In Insignificance…

Lovely couple of days in Paris… It did not feel like a step back in the past… or did it? Maybe it felt more like a feeling, a scent, a perception, or a bit of inspiration… I do not hold Paris in my heart… I do not have dear memories from living there the way i do with New York… I was a visitor back then… I still am one today… but i love wandering the streets of Montmartre and taking in the energy while still keeping it at bay… I love that sense of art, literature, music, poetry, love i can feel all around… every beat, every drop, every sound is like a little jewelry box opening up and letting me get a glimpse of what she is holding inside, tenderly, lovingly, preciously… a little leaf of inspiration floating by that makes me want to write books, lyrics or poetry, that makes me want to play the piano, the violin or the banjo… that makes me want to sit in the sun sipping rhum arrangé or spiked coffee… that makes me want to bury myself into the deepness of me and let all the creativity i can feel burning inside come out and fill the room, bring my dreams to life, and ground me with strength and gentleness…




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