Sunday, July 27, 2003

damn jet lag is messin with my mental. Its whut, 8 am, and I been up since like midnite. Finally nodded off at 11:30 am yesterday, thinking I’d just clock like 6, 7 hours and be up for the evening, but shit, woke up and day over. So ate cereal. Went to Kailua beach and caught phaaat sunrise about 5:30-6 am, then cruised to starbucks (tried morning brew first, trying to help out small market joe, right across the street, but yall are closed, so yall lose, if you’re gonna catch starbucks, you gotta open with starbucks yall, even on Sunday, not to mention Tuesdays and Thursdays, cmon yall) and had some delish café mocha, ya see, I usually get the cheapy coffee o the day, but I went for it, fancy shit, and now I see why all yall pay the extra ducket, shit was good, don’t need no extra milk and sugar, they do it up right, just don’t ask for the whip cream, that’ll ice that shit up right up until the 80th street crew stomps on a seagull’s back if ya catch my drift.

Soooo. Office on the way back to casa, so stopped to shout at yall and check shit out. Think I’ll call up the wifey pretty quick when I get back. 12 hours ahead, bout ten after 8 PM. They eat late out that way, so call around 9:39 while they’re lounging at with they after dinner café, and then see whuts up. I know the did up Geneva after dropping me off early (but not bright yet) at the airepurto. Number one de cinco for my long ass adventurous day during which…

Oh shit yeah locs, I saw the guy that lives at the charles de gaull airport in paris. Hellz yeah. You gotta check this documentary called “waiting for degaull” or some shit like that, ya know, a play on words from the becket play “waiting for godot” am I spelling it out too hard? Don’t wanna jack the contingent, either way, southwest northeast all yall are bringing it so nuff respect.

So anyway, this dude just straight lives at the airport. Bottom floor of terminal one. If you’re out the mcdonalds walk right out the door and go straight down the connecting hallway. He’s at one of the little lounge areas facing the windows that face the circular area with the glass enclosed escalators going up and up and up to the different levels, people arriving, people leaving, people going to baggage claim, people coming in through immigration, which may I mention is a breeze and a half out of Switzerland, as was into Switzerland from London, maybe Suisse has agreements like, lay off on the searches of our peeps, or like, it’s all mellow, I mean, you gotta show your passport, that’s about it. at the swiss airport there’s even like a france zone, whereby after you walk through this security area, you are techinically in france, like politically, even though technically you’re still in Switzerland, and this time by technically, I mean geographically. I am sorry but for this express circumstance you must accept two diverging definitions of the word technically strictly for argument’s sake.

So yeah I wanted to talk to this guy, everyone was clueless about him, noboday paying attention, he’s got like this 8 x 4 foot area all peripherated, if ya catch, and like with fed ex boxes, and like cardboard screens, and little food tables, and shit, he’s just kicking it, straight living at the airport. Something with his political kine shit, like, he’s a man without a country. Arrived at CDG and realized he’d left his passport behind, and couldn’t go forward or backward, straight in limbo, facing nothingness and complete dedication to an ideal straight in the face. Can’t enter paris, they’ll shake ya grill, can’t go back to libya or whatever country (correction: iran) your from for whatever reason. Plus you’re just a little crazy. So I chickened out and went up to my gate and tried to fukn face the fact that I’d missed discussing serious issues with one of the coolest people at least theoretically in a fringe society type application since fukn I don’t know, I don’t want to invite propogantory discussions that may annihilate my thesis, but I’m thinking kerouac and fukn that ginsberg and um, a dash of ollie north, na mean? Laddatt.

More to come.