Maturity Here I Come

On your face.

Well, yes. I couldn't believe it as well, until maturity bitch slapped me across the face with its metaphysically endowed arm. Considering the psychological, emotional, and physical circumstances, I can safely check off that quarter-life crisis (yes, I'm planning to kick the bucket at 80; dude, if it hurts to pee, it's time to leave). Rest assured, that little screaming and kicking four-going-on-five years old boy will rear its gel-spiky head upon reckoning, and of course, by requests. My situation is utterly ambiguous, but not intentionally portrayed I promise (details are privy to whom interested). On the bright side, my return to the U.S. has been confirmed at 6:00 AM French time November 5, 2008. I like president like I like my chocolate: tasteful, dark and hard. (that's right I went there)

To keep things extremely short: Paris, London, Dublin, Bath and Stonehenge should all be smoking a long and conspicuously phallic cigarette right now (this is a sex reference for those sheltered peeps). I basically forced myself on the unexpected but willingly consented cities. And once you go rice, you don't think twice. Since I'm heading north this weekend for the city of love, Paris will be getting lung cancer soon. I have been quite neglectful lately in terms of visual stimulations, but French internet has decidedly opted for an extended hiatus in uploading photos. However, that will be rectified soon (damn I love the phonetic harmony that is that word).

Meandering the shit-littered sidewalk of life (*cough* emo *cough*),

Jacques