Monday, October 16, 2017

Les Confessions

Marie Antoinette lost her head 224 years ago today. I would eat cake if that was something she actually said, but Champagne seems more suitable to the occasion.

Nights are getting darker and not just in my riotous mind. I sometimes come to think of California and the way we'd plan our imminent escape, Chloe and I. When I finally left it was because of her but she followed me across the wasteland to New York and in to my childhood dreams of falling through the skies together. She never called to wish me a happy birthday and it hurt me more than any fragmented memory of numbing sleeplessness on the beaches down in Santa Monica. The lights that never went out and the sound of the waves and her breaths on the back of my neck.

I follow the queen through rue Saint-Honoré past the boutiques all the way to the Place de la Concorde where she died. Wind in my hair and across the open spaces, all the stone and the traffic and the gray outside the gates to the Tuileries Gardens. I always hated this place.


  1. Marie Antoinette was no Cécile Fatiman, but you should be.

  2. the Tuileries Palace was gutted by fire. I know how it feels. the walls are closing in. I don’t know if it’s the malty coffee, the lack of sleep, or that I just got done watching the metamodernist film The Comedy, but the paranoia is really starting to set in now. California is becoming a strange place. maybe it’s the world. I don’t know if I should write more or write less. you are the last great writer left, everyone else has disappeared into thin air...

  3. I think you need some light... the darkness is covering the opportunities of good... xox

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  5. I've heard Paris is the best place to be miserable x