Self-Mockery

I think it might be possible for kitsch to flourish better in the kitsched “identity”‘s motherland. It may be happening in Europe. Not only their own kitsch but also the one borrowed across the Atlantic.

Surname

My horrible French helps me more than my English. Today I had this brawl with some secretary in some office. First she asked for my “surname” and then my last name, soon I realized she had typed my first name and last name in reverse. I told her to fix it.. She fell in a loop.. At last I got the bug, different protocol. Poor thing was taking my surname as mon prenom. Alors.

Perplexed

Where I live now is a small place, first day of my stay I got to know this very good friend of mine, next day I bumped to him in some remote train station in the town and the third day realized my roommate is his ex-girlfriend.

Goes to you

.. Today I went to Geneva, listening to the organ in the cathedral brought me to a melancholy surge, from a kind you feel it in your throat that wants to shout itself. I climbed up the stairs to the towers from which you can see all the city and sat by the windows, listening to white noise spread from the speakers in a wooden room hundreds of years old and felt it on my shoulders.
While I go around as a counter-tourist (or a tourism’s tourist you can say) it strikes me that I am the stranger among strangers, probably that’s why today two times people asked me if I know some addresses in the town… I walk around the Voltaire and Rousseau’s town and wonder if my world is bigger than theirs or I am just simply lost.
Incorporate words and give me the pleasure of…

Expected

Election results in Iran is a good evidence of the fact that middle class in Iran is almost gone. All the misery (both in terms of mindset and financial issues) have made the middle layer of Iranian society so thin that it is out of functionality. There was a different perspective in seventies when jump of oil income made the scene ready for the revolution.

Solitude

Among the grass fields which dance by the wind, stand the buildings of concrete, glass and metal. Every time I am walking back home through a subway, I hear crush of the train passing by over my head and see people running over the stairs.
Lausanne is a small town, I take the train to get to the centre-ville. In Les Brasseurs I got to see my new friends around the table gulping beer, ten from ten different countries, not a single guy has a compatriot in the crowd:
Austrian, British, French, German, Iranian, Italian, Romanian, Serb, Swede, Swiss.
It is raining outside.

untitled

Ended up in a Swiss terminal; a nouveau stranger. Will write more when I can.