Love On The Run

Love has an address it is at last my home filled with all the objects of my choosing and a bird that has flown in far from here I hope to not hold him captive as if my abode were a bird cage of sorts all the meaning held on a small chain and key dangling/hanging on offering of liberté from this nest my nest. We have a complicated love story but doesn’t everyone.

I have sympathy for the devil.

However you are the other half of my heartbeat.

I am your Bonny be my Clyde you with my lipstick kiss tattooed on the nape of your neck above your shirt collar for all to see you are mine and me with my tattooed garter belt on my upper right thigh acting as a holster for a tattooed grey metallic gun gleaming.

I love my man I am a liar if I say I don’t Id be a liar if I say I won’t.

Make this city ours. I have the keys to the city tonight lock me up a slave to you I will be your slave I have been your slave ever since you called me doll. I have a long way to go/travel to get to you.

Tomber amoureuse avec moi une autre fois ne brise pas mon Coeur un autre fois la denier fois comme toute les fois. My mother gave me something it's gonna give me good swerve.

You run for me to me put it all together makes me everything a good woman needs are you a good man? No good to me.

Come find me in my hotel room ghetto suite down by the water. Never knowing a Sunday in this weekday room. Sleepwalking through the days sleep walking through the nights

My dreams has got no orbituary soon I will have to bury you in my mind soon I will have nothing more to write to you and you will have already forgotton me there among your Middle Eastern brethren. Lost in a crowd of six million people.

Postcard Alison

Translation

Ma Chérie Alison,

In response to where-in-the –world–Carmen-San Diego-am-I-? I am in Paris! PUTAIN!

Happy birthday to Antoine! I hope you well Mrs Robinson your pét’t pét’t, grand Farrer, your spunk rat sis’ & loca madré. I’m alright not sure when I will be back? Sometime before December...

Night descents and another day passes here...

What am I doing here?

Bisous à vous tous fayr

                                       o

                                              3

                                                     e

Gaële

 

Translation Postcard

Chère Ziwen,

Ma chéré amie...Tu vas bien? Je suis à Paris. I should not be here... I should be in Italy, however as you know I am loves fool. I am so mixed up over here mixed up over him. When I am with him nothing else matters like lovers on the run Bonnie and Clyde. Paris is as edgy as ever and just as gritty. I could say it is rather clean and care free where I am staying however a few hundred metres in the wrong direction and it is the ghetto. There is a real air of poverty and ever impending disaster. The Metro Château Rouge a notorious endroit as my friend Gaële the sommelier was telling me.

We instantly connected it was his day off from working at the famous Café de Flore still dressed well in a shirt and vest, me in my coat-dress and stockings. He received me well instantly warming to me and offering me his American cigarettes at Le Royale Custine brasserie. He told me something I found shocking that when he catches the Metro at Château-Rouge in the morning he sees women selling themselves for €30- si grave and the men that pay are as he described, "le porc". In a Capitalist society money turns everything around me and as it has done so since time immemorial it turns sex into a cheap commodity. Sex of course just another tradeable service. To be reduced to resort to that is frightening just for filthy lucre. There are plenty of homeless and clochards I pass on street corners older men that could not make the rent anymore.

I do not like a world where we are all trying to maximise our bank balance, we are all Capitalists and everything else comes after paying the rent. I hate the thought that money is always a factor in most decisions we make. At this moment in time I am grateful to be an Australienne in the midst of a long deep recession that is putting a spectre over this world, the spectre that is haunting Europe. Where is ‘la gloire de l’empire’ now! As my friend Renaud put it, ‘la suicide collectif de une civilisation.’ The tourists do not see it they just smile at the view of the Eifel Tower. Massive upheaval is brewing in the air.

FAYROZE