I finally made it to Europe.
I told myself that I did not have to write while I was away. My brain needed a break after it crashed, as a computer does, from having too many apps open. I was overwhelmed with information on writing, from email, google, twitter, blogs, festivals – so I gave my brain a break and decided it was time to reboot the system, get away from it all and get back to the whole point of it: writing.
Alas! The Literary Gangster could not reboot the system without some old habits being constantly stored on an iCloud somewhere between my ears and so the following, let’s call them ‘diary entries’, are observations, thoughts and at times, actual incidents, that occurred while I traveled through Europe, that happened to make it back through Australian immigration.
TLG’s Thoughts and Observations From Europe:
+ A polygamist is just a collector of art (Montemarte, Paris).
+ Kids looking like a box of smarties tipped out by the fountain (The Louvre, Paris).
+ This city is hot. I imagined the building catching on fire, dropping my smoke, just so the pompiers would come (Paris of course).
+ The land looks like a smooth tan on a man’s carefully waxed inner thigh, with a bush of green pubic hair around the base of each electricity pole, as though he was too proud to shave any closer (on a train from Bordeaux to Paris).
+ A group met us at an intersection. Kebab! Kebab! We were dressed in drag: wigs and glow glasses the bar tenders had given us on our ‘night off’ which turned in to a two-person after party, for a teenage rock band’s most likely first gig. And in the group that heard our calls for kebabs at the intersection, a gay couple were celebrating their marriage. Must remind you of your old days, I said (Paris, France).
+ In the Sacrecour, I couldn’t help but imagine running to the organ and pressing firmly on the bass and treble notes to the tune of the Jaws theme song, just to see what would happen. I also imagined suddenly screaming I CAN WALK! LAST NIGHT I WAS LEGLESS BUT NOW I CAN WALK!!! However the church preempted my hangover, and I sank in to an overwhelming sense of calm, like quicksand, before realising that I could leave at any time (Sacrecour, Paris).
+ At Notre Dame – like a stupid tourist – just before entering the 850 yr old building I stretched my arms a up high to take a picture of the site, on my iPhone. After taking the picture, I let my arms fall and my head between my elbows and there was the ugliest Quasimodo face I had ever seen. I screamed followed by a ‘holy shit’, the kind that gets louder as you say it, and both of course echoed through the grounds and hopefully not through the doors. I then realised that I had been the butt of an inappropriate but well timed prank and Quasimodo and his mates took off laughing along with the rest of the tourists that day (Notre Dame, Paris).
Sausages. Beer. Trains. Will move here next year (Berlin, Germany).
+ We went for dinner at a small restaurant and a couple gave up their table for us. With no where to sit, we joined them in their last drink for the night. Three beers later, the woman stood up, clutching her belly and declared – “well, I’m going home, I’m due in three weeks and and I’m tired. But my husband will take you to the underground night clubs now. He will start at the KGB bar. Good night”.
We lost him around 6am.
+ Assholes of London (London).
+ Driving through England is like watching that scene in basic instincts, but from the side (in reference to the hedges along the roads of Birminghamshire).
+ The mountains were erect nipples poking through knitted cloud (probably flying over Germany on the way home).