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Coucou, Paris !

My bed is messy and I’m hungry, but I’ve never felt this secure in my solitary while my heart is set on something, some place, ou bien on someone. In the hours, and even days, of separation, I find lingering joy and fresh freedom. There is no distance, for that would imply something that needs conquering and diminishing in order for closeness to occur. Oh, Paris! It almost sounds like I’m talking about you and me. But I guess London was waiting for me, with its theatres, two of which I have visited in the last week, and, now that I’m back here, love is also in its air as predicted.

The weather has been pretty much stunning on the Thames, and the lingering joy and fresh freedom help me focus on the tasks at hand. Well, tasks that have not been done for me, anyway. Like cooking – hardly these days! Like taking a shower, then – oh shit, that too? Only some days, unfortunately. Alright, alright, I’ll stop flexing the new standard and write. Wait – no, I’ve been doing tasks and chores and work and the thinking and the planning for years, I bloody get to flex when some of them are taken off my hands without any nagging required. Damn, I didn’t even have to ask! That’s it – I can focus on writing – poetry or otherwise, and doing admin, and running around for work and pleasure, and planning my next Paris trip to do some artistic tasks there. I can even focus on summoning new ideas now, or do they actually come flying from all directions with this passion as they seem?

So many ideas, I can’t concentrate! But the high sun has got me so passionate I started power-washing the deck, in my swimsuit, the other day – well, half of it. I need another scorching day, and perhaps something, ou bien someone, to hold on to while doing the water side of the barge. I enjoyed doing it so much I don’t want this task taken off my hands, Daddy, never mind the satisfyingly obvious result. And I guess I love myself so much where I am currently, Vienna on my mind just has to wait. Don’t worry, Paris, our next date is already set for next week.

I’m wondering if I will see you differently, Paris. This time. Oh, I guess that is inevitable. You know I’m always becoming; I know you’re always becoming. No, no – I’m not wondering: I’m intrigued to see how differently I will see you, this current season, when freedom seems to have been captured (ironic, I know) on all fronts – or almost; how we both evolve by being intertwined with each other – and with others.

As happy as London is capable of making me these days, it’s nice to know you’re still waiting for me, Paris, and that I’m still looking forward to spending time with you – your river Seine and your streets, your language and your artists, your slow change that is single-handedly capable of comforting me when capitalist propaganda nags me with ‘produce and progress’ while all I want is to walk, perhaps in peace, definitely in love.

Definitely in love is the constant state I’d love through all the changes ahead of me, ahead of us. Slow or fast, but preferably for the better. Always for the better. Like the spring weather after Easter? No, let’s aim higher! That shit isn’t reliable especially around here, but let’s visit Tate Britain while London feels like 9 at 14 degrees today. Let’s aim higher, even when I’m in my solitary. Perhaps like the weather inside of me after a morning run, a meditation, or simply a deep breath. Because, Paris, between this good thing and the next, between the last kiss and the coming ones, between you and me, there is no distance: only space.

londres, le 12 avril 2026

je t’embrasse !

d.o.