Saturday, June 9, 2012
Traverse The World
Wandering around in Pere La Chaise, sometimes feeling that death was more celebrated than life in Paris. It's a strange city that actually celebrates pain more than love, often equating misery with art as I recalled an artist who showed her "Dear Jane" rejection letter to strangers to ask what they thought of it and using their responses to gain press. I found it rather pointless because all she did accomplish was a way to exploit her relationship failure and make it public. In a way, a bitter cast-off. Bitter women are miserable to be around and are never pleased with anyone. How does one heal with an openly wounded heart if you keep ripping off the emotional bandages??
Paris, is not just a city famous for love, but is infamous for its suicides. Whether it's jumping into the Seine, or in front of a Metro train, Paris is quite possibly the most famous city you can choose to die in.
So why does this city seem to suck the life out of the young and aspiring? Hmmm.