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epistle log 30irty 8ight
continental reflections
the pictures are worth so much more than the words i coax out, but some things are preserved only in the fragile bounds of my mind, and what little is left survives here. despite what people say, most of the french were very nice. they have this thing with bunnies: the metro warnings by the doors show a pink bunny getting maimed and mutilated in various occasions of metro misuse. the ads had killer bunnies with strange-yet-terrifying weapons. the toilet paper everywhere was pink. train stations are cryptic no matter what language you speak. the louvre is so huge that you can discover it three different times without realizing it. the new year in genova was occasion for all the kids to throw fireworks at you. something about mass transit and europe makes me repeat beastie boys lyrics constantly. i had a goatee for all of 4 hours: it looked terrible. the overpasses in genova are almost as impressive as the arc de triomphe. bridge is addictive. rain isn’t as wet or cold when walking the streets of paris. nothing in my life has ever been as impressive as the duomo in milan. the art museum there was remarkable as well. contrary to popular american belief, there are infinite ways to configure restrooms. all of my family that has gone to visit my brother in italy have had a flight canceled on the way over, and had a delayed flight upon returning.
it was all beautiful. i want it all back, but so much of it is lost to me already. moments pass, regardless of their weight, and memory is such a tenuous and uncertain media. sometimes, sadly, with memory failing and back in a routine, it’s almost as if it never happened. always already, lethe runs deeply and swiftly, through my mind and through the past. mesmerized, i drift along the thin banks, living.
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