Cara Andréa,
The front of your postcard there is a very stern looking formally
dressed French policeman. The photo was taken in 1929 the year of the stock
market crash the policeman stands guard to a broken street lamp, I guess lights
out! I saw the same thing in Morocco last year except with a post box. Paris
these days seems to resemble Morocco more and more.
Here in Paris, on my street, Rue Marcadet opposite the Préfecture
de Police, I have seen the burnt out remains of cars. Further away on
rue Clignancourt which is the very limit of Montmartre, opposite La
Commiserate de Police I saw the brazened carcases’ of motorcycles. The
people held responsible call themselves Les Révolutionnaires, quite a
handsome title. They dream of anarchy and the destruction of this old Republique.
I recall what Sébastien from the brasserie La Triomphe told
me, after I had flown into a rage about the despicable and loathsome nature of
policeman. He calmly stated without the police there would be no law and order
and without order there is chaos and with chaos there would be no Republique!
Alors Vive La Republique, the catch cry of the French politician to this
day.
The apartment I am staying in is very comfortable except for the
shower which has a large window that isn’t frosted. I am high up here on the 6th
floor and the first time I took a shower I found it shocking. However now I
have l’habitude that half of Paris will see my naked breasts each and
every morning as I take my ablution.
There is a lift that starts on floor O½ and I get off the lift on
the 5½ floor that opens on the stairwell. Like living life in a John Malcolvich
film. I watched a film of his, Thé au Sahara of course being here in
Paris with French doublage. The film set in the French colonialist
period in Morocco, easily recreated as nothing much has changed there since
that period.
Here in Paris things have changed it is starting to feel more like
Morocco. Some streets still look ravishing, like they are dipped in gold,
demonstrations of ‘la gloire de l’empire’ and shout, ‘Viva La
République! Viva La France!’ However now is the époque of austerity
when cities, when societies become too complex with the self perpetuating greed
only offering extreme lifestyles of rich and poor. It is the end the sounding
out of the death knell of the middle class. I think of our hometown of Sydney,
each city has its own problems and there is still the looming volcanic bubble
with all its paper millionaires waiting dormant ready to explode like Pompeii.
I know you cannot wait for the day of reckoning to come. When there are rows of
office buildings and shop fronts vacant, a ghost town of its former self. I
recall you saying that it would be spectacular.
The cost of living here in Paris has increased however the minimum
wage has not increased with it in a decade, so people spend less, so businesses
close, so people lose their jobs, so it continues, so it turns, and so it goes
round ‘n round.
Il n’y a rien dans la caisse ici! The
coffers are empty. La Misère is pulsating in the streets. I become quite
nervous sometimes especially carrying my old 1920’s black leather
vintage swing clutch, which I cling to like an old lady with both hands around
the strap. There is a nervous energy, an ambiance dans la rue. I
sense it is the dark days of Les Misérables once again.
I fear that people are getting desperate and may do something they
themselves never thought they were capable of before. Everyone is hustling
trying to make a dollar out of 50 centimes.
I see images that remind me of the Great Depression, the
‘Hoovervilles’ of New York and so I think of today and tomorrow. Paris’ wedding
cake façades crumbling with its sour rotting innards holds me for these few
weeks I am here maybe more.
In front of the Metro Barbes-Rochechoart men had laid down white
sheets trying to sell piles of old clothes in the rain. I guess the rich just
stay cocooned in the other life which is St Germaine. Or the assured escape
hatch of the well to do. Europe and here in France they play out the end of
empires. It does not feel like chaos more like the halls of Château Rouge – Barbes are all around.
You told me once the leader, the once great Chairman Mao had said, ‘There
is great chaos under heaven – the situation is excellent’. I wonder if this
whole circus is unravelling. Oh how I hope to lead a life of freedom not to
just think of it or dream about it but to live it all out not just the limits
this society imposes.
I want to lead a life of my choosing not to have a mortgage
imprisoned by debt a slave to the office, chained to my desk for the next few
decades. Cut down in the prime of my adult life, left to turn into the
hunchback of town planning as my individual liberty is circumscribed by debt. I
want to lead a more fulfilling life. I do not want to work to feed the
bottomless pit of cravings attending to our society’s circumscribed edict of
counterfeit desires.
Has the time of la vie de bohème passed? I still search for
it. I try to live it out here however it is the life of the bourgeoise
bohémien (bobos) now. Oh how I detest those Parisien bobos! Has Paris just
become a carnival of attractions of the past of la vie de bohème. I
still hope it is not all truly over, hoping for the heyday to return,
reminiscing about an époque I never lived through, now long gone.
Oh dear me,
Fayroze
