with the taste of the poison paradise...

Holy fried hazelnut macaroons! What the hell is going on. It keeps going, sometimes less, sometimes better. Last night, start at Montmartre, in the small square on Yvonne le Tac, with Kim, diabless extraordinaire. We sally and giggle, like bat-winged crow mags, folding deep into the setting sun. Then when all was assembled, headed off to Zorba, which was dead. Too early. Saw the gang, and then several Bordelais boys from the night before showed up. Went to have dinner with Arnold and William. Chatted about Cheap Trick and Leonard Cohen over a small bowl of shrimpy noodles. Then was ratted out by Kim, her boyfriend and Thibault. Slunk back to Zorba.

Was packed and all the regulars, save les filles and their boyfriends, were in presence. Included in the crowd were the two lovely boys who have been spited. One, when I started laughing in his face when he presented me with his "I don't have AIDS" paper and then asking for some extra-marital interconnection. I suppose I didn't think he was serious, and when I realized it was serious, I nearly passed out. Ensuing night like one very bad french rip-off of Woody Allen film. The other boy, his roommate M, spited himself in general malice and sexual discontent, and apparent sensitivity for being portrayed as a seducing cad (well, maybe he's not a cad to everyone!). Such lovely boys to have against you! Luckily not all the fish that pass by are worth a bite.

Went downstairs to dance to Sylvie's hardcore. No sooner did the darkness descend then the lights were flashed on... ridiculous man who worked behind the bar hollered that it was closed and proceeded to push us out the bar. Horrible.

Went home and chit chatted with Arnold till 4 in the morning. Divulged secrets about cats and wiggling through snake's corridors. Strange night, with giant plump strawberries in the early morning.

Today. Horrible. More work. Worked, and then fled swiftly away to Ana's for coffee. Hélène was there and many featherlight jokes and laughs. She's very pretty, exactly perfect for a hair or pantyhose commercial. Eventually, because it was so warm and summerlike, wound our way to the top of the Buttes Chaumont. Thibault found us there. The sun was so warm, people were almost naked everywhere, lolling on the slanting knoll. Tiny insects swarmed in the fading light, over our heads. I lay, belly down, in the cool grass and thought about nothing. Later, reading fashion magazines in the fading daylight, trading of vodka and beer. Richard arrives. He is a madman in an overlarge scooter helmet. Walking to the Canal L'Ourq, and watching girls play petanque in the almost dead light with Queenie, Manue and their mecs.

Bad news arrives on the phone. It's real, sometimes.

Darkness falls and Kim made her entrance. What followed after but some smooth silky conversations about silverlight topics... flying from tropical amazon fire policies to following the categories in trickery, to getting a phone call from the Voin, who's obviously having a very sexy day in Berlin. Kim wears an overbright red shirt, with patchy white flowers, skinny pants and black high heelsl. I find her very fascinating, if a little scary. She reminds me of myself.

Played ping pong under the glittering canal lights.

Got invited for a scooter ride to the next party, the bar next to Point FMR, with the madman. He rides crazily... very stuntman... had a helmet, and was strangely safe under his care... like with a french Evil Kneevil. Arrive to find others at the Cafe Lafayette...swinging and grooving to the dark clitter clatter hard techno, but it isn't enough. End up at Bagnolet, private birthday party. Ruling the school with scored vodka and bad brazilian music. Various dancing partners later, Ana shows up again. Ana, Kim and Sam, dancing together to Guantanamera, or however the fuck that song is supposed to be written. Try to slip out, hours later... barely can. I think Richard is lovely, if a little too much like a untrained Golden Retriever. Well, he makes me laugh.

Finally, Ana drives us home. I'm tired. And tomorrow there's a champagne a-go-go party. When will the hurting stop.