When I woke up I noticed there was a strange person sleeping in my bed. Who was it? Did something happen with them?
Still.. “What happened last night?” I thought. Best not to think of these things, and push them far away into your head.
I looked at my hand and it had written on it, “You are free”.
I walked outside into Rotterdam, into the Netherlands.
It’s true. In 1970, the President of Pepsi-Cola called Richard Nixon.
“Dick, they won’t let us sell any of our suds down there!”
Ol’ Dick went to the factory to check it out. Chris sakes! They were right. Pepsi wasn’t selling in good ol’ Chile. He donated 10 million dollars of heavy artillery and weaponry from the CIA and rebel forces stormed the gate. Allende ended up dead.
Things didn’t turn out so good for the country, though. Chile fell under the brutal rule ofPinochet in the aftermath and 3,200 people were killed, with 250,000 being sent to political prisons, many being tortured, including women and children.
But you can now buy Pepsi in Chile, anywhere! It’s true!
Still, I prefer Coca-cola. Just tastes better I think. Pepsi tastes weird. Too sweet. Like 10 million dollars of sub-machine guns and ammo.
“it’s all over now, baby blue.”
All of a sudden, I scoped some major Casino-vibes coming out of this place, “Jack’s Casino”. (You ever see the film, “Casino” with Bobby Deniro? Major 90′s work for him.Joey Pesci has some awesome fight scenes, but he definitely dies in the end.)
“This is great, man.” His friend Pete next to him is saying.
“I know, right!” Jack says. “Two girls for every guy! Right?”
“Thanks so much for bringing me here,” Pete says with a longing tone. “I really care about you, Jack.”
“Hey, Pete,” Jack answers back. “What did I tell you about that, not here, buddy.”
I walked around the corner and checked out what was playing at the theater.
I checked my pockets but I didn’t have any money, so I walked to the venue. “No Satriani for you tonight, bud.”
Everybody was hanging out front, getting serious on the relaxation front.
“Get outta here!” I yelled. “Everybody, get outta the god damn way!” I said.
I got up on stage and let out a most powerful E chord.
She stared back, kinda obliterated.
I knew the vibe was on. I went outside and watched this giant street type sanding machine spitting off sparks into the air.
“Maybe love really is what it’s all about,” I thought. “There’s nothing more than loving and living.”
There was a stone man located in front of the sparks on the street, looking forward, frozen in time.
I thought of the stone man. I thought of his stone heart inside his chest as sparks started to hit by my feet. Somebody would say, that he was made of stone, that there was no way that a heart could be sculpted inside there.
“But this one is different,” I thought. “You can’t see the heart of just anybody, when you pass them on the street. But you know it’s still there, underneath.”
I figured it was the same with this guy. He wasn’t advertising it. There was no proclamation, but he was waiting there, waiting to be found.
I got into the bus.
“Goodnight Motherfuckers!” I yelled, into the night.
The men in the street looked up. I winked, and they give me an all-knowing thumbs-up, the ultimate sign of retribution the world around.
I watched the lights in the street go by out the window. I felt forsaken by the past, little images flashed past my eyes, of lovers, friends gone past. They were all passing by like these flashing lights, and I was going with them.
Cher really knew what the fuck was up. I mean, even when she’s dead, she’s still wondering if somebody’s gonna love her body from dawn till dusk. What do people do in Heaven? What does Heaven look like at night? Just Angels passing by in the darkness?
The next day I would be going to Berlin for what I assumed would be basically an all-night sex orgy 24/7 all the time. Hope to see you there.
I woke up in Paris and realized it was my final day here. I knew there was only one thing I could do. I declared today, “The Day of Death”.
I had rigorously planned my activities the night before. First, I would go wander the Père Lachaise Cemetery, and find the grave of Jim Morrison, then I would go into theCatacombs, a spooky place they keep dead people underground.
When I reached the graveyard my fear levels were low. I realized coming here was a critically good decision and stepped inside, whistling the Off the Wall tune, “Don’t Stop Till You Get Enough”.
The staircase seemed to suggest that I was headed the right way. I sniffed the air for whiffs of the dirty hippies I pictured surrounding the grave of the Lizard king.
Everything just smelled like air, not hippies. I found some funny graves.
This place was pretty spooky. But I could handle it.
“I’m from America,” I said aloud. “So if you think you can mess with me, think again.”
I found this statue chick who was pretty stacked, for statue times.
Was I to understand, that Daniel Stern, beloved actor of Home Alone I & II, Breaking Away,and Bushwhacked was somehow buried underneath this ancient Statuette in a Parisangraveyard?
Shit was getting too real. How could this be happening? I half expected Swayze in “Ghost”form to come out of hiding and tell me, “we’re fucking with your mind, Luke.”
“Run!” I heard in my mind.
I ran for awhile and came up on this tomb, which I took a picture of with my thumb in.
I wished I had gotten a map. I asked some woman there for a map. She was a total bitch though and told me there was, “no maps today!”. I left her and stared at this grave awhile.
“No maps today,” I thought.
What kind of freak show was this?
I wandered back onto the trail, pissed as hell. How would I ever find Jim? I walked by a huddled group of smoking and drinking teenagers hanging out on one of the graves.
I thought to myself, why not party here? The first time I got high or felt up a girl I would definitely want to be surrounded by constant reminders of death and mortality too. It made perfect sense. Bravo, teenagers.
This guy on the trail seemed to be suspicious of me.
I felt pity for all the tripping teenagers and people in their twenties in the past who had wandered into this graveyard looking for the same thing. This graveyard was super fucking hard to navigate. Just then, I saw a sight that made my stomach drop.
“Fuck,” I thought. This was too real. I scanned the grave for a name. If it was a Frenchzombie, it probably wouldn’t try to fight. What if it was a German zombie?
I started to run. In my mind I was panic-ing. I could hear Jim singing, “The End” in my head,
“Ride the snake, ride the snake
to the lake, the ancient lake”
I ran and ran.
“Get the fuck outta here!” I yelled at them. They didn’t understand me. There wasn’t time to explain and I left them behind.
I ran by this sign for a Creamatorium. It made me thirsty for milk but I had to keep running.
“Lost in a Roman… wilderness of pain,
and all the children are insane..”
I looked up and saw this man fighting this horse, or something.
I felt like I was in a K-hole. Maybe Jim was right. I heard him in my head again.
“This is the End,
Beautiful friend.. the End”
Just then, out of the dust, I saw it.
Jim Morrison’s grave.
Hallelujah. It was beautiful. I looked around for signs of dirty hippies. I couldn’t find any. Maybe I was a dirty hippie? I was on a singer-songwriter tour of the Greater European area for the past month and a half. I decided it was impossible.
“Hippies suck,” I said.
I found this tree where people had written their hippie stuff to Jim.
“This one’s for you Val,” I said. “You and Jim.” I drank some of my apple juice and poured some of it on the ground.
I looked at the statue of his face on his grave.
I could understand where they were coming from. When anyone passes, what a better way to pay your respects to them than get stoned and write, “FUCK” and “ASS” on their grave in their final resting place. Kudos, dirty hippies.
“Death sucks,” I thought.
I looked at my itinerary:
“GO TO CATACOMBS. LOOK AT DEAD PEOPLE BONES.”
was all that was written on it.
I walked to the train. Death was for sure. It seemed like a certain fact. Had anyone gotten away without really dying? Jesus had kind of pulled it off in the, “Passions” movie. But that was too intense, with the way Mel pictured him going, I couldn’t do all that.
I got off the train at the entrance of the Catacombs. It didn’t look so bad.
I walked inside. Just a big dumb hallway.
Where I grew up, we had these Haunted Hayrides which were way scarier than this. Dudes with chainsaws who tried to shred your legs and everything mid-hayride. I turned the corner.
“There are over 6 million of Paris’ dead buried in the Catacombs in the 18th century, due to the overcrowded cemeteries they took the bodies here,” the tour guide said.
I was losing it. Was I going to cry?
They didn’t speak English, but I could tell they understood me and thought I was cool.
“I gotta take a leak,” I told them and headed for the exit. I was out of here, bro. I got out and ran down the street, and I ran until I could run no more.
I saw this Carousel sitting outside and sat beside it, picking at the grass.
“This day of death sucks!” I thought.
I got on the train and wandered into this park, Parc des Buttes Chaumont. I was feeling down, there was no doubt about it, I needed adult supervision.
Hundreds of lives suspended on a thread. I felt my body filling up with love.
I wandered down to the side of the water and looked up at the beautiful Temple of Sybil in the distance. The entire park had been built by Napoleon III.
I walked away from the tree. An old black man stood in the park playing a large vibraphone surrounded by young children. He played them a song and taught them rhymes in French. All the children laughed and played around him.
I walked further down towards the Temple. Suicide Bridge was what they called the bridge in the distance.
The sun came down onto the park. I thought my last thoughts about the day of death. Death wasn’t so cool. It seemed to me like it was inevitable. Don’t believe anybody who told you different. There were many things I thought were more important though.
I didn’t have anymore time to kill. I knew it in a big way. I looked back at the park, the temple and everyone playing in the rising dust. I kissed them all goodbye, wrapped my coat around my head and walked off into the setting Sun.