the art of getting lost
a 10-minute consultation scheduled every 6 weeks – often a void, sometimes the point between a series of voids – love as an exception in the void, as one friend maintains – alternately: the exception in a void… he doubles as a philosopher, part time – makes spontaneous house calls – reciprocal consulting on when to jump, fall, or drift – 5 minutes from the convent, where we take turns buying each other pizzas – reiteration of life stories – dress rehearsals – he likes red sauce on his pizza, I prefer white – the French add their own “sauce” to a lot of things: journalistic prose, personal philosophies, pizzas – to get used to getting lost, spin slowly in one place, he advises – the gaping hole on either side of the arc will always be there, I add – drifting through the void in a gray Peugeot is a common means of getting lost here – love: a common misdiagnosis around the world – identities tend to loosen in the sea of gray Peugeots – mine was right where I left it
the art of getting lost
l’art de se perdre
une visite qui dure 10 minutes, planifiée toutes les 6 semaines – souvent le vide, parfois le point entre deux vides – l’amour est une exception dans le vide, comme le soutient un ami – sinon : l’exception dans un vide… il est philosophe à mi-temps – rentre chez moi à l’improviste – conseils réciproques – tomber, planer, sauter ? – à 5 minutes du couvent, on se paie des pizzas moitié moitié, se raconte à tour de rôle – une répétition – il préfère les pizzas sauce rouge, moi j’aime les blanches – les français sont toujours en train de mettre leur sauce sur tout et n’importe quoi : la prose journalistique, les philosophies personnelles, les pizzas – pour te perdre, tourne sur toi-même sans bouger, me dit-il – l’énorme gouffre tout autour sera toujours là, j’ajoute – drifting through the void in a gray Peugeot is a common means of getting lost here – l’amour : une erreur de diagnostic à travers le monde – les identités ont tendance à se disloquer dans l’océan des Peugeot 206 grises – la mienne était à l’exact emplacement où je l’avais laissé
l’art de se perdre
the art of asking for directions
typically dismissed by those skilled at giving – directions – doctors Mother Superiors small-time philosophers – from my apartment in Avignon the bank is 4 minutes away; the pharmacy only 1 minute away – the art of not needing to ask, as in many French cities – post office: 3 minutes away – someone asked me recently – behind the stone wall to one side is a convent – “Excuse me, Mademoiselle, where can I buy a pizza?” – usually I don’t mean to, but sometimes I make people feel even more lost – there’s a pizza place 5 minutes from the convent – a memory hole, as the French say – I just now remembered it – last spring I got lost looking for my car in an underground parking garage – psychiatrist’s office: 30 minutes by foot – it also takes 30 minutes by car – the applicable diagnostic arc includes “circular insanity,” from 1854 – stuttering: Childhood-Onset Fluency Disorder – officially – depends on who’s asking – “mademoiselle,” officially passé, remains a common form of flattery – doubles as an insult – depends on who you ask
the art of asking for directions
the art of the void
colorful packaging, endless possibilities, no exceptions – a gray Peugeot probably qualifies as an exception in the United States – cottage cheese, cream cheese, and peanut butter cups are all readily available in France – I would never have guessed you lived there – Grapenuts at the grocery store (4 minutes), now that would be an exceptional find – you must love living in Paris! – pied-à-terre in the 5th – la Sorbonne – yes, my landlady does – breakfast cereal: 12% of the breakfast food market in France – limited selection, kid-targeted, colorful packaging – she wears a lot of gray, tastefully coordinated with grey – probably has that special toaster for baguettes – Paris is 7 hours away by car – any good pizza near the Sorbonne? – it was never my dream to live in Paris, though maybe I’d find Grapenuts there – actually no, not even wine – I do have a fantasy, though, involving colorful packaging – French people protesting in the streets, as only the French know how – I would definitely join in the large-scale burning of colorful packaging – now do I seem like I live in France? I can get us to the convent in 30 minutes – just don’t ask me how it’s done – if you stop calling me mademoiselle, I’ll stop eating breakfast cereal
the art of the void
Across Beyond 