le roncier

The other day, I was feeling blue so I took a long walk along the Seine. I started on the left bank, near what I still call the new Francois Mitterand library, just next to what is now my new favorite area in Paris. The whole neighborhood has been recently constructed, hence it can give me what no other place in Paris can give me, the impression of a clean slate. Everywhere else, Paris is drowned under recollections of happy or painful moments, and I still have a hard time painting it anew with more recent memories.

A day earlier, I was demonstrating with 700.000 others Parisians at the annual Gay Pride, “la Marche des Fiertés”. The weather was beautiful, as it has been since I arrived, and my friend Alex looked at me funny when I suggested that it was may be a sign, a sign that Paris was wishing me well and that everything happened for a reason. It took me the better part of an hour to get ready for the Parade, before I finally left the apartment with a simple white shirt. I couldn't really not to be at my best because I knew I would see a lot of people I used to know, and most importantly, because I was going to see Nicolas. He was there, indeed, as beautiful and daring as he always is, so much actually I couldn't stay. Also I couldn't bear the thought of running into his new lover. I fled, but just before I disappeared in the crowd, Nicolas caught me by the arm and told me that today, I was very beautiful, really “vraiment très beau”. I smiled and said, you too, kissing him on the cheek and leaving him with all his beautiful bears friends. Alex nodded and pointed to the sky to cheer me up, the sun was breaking through the clouds.

A day after, walking, I remembered how much of an old city Paris really was. As I left the newly renovated part of the left bank to enter the old crappy one, I realized there was still place for small pockets of wild life, where some homeless people tried to live in cardboard houses and wildflowers tried to bloom. I spotted a big old barge who looked like a disused floating police station, squeaking, its windows broken. And then it was over again, I was back in a living part of the bank, where people were tango dancing in the middle of the day. Arriving at the Louvre museum, passing under one last bridge, I smelled old urine and dog pooh once more and figured it was the way for the self-called capital of fashion to remember me that if living here was a luxury, we were all born between shit and piss t begin with. Ask your mum if you don’t believe me.

This Pride made me feel insecure, I wish I could be as strong as a hairy bear. As I opened up to Alex about that, he said that my sideburns were helping. It makes you a Bear Bijou, I thought I heard. A jewel bear ? No, he answered, “un bear des joues”, a cheek bear. I know I misunderstood, but I liked my first idea better.

Combien de fois, j'ai regardé ces épisodes en m'identifiant complètement à cette journaliste qui écrivait sur son powerbook dans son studio, en essayant de réussir à faire marcher ses histoires d'amour. J'étais aussi cette femme, si cynique, si définitive dans tous ces avis, ces choix, ces habitudes, comme j'étais cette femme qui croyait intimement que le grand amour existait et qu'elle devait juste apprendre à se convaincre qu'elle y avait droit. Et cette femme, si puissante, si forte dans ces choix, sa sexualité, je me souviens qu'on avait dit en rigolant comme des enfants devant Isa que c'était une vraie salope. Elle nous avait repris, en nous expliquant qu'une femme qui avait le contrôle de sa sexualité n'est pas une salope, c'est une femme qui a du pouvoir. Hier, je n'ai rien senti de tout cela, assis dans le cinéma en regardant Sex and the City. Je ne vais pas m'étendre dessus, d'autres l'ont mieux fait que moi (Xavier en particulier avec son entrée au titre définitif : Pourquoi Sex and the City (le film) est une daube ; et aussi Ephemerist). Je voulais juste témoigner de ma douce tristesse de voir que ce que je regardais comme une gourmandise intime ne soit plus aujourd'hui, sur grand écran, qu'une gigantesque pub pour le mode de vie traditionnelle et l'industrie du luxe. Peut-être est-ce moi qui ait changé, peut-être est-ce le public (des jeunes femmes habillées comme dans le film mais en H&M et des pédés un peu trop bronzés), peut-être est-ce parce que je sais, désormais et contrairement à Big, que quand le moment est passé, il n'y a pas de seconde chance en amour, mais je préfère garder mes souvenirs d'une série intelligente et vive que de tenter de faire revivre un cadavre. In love, timing is all. Je garde l'urgence de vivre, intacte, la volonté de croire que l'amour guide le monde et que, si par bonheur, on le trouve, il n'y a pas de temps à perdre.

La voie semble se dégager pour l'ouverture du mariage au couple de même sexe en Californie: California Court Affirms Right to Gay Marriage sur le NYT et California Supreme Court overturns gay marriage ban sur le LAT. Les candidats démocrates vont adorer avoir ça dans la campagne présidentielle.

Rapture Ready: The Unauthorized Christians United for Israel Tour during their last summit in july. Fucking insane. You'll all be delighted to see an old friend in the video, Rick Santorum, who gave his name to the santorum, the frothy mix of lube and fecal matter that is sometimes the byproduct of anal sex. Via A Funkaoshi Production.

I'm back in T.O. and I have to say the city looked wonderful in the sun on my way from the airport. You can feel it's Pride Week too, there's gay people everywhere, I meam more than ever. I'm sure it makes Toronto Tourism very happy, if you believe their new campaign : As Gay As It Gets. Via Torontoist. It's so funny how transparent they are about willing to attract the RICH gay people.

The minorities are always the first ones to suffer when a country is turning into a dictatorship. We know that bigots are stupid, but let this remember us that the police is never gonna be our friend : Eggs and punches at Russia gay march.

"Where are the police? Why aren't you protecting us?" Mr Cappato shouted as nationalists gathered nearby, prompting officers to take the MEP away and drive him to a police station. (...) Police intervened to arrest dozens of gay rights activists and only rarely detained their attackers.

Et aussi en français, la police interpelle des homosexuels à Moscou : La lenteur de l'intervention des policiers leur laissait cependant toute latitude pour asséner plusieurs coups. Vladimir Luxuria a eu de la chance de s'en tirer vivante.