NYC Diary #39
MONDAY
12:09 a.m. Last week in Paris before I go to Athens.
I end up somewhere in the suburbs on a terrace overlooking the city. Just finished writing the last poem for Ecstasy this morning. Called “Paris”—so original. But it’s about betrayal. Great art is about two things. Love. Betrayal.
1:41 a.m. I’m hanging out with two Russian girls, a French boy, an Australian dude, and a French American guy who does something with music in LA. I love LA. I love that LA’s not even a real city. It was invented for the movies. So the studios could have space for the sets. It was just desert before that. It was invented for the imagination. Unlike Paris. Which is the city of light. Because at the beginning of the nineteenth century it became the first city in Europe to use gas lighting to illuminate the streets.
Drive slowly to arrive sooner.