Thursday, August 25, 2005

A night on the Beachcombers' W.A.

Dominique's dad was stationed in Tahiti,he was with the french military force in Polynesia.He asked Dominique to join her family in Tahiti and that she could get back to France whenever she wanted to.
Do and I were in love and she asked him to make sure that she could get a ride back on the army's transport facilities.
She kissed me good bye and told me she'd be back real soon.
A month passed by,I called her almost every night,there was never a place on the transport to get her back to me.
I thought-May be she won't be back ever,since she was so pretty and so young she probably would find somebody much younger and richer and everything better than me. It hurt so much to even think about that,I was glad Dobson blew shotguns on shotguns in my head,one day he said- Come on you knuckle-head;I'm going to make the biggest joint you've ever seen-and he did >>----> he took one one these rice shutters 10 inches wide, glued cig papers one following the other and spread tobacco and tush all along the contraption he was making, then with the rice shades he rolled the humongus joint and proudly asked me if I ever saw a joint so big-no I didn't- In fact it was so big that in the end the rotch was bigger than a standard joint.
My head was so fucked I could hardly drive the harbor's van when I worked in Port Vauban,I picked up the garbage all around the moles of the port.
So nobody would notice I was stoned the whole day through I wore Ray Bans and I tried to walk as straight as I could from waste baskets to waste baskets.
Since 75% of the boats were english it resulted that the entire UK sailor community knew I was out--I want to thank the british sailors for not letting me fall in the water on the job-Cheers folks and thanks a lot(sorry I can't remember who helped me).
Anyway three months passed by and I didn't suffer much because I wasn't really there.Thanx to Julien Dobson for feeding tush of every color for a full three months. In the end he made a pipe out of a bamboo stick and a coco nut and I sucked on that.Life in a bag of cotton.
And.... one day, she was in front of me,she was back.I don't remember much about other things we did when we weren't fucking,I think we just fucked on and off for a whole week,my dick was so stiff and it would hardly go down if it didn't get it's fare.
I stopped the tush 'cause I was far gone and I was forgetting were I was supposed to be during day time,when I didn't forget what day it was.
I asked my boss for a sabbatic year,I sold all my belongings(My entire collection of Science-Fiction,If and Galaxy). When I finished selling everything I owned Do and I took a plane to Tahiti. Air France
to Paris and UTA to Tahiti via LA. (To be continued...)

Friday, August 12, 2005

...nothing but the truth so help me...

Around the age of ten boys start asking their dads about what is true and what is not,they already know but they want to hear you say it.
Anyway since I had to answer Nicky on the subject I might as well tell you the truth too: Only fair to you.
It's been quite a while I tried to hide who I really am,I was buzy and didn't want to be disturbed(Have you seen the media people running after celebrities).So I lied before,well little white lies,I told the press I lived in a country up northern Europe,I shaved my mustache and my beard,put Ray Bans on my nose and dressed in blue.I pretended to wear snickers my whole life through.
OK, I live by the mediterranean, I got a cool girl friend to do naughty things with and to,I use a van to ride to and fro and I use the door(like everyone) when I go into a house.But since I told my son my real identity you would've hear about it anyway so I rather be the one to tell you:I'm Santa Klaus, hi people.

Tuesday, August 09, 2005

I thought your parents were rich

while in art school in Nice I learned more than a trade or how to draw,I acquired a new outlook on things and a different way of achieving goals,but another thing I learned; If you are an artist and most people are,if the piano is not available you'll get a guitar or a banjo or whatever,if nothing happens that way then you'll try to sing,if your voice is squeaky and weak you probably will end up making film or draw,or undertaking any other form of art.
If nothing of the things I mentioned previously happens to you(no matter what the reason)you'll
end up watching movies,hearing music on the radio,going to museums or to art galleries and perhaps in your spare time you'll read a book or two......WELL that also makes you an artist.
It takes two kinds of artist;one that makes something and the other one who's able to appreciate
what's been made.
You can decide also to taste and try all the trades you can,just to known what it's like,make your own car repairs,sell I don't know what for I don't know who.Wide range of possibilities.
That's a bum's life!!! after I left art school I became a bum,hood,a looser they said, a clean hippy.
I met Connie in art school after I dropped out.I used to pose for the students in drawing courses,
made a few francs that way.We stayed a while together but when she went back to Maine,I thought I would never see her again so I got involved with a french girl and I told her about Connie,she didn't pay attention and I didn't insist,Connie came back.I'm not proud of this,
I should've tell her not to but I was some mess,I had to tell her off three days after,stupid me.
I got married to that french girl and wasted ten years of my life.Nobody's fault; it happens.
Worst thing for me, we had a child(girl).I had to play it cool if I wanted to keep seeing my kid.
That's what I thought but I was wrong.I remember when my wife told me she was going to divorce me,I asked her why - Silly boy.
Olive(that's not her real name) said to me" I'm tired of you and I'm tired of having so little,at first when I married you I thought we would have everything"--"How's that,when you met me
I was just a fisherman,not a pirate"---"I thought your parents were rich".
Why in the fuck didn't she get married with my parents? ---Ten stupid years!!!!Gone!!!!!

Walking in the hills to go see Daniel

I would dress up real warm and take 2 pairs of old socks and 3 underwears,I had a gallon jug full of wine(generally it was expensive wine,I can't drink the cheap kind) I would pour the wine into the jug and tie the jug to the knapsack, take a suitcase with some goods for the kids up there.I took a belt along (I could strap the suitcase over the shoulder) and apiece of bamboo that stuck up from the knapsack;very useful to dry socks and underwear after washing them in the river.I always wore sneakers ever since I was 10(I still do at 62),I never forgot to take a frying panalong it was tied up to the gear and waggled freely behind and matches of course,Cigarettes when available(If enough dough) if not it was a stack of blond tobacco and paper to roll it in shape(sort of).Awwww let's go,it's early in autumn but this year the cold hit early, I walked on the road to Nice 'till I reach the road that runs along the Var river,up the valley where all the fruits on the trees by the road have been harvested and that's too bad, I'm always hungry but I don't want to touch the food I'm bringing to Daniel; I walk some 6 or seven miles toward the mountains and lo !! in a lot planted with pear trees,a few feet from the road,an enormous, ripe and unique pear(never seen a pear so big before) left there after harvest,in front of the house.The farmer looks at me by the window, a lean face with a mustache and dark brown eyes,his hair is shiny black and straight like the Chineeses.I'm not moving, glued to the ground,watching that tremendously big pear and I can't resist.I did walk in his property, I did go up to that fabulous pear and I touched it,the farmer drew back in the room and I couldn't see him anymore so I waited about a couple minutes but nothing happened,so I plucked the fruit and I bit in it; My saliva glands hurt and it's so good I moan,my stomack makes garggellishy noises and when I'm through with the sugary fruit I've got my face and my hands full of juice and my belly is full,I glance toward the window and I can't see him but strangely I know he's watching me,probably smiling.Everything went as planned, his most beautiful fruit was for a wanderer.So I left, a song in my mind and happyness filled my being,my head was light and I hit the road thanking you know who,for creating that farmer.(to be continued)

Daniel and after

There is about some forty miles from the sea to the region of Basses-Alpes where Daniel lived,he was dwelling in an abandoned village called Argenton, up in the hills,no roads led to the place you had to hike six or seven miles through out both,wild and tamed country side,sometimes the path was level but most of the time you had to go up.By the time I reached the small village from which started the path to Argenton it was dark;one of these nights without moon.I sat down on the side of an old water fountain(I could hear the stream singing as it splashed in the pool),and I started to eat a loaf of bread I bought on the way,that bread they make in the country tastes so good that you forget you have nothing else,half way through the loaf,looking up at the chariot and the bright North Star,I felt something tuggin my jeans ankles high,t' was a black doglooking up at me expectantly,on the road you don't leave someone belly empty if you can split some food,I gave him a fair piece of bread.We spent a while chewing in the quite night,I gave another piece of bread and I talked to him-"Hungry,weren't you?" he gave only a look back,dogsare not equipped to talk but they understand what you say and smart dogs understand almosteverything you tell them,this one looked kind of keen.I stood up and asked him chat like if he felt like hiking along with me,he waggled his tail and took the lead and that made me wonder some:how much could he understand?There was only one road leading to that village and he saw me coming and he sorted out that I wanted to take the path along the small stone canal going the opposite way,That's thinking.I tested his understanding of human language for everyday talk,I didn't have to emphasize one word or the other,I sent him ahead to find a good spot to sleep some and he did.I think those sheepherders heard so much talking from their masters that they learned french almost perfectMust be the same in other countries.We had some shuteyes underneath a chestnut tree in a spot free of snow,we cuddled one against the other,we slept well for two hours or so, which is enough outside when the breathing's so free, I must admit I smelled so that a pitbull would've probably attacked me,fortunately there were no pitbull in France in those days,Shuey would'veshot me on sight(lol) but he wasn't born yet(ten years to go).I was glad to cross a stream later on,I took off my clothes and got an icy cold shower under a fall,so cold it was it felt like my skin was burned,I had to rub for five or six before I could stop the shivers,I had a gust of hot reactionshortly after and it felt good, Blacky had disappeared I must've been to much of a slow dude for him,I got up on the side of the bed rock,chose a high spot and watched the sun rise,glory be.(later I will resume....the end you shall know)

Sunday, August 07, 2005

In Argenton

I had only a few miles up slope to get to Argenton but it was too early to got up there, Daniel
might still be in bed and I had some drying to do before I got started.The flat calcium rocks were
soaking in heat from the sun and both my wet clothes and myself could use it,I kept changing places lying flat on them and after a while it felt real good, my clothes were still damp but not quite as before they got lighter to carry, I fetched out clean unders and a pair of socks from the knapsack and got dressed, my trunks were still moist but they would finish drying on me,I put on two Tshirts unstead of my wet sweater and tied up all the wet fabrics to the bamboo pole sticking out of my sack.
The sun was some higher when I felt hunger ring breakfast time.It's strictly forbiden to catch
trouts by hand in France,you must have a fishing pole and have paid your licence,I hope there
is prescription,but my 21 years old stomack didn't really give me a choice.I did catch a trout after a while, it wasn't very big but it was welcome. Cleaning, frying and eating that fish was easy and fast done but I could've had six more with no regrets but that's all I had that morning.
I started up the path which snaked through a forest of chestnut trees that was covering the slope all the way to Argenton,the village itself was on level grounds above the forest and it was
abandoned except for one house standing among 20 to 25 other stone houses,the Giacome's house.You could tell someone was in there because of the smoking chimney.
I past the village and headed for Daniel Cherry's place, about half a mile east, on the way I could tell he was up ; his chimney was smocking too.
I was so proud to bring in coffee,honey and half a ham with some candy for the kids.It ain't much but when you live two hours walk away from anywhere it's a fiesta.
I stayed two days by Daniel's and went back by the way I came,during those two days it started to get warm again and during the night it rained thickly melting the first snow and in the afternoon of the day I left it was sunny.When I got ready to cross the river once more I noticed
some yellow mushrooms had grown near by,the spongy kind, juvenile I has fried mushies and it was better than the trout. I got back to Antibes rather quickly because two hunters gave me a ride back to the sea shore, their dog smelled I was OK and slept with his head on my laps.
Many years later I was out of art school and I became a fisherman,and my boss knowing I was good at selling fish, gave me loads of sardines that we stacked in my car and I went to sell them up the Var valley and sold out sardines from town to town until all was sold except one basket. I stopped near a house built not far from the road, walked through the pear trees lined up on each side of the alley,there is no fence around that property.I ring the bell and he comes out;he's taller than I thought - "Bonjour monsieur " I say" You won a basket full of fresh sardines" he wonders if I'm not mistaking, of course he loves sardines but he wants to pay me.
"Non monsieur it's already paid" and there's no mistake.He smiles and says" merci".I leave.
Walking back to my car I look on the side and there is a big ripe pear on a tree near the road,
I'm not hungry and it's the most beautiful pear in the world.