Paging through the day, from early to late afternoon.
Desires abound, lurking around each corner. Streets in the Marais are packed with them.
What happened there? What happened to Goldenberg’s? Only the corner remains.
And commercial real estate reigns.
We visit the « Marché de la poésie. » I’d like to be inspired, but instead find myself weary after 30 minutes. What is all this commerce? What is for sale that no one seems to be buying?
« Keep the world safe for poetry, » it says on the wall above my desk. How?
A Zen story answers: « If you raise a speck of dust, the nation prospers. If you don’t raise a speck of dust, the nation perishes. »