Continued from page 33 ∴
Ibid. c.2017. But with a different name: Olympiades
Mary and Paul’s relationship was over a long time ago. The sad thing was that they were both together because both of them were sick… [one had a troubled heart and the other had this consuming loneliness, or something like that].
Guillermo Arriaga
21 Grams
[paraphrased summary]
Please stand-by for context… or not, it doesn’t matter anymore. Long story short, the troubled heart got fixed with Money and the consuming loneliness was actually pretty fucking awesome, until the Father of The Bride section of the wedding scene. That part of the play was by-invitation only and that is where i heard the Last Song that i was expecting to hear on the skirts of the Alpes Maritimes overlooking Nice, y sí, it was TRACK 13 for the soundtrack of, “Y Tu Mamá También”, Mateo García; aunque usted—no lo crea.
Track 13 “The Wedding Song” 🧶 345FE29F-4DE1-4C72-B1CB-E50DED47988A 🎶 If you are a non-reader of this blog you might have missed the beat that i kept for a brief while in the form of my weekend mornings interludes with Perrine, Lindsey and Ashley (from Ashley’s World… or something like that) and i do declare that among the unsolicited affection dispersed in a whole bunch of arcs and twists, and weather reports on that section of the blog, them weekend intermezzos are among my favorites in this rag that i call a blog.
Sin embargo, muchachas, and to continue with the above written cutline ⤴️, tactical challenges and logistical disturbances have (as expected) obliterated my defenses, and so for that matter don’t–keep–on ignoring the fact that the triangulation behind the Technicolor block was not about you.
The hypothenuse of them coordinates will always and forever be* about establishing a key character in my ten-year permanence in France. And it is nothing personal.
* or for as long as there is a Fifth French Republic.
It is not, i repeat, it is not about judging the character in the scene, as Alejandro Cuarón (or is it Alfonso González?) stated on chapter 7 of The Faber Book of Mexican Cinema. It is not, i re-type, it-is-not-personal. And, as Mr. Iñárritu stated in that particular section of the book, and i am paraphrasing here, ‘you have to read from whose point of the script the context is coming from‘, and in this particular case the context is coming from Bruno, the supervisor of Stephanie Menou at one of the dépôt sections of the Paris Prefecture, and that is because that public fonctionnaire received an e-mail from a former partner of this blog, a medical doctor who scolded (Bruno) the government employee for telling me, at the time when he removed my first 3-year residence permit card from my hand and then proceeded to tell me that “i had no rights in France.” There is more context to that incident, but you have to look it up since that particular page has turned.
And that, my sweet Saturday/Sunday morning car-tunes is the reason why BFM’er TV’s transmission hub is in the picture, because i used to live on the other end of the street named after that Rebel-rouser at The Paris Commune, but for some reason i can’t remember the compete name of Jeannine-Elaine-Garreau.
Right now, however, i have to do like las ruedas–que rápido ruedan, and catch Metro line 3 to Levallois; where this whole homeless experience began… ah, the memories, “it’s like starting over” again Madam Hidalgo, because four years ago today, American pundits were begging the French electorate not to elect Marine Le Pen, and lo and behold, isn’t that fear what Nancy (FR) was all about?
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