a walk through a graffitied wonderland

I was already in the Marais area, so I decided to do the walk backwards, starting at the Hotel de Ville, moving towards Rue du Poitou. I was fully engaged with my music, having just had a near to spiritual experience walking through a tattooed alley just behind a boulangerie, when I ran square into Emily and Alex, finishing the same route I was just beginning, and Alex's father, who was very kind and wonderful. They asked if I wanted to join them, but I was on a trajectory already.

I continued down the Rue Vielle du Temple, looking for tags and graffiti I could photograph. The only ones around were too simple for my taste -- having been raised in California, lived in New York, and now Paris -- graffiti has become a form of art that I recognize more easily than any other, and am now more versed in graffiti more than I had realized. That being said, the street art in Paris is less politically charged and more personally expressive than the ones I have seen elsewhere, though generalizations are almost always inexplicably untrue.

This graffiti tells me of a culture whose character is based in seeking to achieve expression of mind and of heart. I see sex, art, sex, stupid, stupid, sex, clever (the clever ones make me smile) sex, sex, stupid. I am looking for one to relate to, whose message is as banal as it is universally true. I find comfort knowing where I stand with others, especially those others who are brave (or dumb) enough to make their mark through such a transient medium; concrete and pigment, these allies are the modern day Lascaux. This makes me wonder if it is human nature to draw on walls, something of an attempt at upward mobility. Perhaps this was Kubrick's intended message, though I wish to never find out.

Walking past the L'As du Falafel, I immediately regretted the sandwich I had just eaten, but c'est la vie. It's true that those sandwiches are the best falafel in the world (no exaggeration). I walked past the Jewish bakery, and gawked at all of the beautiful pastries that I won't let myself eat; maybe when I'm an old lady, I tell myself. I saw a new place that sells strudel like pastries on the corner, which corner I couldn't say, and decided to come back to try one, though for 3,50 the pastries are a bit steep and probably not as good as I imagine they will be. I walked towards Rue du Poitou, momentarily feeling myself disoriented in the Parisian labyrinth. Finally I found my way back to Vieille du Temple and stopped at a café called Boots. It reminded me of home, with independently run magazines and indie music playing in the background. The barista didn't speak French very well, and as I left I noticed her doing language exercises on the counter.

I walked up towards the A.C.P., and noticed an American Apparel across the street. I went in, for old time's stake, and found a scarf that I really wanted to get but not for 55 euros. I considered stealing it, but the censor on it was all too conspicuous, and the employees were boring holes into my back with their eyes. 

(hey David)

I walked onwards, until I saw the end of the street where it opened onto a main road. I found the metro and stopped for a cigarette before heading home. I sat on an ruinous step that reminded me of one of those incredible monuments I see online, and smoked my cigarette. A man walked by asking for money, but did not harass me, as I was having my cigarette. I boarded the train and went home.