out of the car, say "Ciao, Mucker!" to my Mit Fahr driver-buddy, Wolfgang (a cross dresser from Leipzig) who drops me in a very deserted - early morning - Place de la Concorde, downtown Paris.
"Birds wings...rise noiselessly...into the sky... (Rimbaud)
c 2010. davedelacroix/our man in europe
....(This post should be, er... part 19....but, whatever)
...Touching on European travel, singing that 60's song: "Planes & boats & trains (keep passin by), are infact in abundance. The Euro "Greyhound" bus, too: the Euro-Liner...
Getting around is a logistical/fiscal no-brainer...and Europe - tansportationally - is most definitely "united", ergo, connected.
Yet, still being something of a Bohemian wanderer I must always - especially in Germany - opt for the Deutsche Craigslist type rideshare, the MIT FAHR ZENTRUM. There's an office/Buro - usually run by scruffy-ish student types - located in most German towns & cities. You sign up/e mail, chalk in your destination, kick in some gas money...and BA DA BING! - you're on your way! -usually with a coupl'a cool kids.
In my formative years, this was how - when not outright hitch-hiking - I always got around (I dont drive) and thereby established a network of friends - who more often than not - made frequent-repeat journeys that I could...
TIME OUT!
.... I'm beating off Summer bugs & flies here in the Schloss (Die Kastle von Ludwigshafen) garden...And have I mentioned the garden's "KILLER PEAR TREE"?
It's abundant fruit (the KILLER PEARS!) dont just mature then drop to the ground... They fire off the tree's branches LIKE MISSILES at great velocity...seemingly every time I walk by to dump organic trash/fetch fire wood or lounge nearby, drinking, thinking or attending to this book/blog.... But RARELY when any one else is around, whereby I have a really hard time conveying to the Count (Herr Graff) or any one else that this Pear tree is actually trying to kill me!!!
"Pard" my lapse of concentration, Denver/dear Blog supporters.
Where was I?
Oh yes. On many MIT FAHR ZENTRUM trips...I'd meet the most delightful people. Musicians, characters, regular Joes, future girlfriends, business folks.
One morable rideshare introduced me to a van load of "kunstlers", a travelling Theatre group - always in need of gas money - named Heiter Bis Volkig (Sunny to Cloudy) who were pure Fellini and with whom I toured for 3 months until, as they say, the money ran out. And once - I remember! - with a NUN; Sister...something: Maria, maybe.... BOY! Was THAT a bust!!? -Koln to Koblenz (60 miles, tops). It took 3 days. She drove at 5 miles per hour (no smoking), but she DID play guitar and "swore on a stack" that she'd appeared in a movie about an aeroplane!
Irish-German, I think...?
Anyways, so GO Europe! GO Mit Fahr Zentrum. And save yourself a buck or two.
FAST FORWARD 2 days: Frankfurt to Paris (France) in 5 hours. And, in this instance, driving through the night, I arrive in the City of Lights, step out of the car, say "Ciao, Mucker!" to my Mit Fahr driver-buddy, Wolfgang (a cross dresser from Leipzig) who drops me in a very deserted - early morning - Place de la Concorde, downtown Paris.
"Birds wings...rise noiselessly...into the sky... (Rimbaud)
c 2010. davedelacroix/our man in europe
OUR MAN in EUROPE: dave delacroix: part 25: newsflash!
Part 25: Newsflash
...Having recently announced to the WHOLE WORLD via the world wide web (that www. inter-net thing) that I was dying - and indeed, WAS - of pnuemonia...in that hell hole, the St. Pierre in Montmartre (40 euros per night, no phone, free wifi, cause there wasnt any!..a concierge with selective alzheimers, a shit hole, but the room DID come with an ashtray!)...I can now, fully & quite candidly declare that, in furtherence of said announcement...subject to a 98% chance/danger of "mental derrangement", despite a full/total "physical" recovery...that the news of my imminent death (sorta-kind'a) was infact, er... a tad exagerated.
AH-TISH-OO!
Mark Twain & I are both fine.
c 2010 Kaiserslautern/our man in europe/dave delacroix
...Having recently announced to the WHOLE WORLD via the world wide web (that www. inter-net thing) that I was dying - and indeed, WAS - of pnuemonia...in that hell hole, the St. Pierre in Montmartre (40 euros per night, no phone, free wifi, cause there wasnt any!..a concierge with selective alzheimers, a shit hole, but the room DID come with an ashtray!)...I can now, fully & quite candidly declare that, in furtherence of said announcement...subject to a 98% chance/danger of "mental derrangement", despite a full/total "physical" recovery...that the news of my imminent death (sorta-kind'a) was infact, er... a tad exagerated.
AH-TISH-OO!
Mark Twain & I are both fine.
c 2010 Kaiserslautern/our man in europe/dave delacroix
Monday, November 29, 2010
OUR MAN in EUROPE: Part 23: NATASHA part 1: (the whistler)
Natasha: Part 1: The Whistler
Roaming the boulevards and back streets of St. Germaine amidst the neon reds and yellow glow of restaurants, cafes, boutiques and Art galleries, the street coals that fuel this City of Lights (...that would be PARIS)
Me, in my leather & Stevie-Ray (Minnetonka) and Natasha, wearing her YETI fuzz cone hat, dressed to "model", "haut", fashion perfection...
She would, accompanying me, either sing a line from ANY popular song with a voice, ocassionally bordering on an Alpine yodel, vocally "click", "clock" & "cluck", or RAPID FIRE: "COOS", like a turtle dove on mescaline.....OR!....whistle casually, sometimes melodic or non-sensical.
A penetrating whistle: eeerie & soulful.
Either way; I, leading the way, to drinking haunts of yester-year (the legendary MAZET, by the Odeon, for example) always knew - without looking back or around - that she was always "with me" and just "where" she was....
...in the rain
crossing busy streets
dodging rush hour traffic
in the Social flurries
the crowds
"dans le Metro",
my shadow Song-bird:
My Natasha.
.....................................................................
NATASHA part 2: "L`, Atelier"
How we met is of vague consequence. Vague, because we were probably both in our cups.
The venerable "Cafe Rendezvous des Amis" in Montmartre comes to mind. My hangout, Picassos,s, too, once, staffed by a team of Artists, vivants, Chantreusses and Grande Amis!
Still, a Bar, in the American sense, more-so than a typical French Cafe.
PINK FLOYD in the mornings, Jazz, Blues, post meridian.
Omelettes to die for, incidentally
...le plat du jour
BIG BEERS!
Weekend, live music.
Smoking, alas, outside: November? -BRRRRRR
Interior decor?
-the fabulous photographic GENIUS of Miguel Cianca...
(miguel@cianca.fr)
....Bohemian portraiture, B/W faces on every wall, mine, too, may well be exhibited by now (masochists pls take note).
LE CAFE RENDEZVOUS DES AMIS, at the Rue Sevete & Rue Gabrielle in Montmartre: Do try!
Natasha? A recent habituee who, finding me there, locked in her genius - a Painter & conceptual Artist, a la Joseph Beuys/Cristo - trailed me home to my "A;telier" abode a street away. Infact, an Art gallery, owned by the Baroness Katarina Von XXX which I rented by the week, she (the Baroness) busy painting, etc., in Morrocco (spell?...spell in GERMAN!!!!) along with the enchanting HAKIMA, a close friend who sealed the gallery rental deal.
Natasha, who had her own apartment, nevertheless was my on and off "Atelier" house guest,
Dancing to bad French radio music.
Beaujolais Nouveau, of course.
"1664" French beer.
Packet Veg Soup, with spuds & champignons.
....Couldnt find HANERNERO chillis anywhere!!!
(I may have mentioned this before)
No matter. Feeling at home, Natasha and I always stoked "chilli hot" conversation and solved ALL the World,s problems between waltzes, tangos, rumbas and...yes!
We DID like to MAMBO!
...We never smoked in there. (the Atelier)
I mean, we NEVER smoked in there ONCE.
Not ONE cigarette.
Not one.
I swear!
The Turkish toilet in the back yard, however, was a challenge!
.............................................
Natasha: Part 3: Les Enfants Terrible
Natasha was, some time ago, asked by a Priest, to paint a mural on a newly restored Alpine cemetery wall.
...by a Priest.
The gentlemen of the CLOTH are clearly expanding from the genre of Paedophilia.
She,s over 21, blonde, a Lady and "tres" hot for chrissakes!?
Anyways, her mural is a hit with the locals - makes the Press! - and the Church rewards her to the extent that she can move to Paris (from Austria) for a while and further her studies/pursue her Art.
I want to know more about this Priest...but on this point, uniquely, she is quite reticient.
Her mural, incidentally, was quite "avante garde" and in no way Biblical or figuritive....but I AM FORGETTING that though very young, she,s a very determined Lady and, in essence, an ancient Soul, wise beyond her years.
Still... And if I sound jaded...or "affected"...it would be true.
Our time together is a mutual joy. We crave Intellectual companionship (no crime, mes amis). We share the same tastes in Art & Music, sing with GUSTO the same oddball songs and are as thick as thieves, liberating Parisian Street/road signs (for artistic purposes ONLY, you understand)....one, in yellow & black:
RUE BAREE
...we are as brother and sister, "les enfant terribles", or man & wife; the latter - if not Biblically - and....and...something greater than "caring" creeps into our friendship.
(there´,s that whistling again!)
I know at some point, should we remain together, I may exceed being caringly protective and become outright posessive.
I`m such a Prick!
Already, I "SHOO!" away hustlers & gawkers.
(Natasha pretends not to notice)
And I can HARDLY WAIT to meet that frickin Priest!!!!
................................................................
Natasha: part 4: Rue Baree
I`ve always admired or been in awe of the Artist who could actually work in public. People, buzzing around. Fuckers who yak, IN the room, when you``re creating Pieta.
Students in the Louvre, a blonde girl (like Natasha), I remember, sketching Picasso`s at an exhibit at the New York Gallery of Modern Art.
Sometimes she was engulfed, jostled by the dilitante/tourist hordes, and yet, she maintained her concentration.
...I come from the School of Mahler. I demand quiet, serenity (a good hangover) and isolation...except when I``m inspired. Then? I can write or compose in a crowded bar OR a football stadium.
...I know. Paradoxes abound. But mostly, give me Isolation UNTIL I feel isolated. (thank u vy muk)
Natasha has NO such qualms. Or maybe, because Delacroix is in the room she is not disturbed?
She has perfectly shaped dark eyebrows and, whilst painting (or attacking a canvas), her left brow hovers, then remains high, a la "sniper", the prey of her intentions, firmly in her cross-hairs....and, boldly, her hands/fingers; with all the precision of a Neuro-surgeon, cross-bred with a Butcher, executes her creative delivery.
It``s a noisey affair. Charcoal gets scratched/chain-sawed onto raw canvas. Paint splats! And she uses everything at hand!
Lipstick.
Stabillo marker pens.
Mustard from a tube! (Sharfer Senf)
A dab of wine/beer.
Spital, if necessary!
As she works,she does not speak at all. As for her clear blue eyes? They are - predictably - intent; glass shards of exigency.
There is no kind (ness) osmosis in her working aura. A cold, feverish, furnace prevails, perhaps? -but a furnace, nevertheless...and ALL is projection.
She rules.
At length, she pauses. There is sweat on her normally cool brow. She has been quite alone for an hour. Two?
I dont recall.
"RUE BAREE" (Road Blocked). The Canvas.
It``s done.
c 2010, davedelacroix/Black Pearl/Nicky bartending/Usingen/Germany/frickin Winter!!!!
Roaming the boulevards and back streets of St. Germaine amidst the neon reds and yellow glow of restaurants, cafes, boutiques and Art galleries, the street coals that fuel this City of Lights (...that would be PARIS)
Me, in my leather & Stevie-Ray (Minnetonka) and Natasha, wearing her YETI fuzz cone hat, dressed to "model", "haut", fashion perfection...
She would, accompanying me, either sing a line from ANY popular song with a voice, ocassionally bordering on an Alpine yodel, vocally "click", "clock" & "cluck", or RAPID FIRE: "COOS", like a turtle dove on mescaline.....OR!....whistle casually, sometimes melodic or non-sensical.
A penetrating whistle: eeerie & soulful.
Either way; I, leading the way, to drinking haunts of yester-year (the legendary MAZET, by the Odeon, for example) always knew - without looking back or around - that she was always "with me" and just "where" she was....
...in the rain
crossing busy streets
dodging rush hour traffic
in the Social flurries
the crowds
"dans le Metro",
my shadow Song-bird:
My Natasha.
.....................................................................
NATASHA part 2: "L`, Atelier"
How we met is of vague consequence. Vague, because we were probably both in our cups.
The venerable "Cafe Rendezvous des Amis" in Montmartre comes to mind. My hangout, Picassos,s, too, once, staffed by a team of Artists, vivants, Chantreusses and Grande Amis!
Still, a Bar, in the American sense, more-so than a typical French Cafe.
PINK FLOYD in the mornings, Jazz, Blues, post meridian.
Omelettes to die for, incidentally
...le plat du jour
BIG BEERS!
Weekend, live music.
Smoking, alas, outside: November? -BRRRRRR
Interior decor?
-the fabulous photographic GENIUS of Miguel Cianca...
(miguel@cianca.fr)
....Bohemian portraiture, B/W faces on every wall, mine, too, may well be exhibited by now (masochists pls take note).
LE CAFE RENDEZVOUS DES AMIS, at the Rue Sevete & Rue Gabrielle in Montmartre: Do try!
Natasha? A recent habituee who, finding me there, locked in her genius - a Painter & conceptual Artist, a la Joseph Beuys/Cristo - trailed me home to my "A;telier" abode a street away. Infact, an Art gallery, owned by the Baroness Katarina Von XXX which I rented by the week, she (the Baroness) busy painting, etc., in Morrocco (spell?...spell in GERMAN!!!!) along with the enchanting HAKIMA, a close friend who sealed the gallery rental deal.
Natasha, who had her own apartment, nevertheless was my on and off "Atelier" house guest,
Dancing to bad French radio music.
Beaujolais Nouveau, of course.
"1664" French beer.
Packet Veg Soup, with spuds & champignons.
....Couldnt find HANERNERO chillis anywhere!!!
(I may have mentioned this before)
No matter. Feeling at home, Natasha and I always stoked "chilli hot" conversation and solved ALL the World,s problems between waltzes, tangos, rumbas and...yes!
We DID like to MAMBO!
...We never smoked in there. (the Atelier)
I mean, we NEVER smoked in there ONCE.
Not ONE cigarette.
Not one.
I swear!
The Turkish toilet in the back yard, however, was a challenge!
.............................................
Natasha: Part 3: Les Enfants Terrible
Natasha was, some time ago, asked by a Priest, to paint a mural on a newly restored Alpine cemetery wall.
...by a Priest.
The gentlemen of the CLOTH are clearly expanding from the genre of Paedophilia.
She,s over 21, blonde, a Lady and "tres" hot for chrissakes!?
Anyways, her mural is a hit with the locals - makes the Press! - and the Church rewards her to the extent that she can move to Paris (from Austria) for a while and further her studies/pursue her Art.
I want to know more about this Priest...but on this point, uniquely, she is quite reticient.
Her mural, incidentally, was quite "avante garde" and in no way Biblical or figuritive....but I AM FORGETTING that though very young, she,s a very determined Lady and, in essence, an ancient Soul, wise beyond her years.
Still... And if I sound jaded...or "affected"...it would be true.
Our time together is a mutual joy. We crave Intellectual companionship (no crime, mes amis). We share the same tastes in Art & Music, sing with GUSTO the same oddball songs and are as thick as thieves, liberating Parisian Street/road signs (for artistic purposes ONLY, you understand)....one, in yellow & black:
RUE BAREE
...we are as brother and sister, "les enfant terribles", or man & wife; the latter - if not Biblically - and....and...something greater than "caring" creeps into our friendship.
(there´,s that whistling again!)
I know at some point, should we remain together, I may exceed being caringly protective and become outright posessive.
I`m such a Prick!
Already, I "SHOO!" away hustlers & gawkers.
(Natasha pretends not to notice)
And I can HARDLY WAIT to meet that frickin Priest!!!!
................................................................
Natasha: part 4: Rue Baree
I`ve always admired or been in awe of the Artist who could actually work in public. People, buzzing around. Fuckers who yak, IN the room, when you``re creating Pieta.
Students in the Louvre, a blonde girl (like Natasha), I remember, sketching Picasso`s at an exhibit at the New York Gallery of Modern Art.
Sometimes she was engulfed, jostled by the dilitante/tourist hordes, and yet, she maintained her concentration.
...I come from the School of Mahler. I demand quiet, serenity (a good hangover) and isolation...except when I``m inspired. Then? I can write or compose in a crowded bar OR a football stadium.
...I know. Paradoxes abound. But mostly, give me Isolation UNTIL I feel isolated. (thank u vy muk)
Natasha has NO such qualms. Or maybe, because Delacroix is in the room she is not disturbed?
She has perfectly shaped dark eyebrows and, whilst painting (or attacking a canvas), her left brow hovers, then remains high, a la "sniper", the prey of her intentions, firmly in her cross-hairs....and, boldly, her hands/fingers; with all the precision of a Neuro-surgeon, cross-bred with a Butcher, executes her creative delivery.
It``s a noisey affair. Charcoal gets scratched/chain-sawed onto raw canvas. Paint splats! And she uses everything at hand!
Lipstick.
Stabillo marker pens.
Mustard from a tube! (Sharfer Senf)
A dab of wine/beer.
Spital, if necessary!
As she works,she does not speak at all. As for her clear blue eyes? They are - predictably - intent; glass shards of exigency.
There is no kind (ness) osmosis in her working aura. A cold, feverish, furnace prevails, perhaps? -but a furnace, nevertheless...and ALL is projection.
She rules.
At length, she pauses. There is sweat on her normally cool brow. She has been quite alone for an hour. Two?
I dont recall.
"RUE BAREE" (Road Blocked). The Canvas.
It``s done.
c 2010, davedelacroix/Black Pearl/Nicky bartending/Usingen/Germany/frickin Winter!!!!
Saturday, November 13, 2010
OUR MAN in EUROPE/dave delacroix/Part 22: Breakfast in Bed!
Part 22: Breakfast in Bed!
(No-one ever said Blogs have to be sequential; our man in europe -in point!)
In Paris for 5 minutes...and aside of a bout of Pneumonia/extremely exagerated reports of my death abounding in cyber-space...I'm already in Love with a girl called (really!)
LOLA.
Quite (ahem!) un-requited, of course (she doesnt call back) I fold my despair and roam the Metro linguini, popping up at stations with mythical, mystical and Historical names.
Abesses.
Pigalle.
Who-ever "Madelaine" is...she must be very popular because everyone gets off there!
Rue de Bac, finally, and up to the street I come... en cue for an outbreak of biblical rain whereby the City, my Tuxedo AND I
get HOSED!!!!
At the nearest, er...watering hole...I attempt to restore my earlier "joi de vie" with a large Whisky, beer chasers:
"Rive gauche" Paris parades by.
Burberry umbrellas; TRES gauche! Surrounding stores displaying absolutely useless million dollar knick-knacks
(This aint Montmartre)
Bus stop! Bus stop!
A pantomime of old ladies. The only young one throws me a smile, I smile back; WE smile!....:)
Blonde, incidentally.
Should'a, could'a, ought'a ha, didn't...
I note - with mild disgust - that kiddie Scooters (the one's we had as children, back in the 60's) have had more sucess in Paris than any town in the U.S.A., especially with guys OVER 35 years old.
Why settle for a "leg-push" scooter when you can have a Pontiac...in Racing Car red?
...Fur lined-hooded Parkas... No eco-p.c. dead Skunk fur scruples in THIS town.
OOO! Actor Johnny Depp (Capt Jack) and escort, I kid you not! -now sitting at the next table. Furtive, talking in hushed tones;
"Good to see ya!"-I say NOT.
Arriving blondes are not so courteous, and...alas...ogle the poor man.
And the rain goes into Tropical gear, the rush hour (it's always rush hour in Paris) traffic roars and honks and splashes; my heated cafe trat-terrace; smoker's heaven.
OOO! I think I just lost/ate my last tooth whilst nibbling on the free snackie petite bagels!
...Tasted good, though. (?)
There's something quite satisfying about eating your own body parts. Like sucking the blood on a cut finger.
...I must make a note of that.
You get the flu?
You eat your foot!
"Heel or toe, Monsieur?"
"I'll leave it to the Chef.
"Breakfast in bed?"
"Buggered if I know!?.... Ask Captain Jack!!!"
c 2010. davedelacroix/our man in europe/ paris
(No-one ever said Blogs have to be sequential; our man in europe -in point!)
In Paris for 5 minutes...and aside of a bout of Pneumonia/extremely exagerated reports of my death abounding in cyber-space...I'm already in Love with a girl called (really!)
LOLA.
Quite (ahem!) un-requited, of course (she doesnt call back) I fold my despair and roam the Metro linguini, popping up at stations with mythical, mystical and Historical names.
Abesses.
Pigalle.
Who-ever "Madelaine" is...she must be very popular because everyone gets off there!
Rue de Bac, finally, and up to the street I come... en cue for an outbreak of biblical rain whereby the City, my Tuxedo AND I
get HOSED!!!!
At the nearest, er...watering hole...I attempt to restore my earlier "joi de vie" with a large Whisky, beer chasers:
"Rive gauche" Paris parades by.
Burberry umbrellas; TRES gauche! Surrounding stores displaying absolutely useless million dollar knick-knacks
(This aint Montmartre)
Bus stop! Bus stop!
A pantomime of old ladies. The only young one throws me a smile, I smile back; WE smile!....:)
Blonde, incidentally.
Should'a, could'a, ought'a ha, didn't...
I note - with mild disgust - that kiddie Scooters (the one's we had as children, back in the 60's) have had more sucess in Paris than any town in the U.S.A., especially with guys OVER 35 years old.
Why settle for a "leg-push" scooter when you can have a Pontiac...in Racing Car red?
...Fur lined-hooded Parkas... No eco-p.c. dead Skunk fur scruples in THIS town.
OOO! Actor Johnny Depp (Capt Jack) and escort, I kid you not! -now sitting at the next table. Furtive, talking in hushed tones;
"Good to see ya!"-I say NOT.
Arriving blondes are not so courteous, and...alas...ogle the poor man.
And the rain goes into Tropical gear, the rush hour (it's always rush hour in Paris) traffic roars and honks and splashes; my heated cafe trat-terrace; smoker's heaven.
OOO! I think I just lost/ate my last tooth whilst nibbling on the free snackie petite bagels!
...Tasted good, though. (?)
There's something quite satisfying about eating your own body parts. Like sucking the blood on a cut finger.
...I must make a note of that.
You get the flu?
You eat your foot!
"Heel or toe, Monsieur?"
"I'll leave it to the Chef.
"Breakfast in bed?"
"Buggered if I know!?.... Ask Captain Jack!!!"
c 2010. davedelacroix/our man in europe/ paris
OUR MAN in EUROPE/dave delacroix/Part 21: "Le Bizuth"
Part 21: "Le Bizuth"
(It means...."biscuit"?... I'll get back to you on that one)
This first November week "dans Paree", 2011; the deluge continues.
Having rented an "Atelier" (German Baroness's Art Gallery) in Montmartre with basic facilities, the deluge continues; NO RAIN! NO RAIN!
(Didnt work at Woodstock... Why should it work here?)
Stocking up on a can of Champignons
can of Peas & Carrots
X 2 Spuds
1 Onion (the size of a clove of Garlic/a kid's pea-knuckle)
Le "country Veg" Powdered soup
(Yummy!)
1 Lemon (a lemon is a lemon)
A "can" of pork & beans
-known in France as: Casulet
(a 12 pack, of course) Bier Francais: 1644
blonde stuff
I nevertheless - despite the inclement weather - forego the saucepan-hotplate feast and shower (take one), hit the local laundry-matte, coffee nearby whilst spin cycling (where I meet friend & colleague-songwriter, Celine) ...withdraw with cleaned goodies to the "Atelier", spruce up, screw my head on...and respond to the
burning bills in my wallet.
"Je suis, Allez!!!"
It's a day in the Life...leastways, till the money runs out.
Piss on, dear rain. I couldnt give a Monkeys! This the best Salute I can do!
In the "old days" I used to say: Cheers!
Salute!
Prossit!
Sante!
Skol!
Your Health!
Older now, I say,
Be well.
(Be good)
Be SAFE!
(You look like shit!)
Bon voyage!...
Or
See ya, Tomorrow!
(Ya think?)
c 2010 Cafe B. Rue de Bac, Paris/davedelacroix/our man in-Paris
(It means...."biscuit"?... I'll get back to you on that one)
This first November week "dans Paree", 2011; the deluge continues.
Having rented an "Atelier" (German Baroness's Art Gallery) in Montmartre with basic facilities, the deluge continues; NO RAIN! NO RAIN!
(Didnt work at Woodstock... Why should it work here?)
Stocking up on a can of Champignons
can of Peas & Carrots
X 2 Spuds
1 Onion (the size of a clove of Garlic/a kid's pea-knuckle)
Le "country Veg" Powdered soup
(Yummy!)
1 Lemon (a lemon is a lemon)
A "can" of pork & beans
-known in France as: Casulet
(a 12 pack, of course) Bier Francais: 1644
blonde stuff
I nevertheless - despite the inclement weather - forego the saucepan-hotplate feast and shower (take one), hit the local laundry-matte, coffee nearby whilst spin cycling (where I meet friend & colleague-songwriter, Celine) ...withdraw with cleaned goodies to the "Atelier", spruce up, screw my head on...and respond to the
burning bills in my wallet.
"Je suis, Allez!!!"
It's a day in the Life...leastways, till the money runs out.
Piss on, dear rain. I couldnt give a Monkeys! This the best Salute I can do!
In the "old days" I used to say: Cheers!
Salute!
Prossit!
Sante!
Skol!
Your Health!
Older now, I say,
Be well.
(Be good)
Be SAFE!
(You look like shit!)
Bon voyage!...
Or
See ya, Tomorrow!
(Ya think?)
c 2010 Cafe B. Rue de Bac, Paris/davedelacroix/our man in-Paris
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