overcast and gloomy, noisy-le-grand hasnt been looking so great these days. yesterday, i visited james morrison's grave at the most unique cemetery in paris. surrounded by cobblestones, enormous tombstones, and dirt, his burial site was much less extravagant than the others. i liked it. after reading the history of his 10 minute burial, cheap casket, peculiar girlfriend, and the few words exchanged - i couldnt help but wonder the events that happened before his overdose. i guess its controversial like all other legends' deaths from the likes of kurt, jimi, janis, michael, etc. etc.
anyway, like all other touristic sites i was disappointed in the level of "intimacy" i received. mona lisa was small, covered, fenced around, glanced at, barely appreciatedm versailles was overcrowded, overwhelming, touristic, and breath-taking nonetheless; jim's grave was fenced around and covered by fans' gifts as a man threw a joint with the words, "this one's for you, bud"; a touching gesture.
the walk through the cemetery was grey, haunting, and beautiful.
i really enjoyed the stroll accompanied by my cousin jonathan.
i spent the night with rebecca to discover i laugh, talk, and snore in my sleep... lady-like and attractive.
today, i visited the andy warhol exhibition in champs-elysees which was infested with artsy tourist parisian wannabe fucks. however, i wasnt disappointed. the lay out was nicely organized and every piece was fresh without fences and plastic covers. it was incredible seeing his work in real life rather than a book and examining the layers and layers he went through.... or his factory workers went through. my personal favorites were his self-portraits in drag and his last piece before he died... the last supper. i loooooovedd seeing the clip tests of each subject he used for portraits. each person, out of his or her mind, adjusting themselves, and vain/gone as fuck. clearly, the poster people for the european teens aspiring to be "skins" characters.
the walk through champs-elysees was a different story. every girl dressed like the olsens' line of clothes - tailored blazers, heels, tights, messy hair, bones and skin, sitting at the cafes - bored. i hate how they take this for granted; this life and the wealth their parents possess. i hate how having a fortune and access to the nicest things automatically gives them a place in the field of fashion.
fuck this bullshit. its how the world works, i guess. born rich, live rich; born poor, live poor, and maybe if you spend your entire life working and get rich youll barely enjoy the luxuries. get rich or die trying.
the lifestyles nice, man, and ive got two sides to me.im bitter - i would kill to be alongside them walking champs-elysees thinking im better and having the time of my life. but they look sad. every single stick and bone - a clone to the next.
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