Homeless in Paris Homeless in Paris | Page 10

B"H
- a Detroit nutsy cuckoo growing up to beco me frumh (adherent to
the principles of orthodox Judaism), raise a fa mily, and well into
the age of grandparenthood can no longer figure out where or what,
when or who he's supposed to be. I was hoping to get a toke of a
Renaissance Re miniscence of the Paris nightlife in the city o f
cosmopolitan modernity. People are so cranked into the
international mega merchandise chain that cultural distinction s
have vanished from their association to place or time. Paris is a
rat infested, dirty, aggravating urb an denigration of huma n
existence.
Productive creativity does not require the appraisal or approva l
of large audiences, there is intrinsic value to human individuality.
I wrote the story of my life winding upon the streets as if the
parchment upon which I preserve these thoughts. Beyond the crest
of a rainbow, I inscribe myself upon an existential identity in a
Paris Café, where I drew a picture in a sketchbook , recorded
thoughts in a notebook, and enacted the script I had come to
portray. I didn't want to hang around in a Paris airport for severa l
hours until my connecting flight from there to San Francisco
(Safrascity). I would do it artistically in pursuit of academic
peculiarity, creation, originality, and internal expansion. This
book is result of my stopover; "was there, did that" personality. I
treated myself to a cab ride to my singular "tourist -attraction" that
amounts to a photo shot of me standing by the Eifel Tower. I
became while drinking a cup of coffee I had paid for in Euros. My
excite ment w ith Paris was drained before the cup was empty.
Flash broadcast; editing an entry into the notebook diary, I kept
of my journey. "Here and Now," in the thick of this literary
endeavor, I AM writing while riding in the number two bus
traveling around Paris streets with the homeless who tunnel until
dawn through a miserable incarceration in an aisle of empty seats
lined row upon row within the chambers of Paris' transportatio n
services. Mostly elderly downtrodden men alighted , without
paying the bus fares. I rode in the company of my "transpo "
comrades whom pass-the-night in the indoor security of a moving
hotel; the arrears of the bus upon whose seats are positioned the
live corpses. I debarked fro m the number 2 and hop upon the 141
upon which the knighted o f modernity are accommodated for their
few nocturnal mo ments of slumber.
10