Only when I check my phone do I realize what train I'm on. It's the 4:20 train to Paris. Right on time, and away we go. I know small details always fall by the wayside which is why I write them down. Some things I don't want to forget, especially when I'm back home, back in Venice by the beach in the California sun and the weed haze, trying to remember everything. The feeling of craziness tickles the peripherals of my mind yet again on this leg, Barcelona Sants to Gare de Lyon; French, Spanish, English, German all flying around the car. I'm glad I'm on the second level, to be closer to the heavens, higher off the ground than before.
I smile at the thought of having wanted to throw myself off a bridge when I first got here. I was desperate, which drove me, as it often does into the serendipitous. An older English angel guided my hand in Barcelona and Andalusia, kept me company, kept me busy and away from the darker thoughts, French angels in France also, friends and young lovers, they always seem to be my saviors. I'm nowhere near suicide now, but still, I'm rocketing away I'm afraid. Oh well. Sanity's for the mundane and the overrated.
I'll think back on Seville and the curious Alberta (Elysia) I... well, that's just it. It's curious isn't it? What was that? It was a laugh, a gas. I wouldn't call it a riot, but it sure as hell was something new. She doesn't drink, she doesn't smoke, she doesn't eat cheese, she doesn't drink tea or coffee, she doesn't eat meat on the principle of animal endearment, but everything else is attributed to having the pallet of a fifteen year old girl. We didn't have sex. She talked about her ex constantly and how she'd ran away from the only guy she ever felt anything for. Her parents hated him because he was a dreamer.
Suffice to say, I could relate. He grew up surfing in South Africa, I grew up surfing in LA. Alberta (Elysia) showed me the other side. She pushed me over an edge I needed to get over. Maybe it's frowned upon, but I have to laugh at the fact, thinking back, that if it'd been me and myself in Seville, it might've been me having to do the pushing, and the edge maybe much more physical. It's insanely hilarious.
I feel better now, much better, like I accomplished what I came over here to do with her. Sure my balls feel like boules from the not cumming for three weeks, but I'll sort that out in Paris.
Fuckin' life is grand, isn't it.
