The Short Plays

This is called Arms, Legs, Mouth


This is called Fuck It, Fight It.

it is not so easy to be me

"So, let me get this straight, you were going to move to Paris...like, really move there, and find a job, and work, and live like a normal human being...but instead you're just on a seven week vacation while the rest of us work like dogs? That is sooooo unfair."

I assume some, if not all, of you have had this thought in your head...if not about me, then about others who go traveling while you stay behind in the boring US of A. Well, let me tell you, its not all fun and games. While I've had my share of fun, and my share of being exhausted from having said fun, I've also been working. That is to say, I've been doing as much work as I can allow myself to do considering the megabucks (megaeuros) that I'm spending to just be over here without any income whatsoever. (Ah yes...income, you get that. I don't). If I hadn't already booked my ticket home, I've discovered a really cool thing that a lot of people are doing over here which is going to work on an organic farm for a couple of weeks. I'm not sure what the deal is exactly. Well, I just did a tiny little bit of research (and you didn't even notice I was gone!) and found out that basically, its these communities and in exchange for working for say 4-8 hours a day, you get food & lodging for free. Plus meeting people and picking olives, etc. I would love to do this for a few weeks...Maybe I will come back. Especially now that I've found Greece. It's amazing here.

Anyway, I'm writing this particular blog because today I went to see many of the ancient ruins in Athens. (we did a walking tour and it was a long day of walking but really very amazing...I took almost over 150 pictures...compared to the maybe 45 pictures I've taken throughout the previous 3 weeks that I've been here). The guide told us that many times, people would go to look at these ancient pieces of artwork to do their own work, because they believed the spirit of those classic artists came out and into them while they were working. This I will explore in the coming days. Which brings me to my point...My work.

It is a fool who gives away his work for free. But it is also a fool who keeps his or her world to hisorherself. So I am going to share with you, at least ideas or portions, of what I've been working on here.

First off, This Very Blog!
I've been trying to explore different styles of writing, and have found this blog very useful. For those of you who do read this blog, and are dealing with the schizophrenic attempts at realizing my voice, I apologize. But really, fuck you if you've got a problem with it! (I'm only kidding. What would I do without you all...the millions of readers I've got). Anyway, I do apologize to you all as this blog has become less of a way for me to recant the stories of my daily blahblahblah and more a way for me to express myself in different ways. If you're into reading attempted road-trip style literary amateurism, then you've been reading the right thing. If what you want is cold hard facts about what Nathaniel J Porter is doing with his time...you'll have to consult the CIA.

Okay Next. The Big Play.
I began writing a piece in Paris, at the Cemetery of Montmartre, inspired by the things that I was seeing and doing and feeling in my first five days there. Which means, a lot of emptiness, a lot of cemeteries, and a strange artists community. It had a plot to it, which was something slightly Orwellian in that it was about this conspiracy concerning artists, and how artists themselves were repressing artistic work in order to have the higher-ups in the community arise to greatness while the rest were left in the dust (the dust of the dead, as it would be in this play). I'm afraid this one probably will die out. While the plot is semi-intriguing to me, and the scenario and relationships between the characters something I was interested in...I'm now too distanced from the source, I think. I only got through about 12 pages handwritten, and to go back almost 3 weeks later and try to rehash those feelings and that place is going to be difficult. Nevertheless, who knows, someday that Parisian Play may come about.
(What ended up happening was I met people in Paris and began enjoying myself and didn't want to write at all, let alone about this sort of depressing, highly-intellectualized subject matter...and when I did try to make some progress on it, I was stuck.)

So after Paris (where I wrote some blogs, and read some plays, and read about some art) I went to Barcelona. Something in the air of this place, as well as the feeling I was getting just moments before leaving Paris, inspired me to start writing short pieces. Mostly it was so that I would force myself to actually write. I tried, while I was in Barcelona, to either write a Blog Post or a short play each day. I don't think I succeeded with every day, but I did post quite a few blogs, and I did write 2 short plays (I will post links to those once I get them). The street performers in Barcelona spoke to me. And even more, the reggae music that was prevalent there began speaking to me too. Those of you who knew what I was working on prior to leaving Seattle know that I've got some sort of political urge within me right now (and it doesn't have a lot to do with the Obama "Change" ideal, but its along those lines..I think coincidentally). So the mixture of Barcelona, reggae, and my own anxiety came together to form some short plays which I find interesting. Once in Seattle, I plan on having at least one of them performed on the streets. (More on "Once in Seattle" in a bit).

And then...
I realized that this Paris play was probably not going to work out, so I've been trying to think of ideas for another longer play, and I've began developing an idea, and I've got some lines running through my head, but I haven't actually written any of it yet. Hopefully timing & inspiration will line up soon and I can put something on paper. (I think I will force it, actually, by going up to the Theatre of Dionysis and writing for a few hours there in the coming days...talk about inspiration...my life would be close to nothing without it). The idea, though, is that it will be a play about a movie, based on a book, written about a song, written about this woman. So it's going to be all these different phases of reality and non-reality and truth and non-truth and real people versus fake people...and near the end, this woman that inspired all of this will appear. I'm pretty excited about this idea, and the fact that it lends itself to comedy. I like writing comedies, and have been having more and more trouble finding that.

And Finally, The Novel.
Also, I have not started writing this one solidly, but I've been piling up ideas for it with everyone I meet and from all these stories and different attitudes and languages and everything that comes off of people that one meets. Also, I've been listening to the audiobook of Chuck Palahniuk's "Rant" so I can't deny the inspiration that's been having on me. I have the few lines, I think. "I first started shifting when I was 24. I was traveling in the Mediterranean, and one day, it just happened. I suppose you could say that was the last day that "I" existed." Despite the seemingly autobiographical nature of it, it's not. What I've found is that I've been explaining a million times over how to say my name, and what I do, and where I'm from, etc. etc. I've also been walking by all these interesting things and thinking "if only I had the money to buy that." But I know that I'd only be interested in it for about a day, and then my interest would go somewhere else, right? Life is often like this. Well I've been wondering, what if every day was new. It's like, I've heard of this disorder and things written about it, where you can't remember what happened to you the day before, so each day is completely new. Well, the idea is similar to that, but instead, each day you still can remember everything that happened previously, but you deliberately shed it. Say today you are wearing this shirt and these pants and you own an iPod and you are reading James Joyce. What a "shifter" does is, the next day, the shifter sells (or probably trades) EVERYTHING for something new. Even the shifter's name. Today I am Nathaniel. Tomorrow I will be Joshua for a day, and I will wear sunglasses and a ring. I'll be a professional gambler, etc. The idea is of, rather than a geographical traveler, it is an identity traveler. Anyway, this is the basic idea, and I reckon it'll be years before I've made significant progress on it...but it's exciting to me none-the-less.

Right. I bet you're tired of reading this. "I come home from a full days work and now I've got to READ about how you've got these "ideas" for writing but haven't even done anything?!" Pipe down. You don't have to read this. I'm just an opportunist, giving the opportunity for insight. Take it or leave it.

Last thing I'm working on: Once in Seattle.
I am young. I realize this. And by all logic, theres no reason I shouldn't be patient. But, I'm not really all that patient as a person. And whether or not I'm worth anything, i've got a huuuuuuuge....ego. So when I get back to Seattle...I'm not going to allow myself to sit in any shadows any longer. I'm going to rely on you all my friends to keep me going. I really want to push myself. I don't want to be stagnant for one moment. I want to take the streets and put on performances. I want to establish a company completely dedicated to presenting new work by Seattle writers, whether it's good work or mediocre work, I want it done. Whether it's medium sized budget or very low budget, I want it done. I want to explore instead of recreate. I really want to keep pushing the boundaries in Seattle. I am my father's son, so I have a lot of business sense and logic and blah blah blah working in my head, but fuck it. I don't want a single thing to stand in my way, and I'm going to try to overcome this fear of trying new things and doing things dangerously. If I get in trouble with the law over something, I don't really care. If people hate what I'm doing, I don't really care. If no one wants to work with me, I'll do it on my own. This is what I plan on doing in Seattle. So whether you are a theatre person or not, I might be calling you up for favors. I might be asking you to help out in a little way or a huge way. I may even ask to crash on your couch if I spend all my money on some little piece of crap that I want done and end up not having enough money to pay my rent (it's all possible.) In return, I'll do anything I'm capable of. You see, in order to make meaningful art, you just cannot be nameless, as sorry as that is. So I'm going to give myself a name.

Congratulations, you've reached the end of the most vain post in history.

NATHANIEL PORTER

Surreality

(This was written before the previous post. Or was it after?)

Imagine yourself in my shoes. Theres a stinking cat big as 3 oxes and made of metal sitting no further than you are to a bathroom (there is always a bathroom near the internet). Two German girls gigle about the police, who arrived on their bikes, interrogated us, and left us alone with the hash, still waiting to be lit up. (Both the girls and the hash, intentionally ambiguous). They laugh and pee and laugh at peeing and a truck pulls up. Not far from this gigantic cat with gigantic testicles, a man begins unloading full-sized, frozen, skinned lambs. The German girls scream and gigle and we talk about evolution as a "theory." Meanwhile, ther eare scientists just a few countries over trying to recreate the big bang which has a chance..(What was that? I think I just heard a bomb go off. But the sun is hot and the water calm. And I dont hear anyone screaming bloody murder) just a chance, no larger than the distance between you and your computer screen, of destroying the galaxy. But at 5 am in Barcelona, with chapped feet and hash, no one much cares for authority, cops or scientists.

Then a day passed. Maybe two. Time barely exists at Mambo Tango, unless they are feeding you tuna fish, rice, and mayo (shit, did I travel across the world to eat what was in my living room every week?). I had (or is it have? the past tense and present tense are becoming apocalyptically interchangeable) to catchmy ferry to Italy. I check the onine map, it said that I should catch my ferry at Plaza de Catalunya. But thats in the middle of the city! No water nearby! I should've known that this will be an exciting experience. Fuck it, I'm in Barcelona. I will go ot the middle of the city (Im beginning to see the future in terms of the past and present now) But I soon found the internet had whispered a little lie in my ear, and that Boats, even in Barcelona, take off from the water. (Theres some sort of miniature carnival next to what looks like a bombed out building near theneverending horizon of the Meditteranean).

This boat is gigantic. It is a glacier. On board I'm seated next to a Canadian, who I briefly met waiting for the boat, and behind us is a New Yorker. Everyone else, I think, is from Italy or Spain. Who's smart idea was this? Or, out of some randomly computer-generated seating programs, did some unpredictable design come about? Right before the world ends, I'll ask those scientists. I just have to know. We go exploring the boat, which, by the way, is the cheapest way to get from Spain to Italy. We find a Spa. We find a Casino, where an Italian man puts hcip after chip on the roulette table only to have them all taken by the blonde Romanian in the scandalous dress. We find the store and the five bars and the swimming pool and finally, the lounge, where a man sings what should be karaoke but is not, and old Italian men & women slow dance, then request a group dance, and begin line dancing to bad midi-style Italianized country music. All of this is happening in the middle of the sea, nowhere near another human being, on the cheapest form of transportation from Spain to Italy.

After some more exploring we find ourselves in the crew's quarters. We steal some fruit and bread and almost get caught. But we're in international waters. The only authority here is the water. and the fact that they could throw us overboard and probably get away with it. (I've been on land for an hour and a half now and still I sway with the sea). After the crews quarters we break into the kitchen, see slabs of meat that once came from full-sized, frozen, skinless animals (But we are in the middle of nowhere, and I would die this moment if a gigantic, big-balled, metal cat showed up). I'm realizing just how fucked up it is that we're in the kitchen, with all the food (forget the kitchen, we went down to the engine room!) and maybe it's because of Chuck Palahniuk or maybe its anarchy taking control of my mind, but I'm thinking about all the fucked up things I could do to people's food in the middle of the night on a boat in the middle of nowhere. And in the cabin, they've got cameras. Where everybody's food comes from, not a single one.

After this (No, Before) we are "dancing" in the "disco" while the guy flips through his book of latin music and lands on Guns N Roses, and we sing along with "Dont Cry" and drink the brandy & beer we smuggled on board. Then (and this is after our kitchen adventure) we smoke hash and play guitar and sing country songs in the middle of the night in the middle of the meditteranean. Then we capped the night with "Hallelujah" by Jeff Buckley, where we forgot verses but were 90% correct, and I'm thinking about how he dried of drowning. I go to sleep with Neko Case on repeat and dream of....something.

And now, I am in Italy, waiting to catch my train to Naples. If the universe explodes right now, at least I'm looking out to what appears to be an infinite horizon of sea. And at least I sang "Hallelujah." And at least there isn't a gigantic weird cat with testicles as big as 2 of your heads just a short distance from me.

Top Songs
1. Jeff Buckely - Hallelujah
2. Neko Case - Dirty Knife
3. Band of Horses - Part One
4. The Knife - Got 2 let u
5. Arcade Fire - Windowsill

The art of being RIPPED OFF

a lesson:
if you want to be ripped off big time in a foreign country...just go there. More specifically, just go to Naples, Italy. Take the train to the Napoli central station, where you think you should get off. On your way outside to find a taxi, be surprised by the person inside who says do you want a taxi, then shows you to another person, who then asks where you are going..you show him, and be surprised when he says you are at the wrong station. THEN, be surprised when he takes you, not out front where taxis normally are, but around to the parking lot, where his father smokes in the car. Then be surprised that there isnt a meter in the car to tell you how far you have gone or how much you must pay. Be surprised at how nice he is though. And be surprised at the fact that he offers you a cigarette. Be surprised when he says it will take you 20 minutes to get there. Do the calculation in your head...20 minutes, how many kilometers (question mark...by the way, this computer doesnt have normal punctuation marks), dont be surprised when you guess, especially with the way he is driving, 20 minutes means about 20 to 25 kilometers. Dont be surprised that he says it will be 2 euro per kilometer and then shows you a piece of paper for a second saying this. Be surprised when he shows you the train station you SHOULD have gotten off at. Be surprised when it looks like were going much further than the directions on the hostel website said we should. Dont be surprised when he turns around and basically comes back the way we came. By now, it would be easy to not be surprised by anything. Not after how he drives. Not after I almost died in his car. Not so surprised anymore. But surprised, still, one can be...do not fear. Just wait until he stops the cab and tells you how much. Be surprised when he tells you 200 Euro (which is equal to 300 dollars) for a 20 minute cab ride. Dont be surprised at his reaction when you question this. Dont be surprised when he says that you pay for the way there, and his trip back to the train station. Dont be surprised when he says he told you this. Dont be surprised when you tell him no, you wont pay that, he says yes, you will. Dont be surprised when you tell him you have only 50 Euro, he says okay, we go to the bank. Dont be surprised when you tell him you will give him 20 more, he says no. Dont be surprised that he keeps hounding you for even coins. Dont be surprised that he has his dad get out of the car to get your bag in order to let you know that you should pay 2 more euro for that service. Dont be surprised that when you tell him no, he laughs and pinches you on the cheek. Dont be surprised that this man has just stolen your fucking money, all because you are a stupid, stupid, tourist.

The Beginning of The End of Living By The Seat of My Dirty Pants

3 weeks it has been since Seattle left I have. Go to Italy tomorrow I will, on ferry boat Mediterranean crossing. For days 10 there, Napoli and other places. After to Greece more Mediterranean crossing, in Athens and other places will be I. Hesitant have been I to concrete plans make, thus far. Barcelona stayed me many days longer than thought I. And glad am I, too, because good time had I. But now, time comes to plans make. Tickets book for Atlantic crossing, to avoid expenses very large for bank account mine. After Greece, to Barcelona one time more, and to airport, for Antlantic crossing to New York. In New York, two or three days I be before Continent crossing to New York. Return to Washington near 18 October, to make for almost 7 weeks of gone being I. And planning goes further, yet. To Anacortes for 10 days or more or less. Once Seattle return I, modified life of mine. Adapted life of mine. Matured life of mine. Today book I flight mine Atlantic crossing and flight mine Continent crossing. Preparations for the end of experiment mine.

1. Manu Chao - Mentira (went I to his bar in Barcelona, and the coolest bar it is in Barcelona)
2. Amanda Palmer - Strength Through Music
3. The Dismemberment Plan - I Love a Magician
4. Menomena - Muscle n´Flo
5. TV on the Radio - Tonight

To Barcelona. From Nathaniel.

Dearest Barcelona,

I am bad at these things. I know it's only been a short time that I've known you, but I think I am falling in love with you. Well, let's be honest, love is a bit strong. But I am definitely interested. I'm interested in being "more than friends" with you. But i must warn you, I'm fickle. And I've got issues with my ex, Seattle. I know, I know. I left Seattle. I said that I was going to Paris. HA! Paris? Paris was a crush...from a distance. Once I got to know Paris, I mean...yes, Paris is beautiful, and I'd probably have a decent enough time with Paris, but I don't feel that connection. And I think that you and I have a pretty good connection, but let's be honest. I was with Seattle for 6 years. And so now, I think I should explore other cities before settling down. I'm nowhere near ready to "sign a lease". I just thought you should know, though, that I think your Gaudi is really beautiful. And when I hear your music, I melt. And I could swim in your sea forever. The taste of your restaurants lingers in my mouth, and I love staying up til 4 or 5 in the morning with you, just walking through you. And these are only a very few parts of you. What I would give to know every bit of you, but I get lost just staring at one place for hours. Alas, I will probably leave. But I will think about you often, as I test the waters...see what other fish are in the sea. I will always remember the way you looked at me when I stepped into your streets. I have to admit, I'm a little bit curious, do you feel the same about me? You don't have to say anything if you don't want to. What's the point? I'll be leaving in a few days...and I suppose I probably shouldn't even be telling you this. I'm the same way with all cities though. Love them and Leave them. So it's probably better this way, right?....right? Okay, I admit it. If you tell me to stay, Barcelona, I'll stay. At least a bit longer. So tell me to stay! Tell me to stay! And in case you're wondering, I only slept in Paris. We had a few drinks, but in the end we just crawled into bed with one another and fell asleep. And to tell you the truth, I didn't even sleep that well! Okay. Well, I suppose I should get on, take out my little black book and look towards what city I will go to next. I'm looking for somewhere that I can just go for one night, I think. Just a brief encounter and then move on. It's just too painful to develop these sorts of feelings, so I will close my heart off. I just felt that you should know, I think you'll always be my favorite city in all of Europe. And if you opened up and gave me a home, I'd probably learn your language and stay with you.

Sincerely Yours,
Nathaniel

P.S. Don't hesitate to call me. And I hope that I will see you again...soon.

Top Songs.
1. Amanda Palmer - Runs in the Family
2. Bob Marley - Small Axe
3. Amanda Palmer - Leeds United
4. Black Uhuru - Youth of Eglington
5. Elliott Smith - I Didn't Understand (Live in Paris)

Retelling the Story of My Life A Thousand Times Over

A poem. (a sort of poem; if you're tired of my literary updates, you can email me and i'll more likely send you an actual update or telling of what i've been doing.)

check in check out
in between
talk to every
single

(or not)

pretty
girl
i can find.
como te llamas

y

what do you do
paris to barcelona
retelling the story
of my life
one thousand times
over

and

over.
and the first french girl
i talk to
is in barcelona.
and we both listen later

not together

but we both listen later
to 2 of 20
fucking in a hostel bed.
in english in spanish

in french

waiter pours me green
liquor
de la casa
which is where i(t) will go

for

the rest
of its sad
green
existence.

Top Songs!
1. Jimmy Eat World - Goodbye Sky Harbor
2. From Autumn To Ashes - Take Her To The Music Store
3. I Love You But I've Chosen Darkness - The Ghost
4. Brand New - Degausser
5. Norma Jean - Memphis Will Be Laid To Waste

What's the plan, mate?

Oi.

The plan, as I see it, is that I will travel until the beginning of October, and then head home. I would love to continue traveling...but I have 2 issues. Money, of course. And I'm fucking inspired. It's hard to go places like this and not be inspired. It's even harder, once you have that inspiration, to have nowhere to do your work. Now I could, of course, stick with the original plan and stay (or return) to Paris and try to work here...but the kind of things I want to do, I need people that I know...and people that speak English.

I was of course inspired by Musee D'Orsay...and Shakespeare & Co Bookstore (I went AGAIN to meet up with Laura Samorano)...and the artist community that I went to visit, and the tombs of great writers...but it's weird. What's inspiring me most, is reading The Stranger's Genius Awards and reading about amazing shit in Seattle that I must be a part of. Also this book of plays that was sent to me, full of work by Seattle playwrights that is fucking rad. That city is like heroin, man. Always has been and always will be. I just can't kick it.

But I can't write here. I don't even want to write here. Why write when you can be constantly experiencing? Why reflect when all you have to do is look? I feel depraved in Seattle, and it works for me. It takes me out of the "living in the now" long enough to do some actual work and make things happen. But I have to be denied. I have to be struggling. I'm not struggling here, at the hostel, not enough. My only struggle is that I miss Seattle and its people. But I feel like a jerk doing that...I'm in Paris, I'm in the middle of Europe, I'm among crazy and beautiful and funny and gorgeous people. That's what is back home, so what's so different here? Why shouldn't I just switch the one with the other?

I suppose Paris, or rather my time in Paris, has already done what I've wanted it to. I am excited about the other places I will visit, but I'm already feeling that I'm just going through the motions with it. That I must stick out at least a month in Europe before heading home. But really, it's a commitment to the idea instead of the act itself. It's how I behave a lot of the time in a lot of things I do, relationships, jobs, etc. I commit myself to the idea that this is a good thing, that I want this sort of thing, when the specifics are not really what I want, just the generals. The general specifics. It's an idea I'm really into right now. The relationship of general and specific.

So I suppose I will hit up Barcelona, Madrid, Florence, Berlin, Brussels maybe but probably not, and up again in Paris for a trip back home. And then I'm sure I'll be up in Anacortes for a few weeks while I try to organize a place to stay & a job in Seattle.

As I wrote on Kelsey's facebook wall though, don't take this as written in stone, or even plaster, or even dirt. Everything in my head here passes from one moment to the next.

Salut
natty

*I've only been listening to the same stuff the past few days, a collection of the thus far mentioned favorite songs...so, nothing new to report for today*

As the French say...

I am le homesick

Songs:
1. Beck - Mixed Bizness
2. The National - Ada
3. Velvet Underground - I'll Be Your Mirror
4. Band of Horses - Detlef Schrempf
5. Bob Dylan - Tombstone Blues

Quentin Tarantino & Eli Roth present HOSTEL: It's Caulaincourt, bitch.

Hello mes amis,

The internet here is down right now, which means instead of wasting gigantic lapses in time surfing hostel websites & train ticket prices, I will instead write an update. I've arrived at the Hostel in Caulaincourt. Well, I arrived here 5 days ago, I guess, which was quite a long time ago when you think about it. And what an experience I've had, huh? If I desired or thought anyone would care, I could probably list off all that I've done and all the people I've met, but that would be a long list (not very long on the list of things that I've done, but rather the people I've met). Instead, I'll give a different sort of update, and a different sort of account. Less rational, more realistic. Less logical, more longlasting. Less explanation, more exclamation.
After a night of terrible headache, needed sleep, uncomfortable bed, drunk roommates, I awake for my first morning at Hotel Caulaincourt. It's a place like you imagine Kerouac or Thompson. Breakfast is provided and I eat it, a croissant, petit pain (small bread), coffee, orange juice. My headache had gone away, I am awake, and what will I do? My fallthrough is the cemeteries. There's another one here, home to the likes of corpse Emile Zola, corpse Alexander Dumas. And I'm feeling like all great writers have a home in Paris. I sit on benches, smoke Lucky Strikes, write in my notebook. I begin writing a play, and keep writing, keep going til Lockout Time at Hotel Caulaincourt has nearly finished. On my return, a blonde Swede drinks wine and smokes cigarettes on the step leading in. Cigarette quickly jumps from my pack to my mouth, smoke quickly streams from the ash to my lungs, euphoria quickly travels from my dreams to my reality. The Swede talks, I talk, I go, I buy wine, I join The Swede, and soon The Hotel Man Cool Man comes out and has a cigarette, and we talk, and we laugh, and we have good time, man, good time. It takes about 5 minutes for a new friend to come and walk into the life of Me, and it's Big Glasses Amelie From Vancouver (though she's not Amelie, and it's not her name, this is where the film was shot, and she knows all the places by heart, and there is something in her spirit very similar, hey!) Off to the store for her for more wine, back she comes, corkscrew corkscrew where is the corkscrew? The Hotel Man Cool Man has one on his pocketknife, let's use it. But it is so hard, so hard to get the wine from the bottle which would make us all friends, eh? So hard indeed ya. Eventually it's done and new friends have come. South Africa FuckHey. The Finn. Just a bit about all these people. Just a little bit to explain these big people. The Swede has sincerity running through him like bones. The Hotel Man Cool Man runs home runs around the world. Big Glasses Amelie From Vancouver laughs like magic. South Africa FuckHey is absolutely bonkers, man, but I dig it, man, hey. And The Finn must have been buried with the vikings and reborn with all their customs still in tact and developing with every motion of his beer to his mouth.

After much thirst quenching, off we go to the chapel Sacre Couer, where steps lead down to Paris, and music keeps people too entranced to leave. Big Glasses Amelie From Vancouver tells me her life history in a half hour, but it doesn't even need that long, it's similar to the one I've known for so long. The Finn is warming up, the Finn is laughing but not drinking wine. He was poisoned by wine. He doesn't drink the same poison twice, or he'll throw up. Someone wants to look at the gigantic masterpiece that is The Eiffel Tower, so we wander down the road just a few steps to climb the fence and look at the Disney Land/Christmas/Las Vegas show of twinkling lights on the massive piece of metal. I think it ruins the charm, while others giggle with love. But South Africa FuckHey has broken the bottle he's been twirling around, and hey, THE FINN WANTS SOME FUCKING BEER, so we're off. Beer's too expensive though, so off back to Hotel Caulaincourt, where we sit longer, talk longer, and sleep.

After one day with these folk, I know I will not last long in Paris. I must leave, I must see new places, I must meet new people, I must run into them again. And I begin making my plans to leave. To Spain. To Madrid. But all are going to Barcelona. But my father tells me Go To Barcelona. So I will go to Barcelona.

Next day, Big Glasses Amelie From Vancouver and I stroll down for coffee and cigarettes (at the cafe from Amelie, of course). We go to Musee D'Orsay. We wander through the halls of old artwork, the large paintings, the perfect sculptures. We run up the stairs to see Van Gogh, Toulouse LeTrec, Monet, Cezanne. We're both stunned, both overwhelmed. Another cigarette and we're walking to Notre Dame, past Notre Dame, to Shakespeare & Co Bookstore, yet again, where my romantic vision of life lives. Then it's for food at the Kebab place, then it's back home, then it's back to some more wine and back again later to Sacre Couer because The Finn is leaving, and he must take a picture of himself infront of the steps which will show you all of Paris, holding from home some moonshine, a local brew, which he must show his other Finnish Friends, and make them proud. Spokane is there, and Drunk Seattle is there, PunkFangPiercing is there, HippieAussie is there, South Africa FuckHey is there. And some of the guys from the hostel, PunkFangPiercing goes up and sings, and its very cool man, i dig it hey. Back at the hostel again, outside, talking briefly to Big Glasses Amelie From Vancouver, upset over money troubles, and Drunk Seattle comes in and we talk and she slurs, and then to bed.

Next day is hanging around, not much doing, back to the cemetery, but no writing this time, no good. Back at the hostel, I am surprised to see Big Glasses Amelie From Vancouver...she was catching the train to Barcelona that morning. But she'll be leaving that night. The overnight train. Let's drink some. AND it's The Hotel Man Cool Man's birthday, so there's some celebrating but all of the sudden its raining and we can no longer drink on the stairs outside in a circle and chatting, we must come inside. And we drink wine inside, and there's The Opposite Vancouver Sisters, who are new, and there's GorgeousModelTypeAussie, and Spokane, and Hololand. GorgeousModelTypeAussie and I make plans, tomorrow, The Louvre, free night. But we're not going, probably, probably I won't go. And then I'm off to bed, where apparently many drunk people have been in the room, having sex, and throwing up. I don't notice though. So in the morning when they apologize, I have no idea and I'm a little paranoid but I don't give it much attention, man, it's cool, hey.

Next day I book my train to Barcelona, I'm leaving on Monday night. The night train to Barcelona. Til then, we have birthdays to celebrate. Drunk Seattle is heading back to Seattle. We will have many nights on the stairs at Sacre Couer. But I'm ready to leave Paris. I'm feeling the burn. But nothing feels more like home than Hotel Caulaincourt.

And my Songs list (i haven't listened to a whole lot..so this is a bit of a stretch)
1. The Stills - Everything I Build
2. Ryan Adams - Bartering Lines
3. Radiohead - Talk Show Host
4. Get Up Kids - I'm a loner dottie. A rebel.
5. Band of Horses - The Funeral

Yes, but what about Paris though?

(written 8/9/08 at around 12:00)

Finally, a place to write! I thought in Paris there would be a million cafes to sit for hours and write. So far I've felt rushed at every place I've been. The only writing I've done has been in my hotel room or the hotel lobby, writing blogs. I've just arrived near the hostel where I will most likely be staying for the rest of my time in Paris. Check -in is not til 16:00 and it is only 12:00. I'm exhausted from sleeping too much (it's almost all I've done!) and sleeping at the wrong times.
Not only does Paris remind me of "Interview with a Vampire" because of the film, not only because I first began reading the book in the UW dorms which reminded me so much of the hostels here in Paris, but also because I feel I am living the life of a vampire. Solitary. Sleeping all day. Awake in the night. Every time I see the old buildings of Paris, which is nearly everywhere, I am reminded of it. That is really the most fantastic part of Europe: how old it is. It's rare to see in the states. A turn of the century building there is ancient. I will certainly always be influenced by this old-world feel.
Maybe that is what makes us so easy to identify. We are like newborns in this country. It seems more than 50% of the time, before I even open my mouth, they know I'm an American. This is when walking around without backpack & suitcase, nothing that would immediately say "Tourist". But somehow they know. THere are plenty of tourists I can recognize, but without sounding full of myself, I thought I blended in fairly well, aside from the language.
I just looked across the street and noticed a Century 21. I find that funny. Of all the American companies I expected to find here, Century 21 is not one of them.
I'm a little embarassed I had McDonalds for breakfast today. Granted, it was a french version. An Egg McMuffin w/Bacon, 3 small pastries (pain au chocolat, croissant, and some sort of apple pastry), a yogurt parfait, coffee, and orange juice. All for 4.50 Euro. Easily the cheapest thing to eat in all of Montparnasse. But I knew I couldn't afford to eat again til dinner, and wanted more than an espresso & croissant. Plus, not a lot is open before 9am here.
I was up at 6:30 and out of cigarettes, so I went exploring. I had gone trying to find cigarettes the night before. But again, nothing much is open past midnight, especially on a Sunday.
I'm now realizing that instead of me just writing, this will turn into a blog entry. Ooohlala. now I have to type this whole thing up!
Well I suppose I ought to relay the other semi-exciting things that have happened, since thus far my blog has merely been me pining for home...
Well, for starters...Football! No, not European Football, but good ole American Football. They had a TV station at the hotel, NASN, North American Sports Network, and they show LIVE football games. Unfortunately, the LIVE part means its from 5pm to 5am. And they don't show Seattle teams. But I did watch the Jets v Dolphins game. I was happy for the Jets, but have to admit, the end of the game was exciting and I found myself rooting for the Dolphins to turn it around. I caught some of the Cowboys v Browns game, but let myself fall asleep (it was 2am after all). I saw updates of the Seahwaks score. Man, I'm glad I didn't see that game. I also saw the Huskies' score. Can anyone tell me if we actually played well, bad, etc? looked like a small loss. How could i have left the States during Football season??!? Oh well.
Okay, enough about you Americans. What about the Parisians? Well, first, they all smoke. It's really incredible. I never realized, on the whole, how many Americans don't smoke. Well, in comparison, it's a lot. I've managed to keep myself on my normal allotment, I don't know how. Probably because I've been sleeping the whole time. Well, this hostel won't allow it. There's a lockout from 11:00-16:00 More on the hostel later though.
Okay, so Saturday was interesting (I think it was Saturday). I think the Notre Dame area has always & will always be my favorite area of Paris. Anyway, Saturday morning I walked from Montparnasse to Notre Dame. It's quite a distnace. Not terrible, but not a short jaunt. As I was crossing the Seine, there were two women in front of me. All of a sudden, it appeared as though they dropped something. It sounded like a ring. To the rescue was a nice young gentleman. I'll call him Phillipe. He swoops down like an angel to retrieve the ring. But instead of returning it to the madamoiselles, he came to me. I hadn't said a thing. I was wearing my black European-looking coat. Listening to my iPod. Smoking a Cigarette. I looked French, okay! Well he came up to me, showed me the ring.
"Do you think it's gold?" he says. I take out my headphones, pretend I don't understand him.
"Hmm?" I say.
"Gold?" He knows. HOw does he know?
"I don't know. Maybe." I reply. Of course its not. I know this. He tries it on all his fingers, pretends it doesn't fit. He wants to try it on my fingers. It Fits! Holy Cow! What gracious gods do we owe this to? He hands it to me.
"For you," says Phillipe, "Bon Chance."
"Oui" I reply."
"Bon Chance...Good Luck" he tells me, as if I don't know. (I DO know what Bon Chance means).
And that's that. THat's what I thought. He wants the French Goodbye. A kiss on both cheeks. I oblige, at fist I think its just an embrace, then his head is on the other side of me. I was confused, but soon recognized. OK. I"ll do this, as he sort of forced me into it. Anyway, "Au Revoir" and he walks away and so do I. But wait! Phillipe is calling after me. DO I have some moeny for a sandwich?
Now, in Seattle, I could easily say No, or I could say Yes, depending on what I have and who is asking. Phillipe was nice. He gave me a ring! (though I knew he would probably ask for some money). I obliged him with 3.00 Euro. That's almost $5.00! He wasn't satisfied and kept begging for more. I said no. "okay give me the ring back." I gave it back and asked for my money back. He asked for MORE money. He wanted paper money, not coins. I took the ring back, said sorry,, NO, and walked away.
Phillipe was a little upset. So upset that he crossed the street. He dropped something, and swooped down to the ground like an angel to retrieve the ring. Another pair of suckers to pay Phillipe's rent. It was hours later that I realized, when he was giving me the French goodbye, he was trying to give the French goodbye to my wallet. Thankfully, I don't carry a wallet, and nothing of fvalue was in any accessible pocket, except my iPhone (whch was too risky to take and which I almost lost an hour later because I haphazardly placed it in my pocket!) So far that's been mmy only recognizable encounter with a French Con Artiste.
Later, and this is less interesting, but I found it intriguing, I had my first encounter with what I like to think was mild French Anarchy. At a Restaurant/Bar/Brassarie (as they all are) I was drinking a beer & eating some frites, when I heard a noise. Now this is right next to Notre Dame. Ona Saturday, when tourists a plenty from France & the world come to marvel at the true majesty of this cathedral. I turned to look at what the noise was, and saw a man pulling a railing (I'm not sure what the purpose of these railings is, but they are all over). He pulled the railing in front of the crosswalk, so it appeared as though the crosswalk was closed. I thought, at first, that this man must work for the government,a s I saw him cross the street, and grasp another railing. I looked back across the street to see what the people were doing. As expected, they stood there, like sheep, confused. I looked back to see what the government official had done on hte other side, only to realize that his efforts there weren't as important. He had merely knocked down the railing so it was flat on the ground. Apparently, he wasn't TOO committed to anarchy. But really, if you're too committed, you aren't really an anarchist, are you? The other side behaved like sheep for a little while longer, then began going around the railing. I never saw anyone fix the railing, though, so every once in a while there would be a new group of confused sheep.
Now, let me backtrack a little, and then a lot. I've decided I like this area because of 3 places. Notre Dame. It is truly beautiful and there are plenty of beautiful places here that deserve just as jmuch fame, but looking at this cathedral, either in rain or sun, is just wonder-ful. This is art. This is the "click" that we all long for that comes maybe forty or fifty times in a lifetime. (And that sounds like a lot compared to once-in-a-lifetime, but we aren't getting enough with forty. it's just not enough.)
I also love this area because it is home to the Shakespeare & Co bookstore. It's another place that "clicks". I don't know why it's so wonderful, but I think it is partially because they house people upstairs, partially because it is a place that truly loves literature, not just selling it, and partially because it was immortalized for me in "Before Sunset," which I watched just before I came (who knows how many times I've seen it) and also caught playing on TV here at 2am. I tried to follow the route that Julie Delpy & Ethan Hawke take around the area, but got lost.
The third reason why I love this area is a restaurant. Many years ago, with my family, whenever we travelled to Paris, we would come to this restaurant. I remember omelettes. I remember French Onion Soup. I remember Croque Monsieurs. I don't know why we loved this restaurant so much. I think its born into us, in childhood, to grab onto something and say "Mine!" So we find those retaurants or places, as children, that aren't all that exciting or necessarily good, but for some reason nothing in the world is as important as going there. This restaurant was ours. I ate there for breakfast friday. It wasn't particularly good, but still there was that faint "click." The "Click" wasn't from now, but a remnant from that original "Click" over ten years ago. After that breakfast on friday, I discovered, much to my surprise, that Shakespeare & Co was literally RIGHT NEXT DOOR.
So those are probably the real reasons I chose Paris. Even though I'd never been to Shakespeare & Co, from the movie, I knew. If I could spend all my time right there, this place probably wouldn't be so bad.
Plus, I could speak English.
Okay...getting really long, but a few more (short) things.
I talked earlier about how old it is here. Well nothing solidified that more than visiting Cemeterie du Montparnasse (SP?). The tombs are so old. Generations. It's beautiful. WHenever visiting cemeteries in the U.S (ore ven the one I went to in New Zealand) I'm overcome with sadness. Here, it's history. It's fitting.
Anyway, I was just walking around, paying little attention to the names, mostly looking at the architecture. I was almost at the exit when I glanced at a tomb and did a double take. It was the tomb of Jean-Paul Sartre! I almost missed it! On it were scraps of paper under small stones. Presumabely, these were the existential celebrity love notes of tourists. I would have left one, but didn't feel familiar enough.
Okay, last thing, a brief note. I told some of you about, and posted a link about, this artists community that I wanted to live in. Well, I went to check it out. I feel dishonorable saying any more about it, because it was kept in so much secret. Unfortunately they were looking for a year long commitment, which I can't make. But it was quite an interesting and helpful experience (they spoke English and i actually had a conversation!) This would've been a very cool opportunity and I am sorry I had to pass it up.

Ok.

Songs for Today
1. Burial - Archangel
2. The Cure - A Night Like This
3. LCD Soundsystem - All My Friends
4. Neko Case - The Needle Has Landed
5. A Perfect Circle - Vanishing

Ce'st Tout
Nathaniel

P.S. I just killed 2 hourse. 2 more until I check into the hostel in Montmontre. I have to say, I'm excited. hopefully i can meet & talk to some people who won't steal all my stuff.
C'est Tout.
Nathaniel

Dream Living

Like so many, I dream. I had a dream once where I wanted to fly. And so I did. The men in the village warned me. "Do not fly," they said. But I flew anyway. I lifted my arms and soared, high above, through the clouds. I understood what clouds were, a lifelong mystery, found in that dream, I understood, in that dream, what clouds were. Soon enough, after flying for quite a while, I became a raven. This is what they had warned me about; this is the change they said would happen. No longer human, now bird, I flew, and I ate, and I called. And in the next moment, I was no longer the raven but the star of a film. The film was starring Antonio Banderas and Michael Douglas, and I was both of them. The film was called "Flying" and it was about....something. I couldn't tell. All I knew was that I'd forgotten my lines. And that I had a gun. I shot it into the air, and then ran and ran and ran until I could no longer run, because again I was flying. Again I was the raven. And then I woke up, and it was me that was awake, not the raven, and not the star of a film.

Almost four weeks ago I had another dream. Similar, not the same. I wanted to fly. The people around me warned me. "Do not fly," they said. But I flew anyway. This was not dream life; this was a living dream. I was not asleep. In fact, I hadn't slept, and so there was nothing to awaken to, I thought. This was the real thing. I wanted to fly and so I did. This time, I would not wake up and be me. I would be the raven, forever soaring and understanding clouds. The difference between dream living and the living dream is this: Dream Living happens in a Dream World. The realities of This World are not present. A Living Dream happens in This World, with all of its realities still intact and not flying into the air like the bullet or the bird.

I thought that this Living Dream would leave me in the Dream World, but instead I haven't been able to fall asleep long enough to be there. Unlike in my raven dream, where I flew because I wanted to and kept on flying, in this world I flew because I wanted to, and am falling to the ground, aware of my human body. I'm beginning to listen to the villagers' advice. I'm beginning to think the same thoughts, "Do not fly."

The reason I came to Paris was to find what they (i) like to say mon raison d'etre. My reason of being. I thought it was a change that was necessary. I'm questioning whether it is the change that was necessary, and I am reaching certainty that mon raison d'etre is not to be found here. My most enjoyable moment thus far has been at Shakespeare & Co Bookstore, full of Brits & Americans. I'm not throwing in the towel just yet (if I had a towel to my name, it might be easier), but this move is looking to be much more of a vacation. And a short one at that. Whether, as in my raven dream, it will be I that wakes in my own bed once this is over, I am not sure. It may be the raven still flying to some other place, waking somewhere else, somewhere not my own bed...but Paris is not a city for birds and dreamers, despite what you may have heard.

My Current Top 5 Songs:
1. Beck - Guess I'm Doing Fine
2. Bob Dylan - Most Likely You Go Your Way And I'll Go Mine (There IS something magical about listening to Bob Dylan in Paris)
3. Cloud Cult - A Girl Underground
4. Grizzly Bear - On a Neck, On a Spit
5. Of Montreal - Sink the Seine


P.S. I should try to find a way to stop living so impulsively, it's true. But the way I see it, every action is a reaction to something...and since I'm not smart enough to predict what all those actions and reactions will be, I must go with it in every moment.

Je ne sais pas quoi je pensee

hello all,

This will be slightly short as I am writing from my iPhone and am a little annoyed by it's keyboard. I am in Paris! I got in late last night, attempted to sleep, woke up early this morning, got some breakfast (croissant and espresso) and then began my search for an adapter so I can plug in my american computer and therefor charge my phone which is currently my only means of communicating with ANYONE! The French I had thought I was relearning has quickly become recognizable to me for what it is, just another American in Paris thinking he can survive off the nothing he knows. I'm staying in a hotel right now, but that ends Saturday morning, and I still haven't got a place to go. I looked today at an apartment bit it is 750 euro a month for 3 months, and it's looking pretty unlikely that I will be able to find any work any time soon....so, long story short, I've had a discouraging first day here, and it's very hard to believe it's only been one day...

I decided, since all I've got is music (and your comments and emails) to keep me company, I would keep you updated with my current top 5 songs. Here are today:
1. Band of Horses - Detlef Schremf
2. Elliott Smith - The Last Hour
3. Band of Horses - The First Song
4. Of Montreal - The Past Is A Grotesque Animal
5. Beck - Round the Bend

Apologies that this blog is not as carefully written as previous posts. It'll come back

A biento
Nathaniel

The (p)Act of Pa(ni)cking AND why I like Blogspot

Today has been a day of packing things up. This consisted mostly of trying to determine what kind of music I will want to be listening to in three months, so that I can get it off of my old computer that is staying here and onto my iPhone. This also consisted of a lot of laundry. I think there were articles of clothing washed today that haven't been washed in 3 months because they've stayed at the bottom of the laundry bin until now. This also consisted of cleaning my car.
Let me say that again. This also consisted of cleaning my car. You have probably seen my car. But have you ever seen the floor of it? You can see it now. Not only that, I cleaned out the trunk. The cookies that have been there for two years are now gone. I left some of the crackers that have been there for 5 years though, for good luck.
I've figured out that I will only be allowed to take one suitcase with me, because I tried to save some money by booking my flight to Paris separately (which i finally did this morning). So my flight on British Airways to Paris only allows me one suitcase, wherease my flight to Copenhagen and connecting flight to London allows me two. Anyway, I'm not taking much. Clothing. A few books. Some notebooks. My laptop. My Kurt Cobain Lunchbox. A coat. My iPhone. I'll only be taking one pair of boots, I think. The new black pair. That should do.
And then i took four breathes and took a sip of water. I feel like I'm describing the most mundane things, but hey, you're the ones who want to know what's going on.

WHOA. What just happened? I'll tell you what. The iGods decided to shut down my browser, causing me to worry that I had lost the desperately boring account of my day. But this site autosaves drafts pretty much every minute. So I went back in and found it with no problem. Thanks Blogspot. You're the best. No...you are. I love you more. I love YOU more. Oh Blogspot, you always do win.

Anyway, back to the packing. This is, I think, the first time that I've been back at this house, and not gone rummaging through my closet to find all the old mysteries of years past. You don't do that when you have to pack your life into one checked bag, and two carry-ons, one of which must be a laptop type bag. You don't go looking for other parts of your life that you could take with you. You've got enough already. Too much stuff to fit into that baggage. People talk about people having baggage. Having too much baggage. Well that's just not fitting. If a person has too much baggage, they've got plenty of room to put extra things. I have too LITTLE baggage, is my problem. Or so they all say.

The last few days have been very very difficult. I haven't felt this way since I left Bismarck to come to Seattle. I'd forgotten what that feeling was like. Of Going Away. I've had people leave, and had to say goodbye to them. But I was staying. This time, I'm Going Away. It is very different. As I mentioned in my previous post, I apologize to all those who were at my Going Away functions who I said goodbye to and wasn't, how do you say, all the way there. You see, I was quite drunk, and also, quite upset with this whole Going Away ordeal. So Brad, I wasn't mad at you, that's not why I left when you were saying goodbye, I was drunk and upset. S.A.D.D. is the term for it (Students Against Drunk Departing). And Jay, when you were leaving, it wasn't that I didn't want to see you anymore, it's that I didn't want to say goodbye to anybody else, and I didn't want to have the goodbyes last any longer, so I wanted everyone out. Also, I was drunk. And upset.

The title above can be read a few different ways, of course. Why else would I have done it? If you wanted straightforwardcutanddry, go somewhere else! We've already discussed (1) The Act of Packing. Pretty easy stuff. I was in the A-C-T of P-A-C-K-I-N-G...! (2) The Pact of Packing: Say you have to make a choice between Sartre and King. Say you have to choose between the current (m83) or the classic (David Bowie). Say you have to choose between Black and Green. When you're packing, you're making a pact to be with those things for the duration. I'm stuck with Sartre! For who knows how long! But would King really fit in my new situation? Paris? Stephen King in Paris? Not Likely. How about the music though? Both m83 and David Bowie seem adequately Parisian-friendly to me. Okay, so m83 is French. but can you really say that there's an advantage? Over David Bowie?! What to choose? Well, luckily, I have a wonderful iPhone. So I'm just taking both m83 and David Bowie with me to Paris. You can't have them! They, are mine. And the third choice didn't really have to do with Parisian judgment, or whether I'm going to stick with the old classic standby or risk it with the new, unreliable soundwaves. The third choice was personal. It's just the way I am. Me and Black go together.
So there it is. I've packed away my life and made my choices. This is what's going with me to the exciting life beyond, and this is what stays behind in boxes in my parents garage.
(3) The Act of Panicking. I've been probably on the calmer side of panicking than most concerning my move. I think most people, if leaving tomorrow on a jet plane to France, for an undetermined amount of time, would probably be making sure they knew at least how to say "I need Help," or making sure they have the right converters to make their laptops work over there, or figuring out just how much money it really is going to cost them to make this trip. Not Me. I'm letting my parents panic for me. They like it, I think.
(4) The Pact of Panicking. I believe, like packing, that panicking is a sort of pact. One does not panic, unless one has (relatively) good reason to do so. When we're thrown into that panic state, by whatever comes along the way and shakes us, we make a pact right here and now that we care what the outcome of this little event is, and we're going to do what we can to fix it. This is why we act in the wake of panic. This is why we learn how to say "I need Help" or figure out our budget. Because we've seen the glimpse of darkness that came in and whispered into our ears: "you don't know what you're doing here...do you?" And we panicked. We realized, well....maybe not. But I ought to. I damn well ought to know what I'm doing here. And so we begin figuring it out. We spiral off in different directions, grabbing at different books and listening to different friends and acquaintances tell you all about their experiences with panic, and let me tell you, here's what you oughta do. And we're doing this because we made a pact...with whatever it is we're panicking about, be it our own wellbeing or the future of Sprockets. We made a pact with ourselves, or with Sprockets, that says I care about your outcome. So I'm going to try to figure out just what we're doing here.

Thank you for reading. As you can see, I'm a little sick of packing, and just wanted to type somethings for a while.

My next update will most likely be from across the sea.