Sigh. Every day I

Sigh. Every day I walk through the streets of this city and I find no evidence that anyone has ever loved anyone else. I see people cold, faces bold and defiant, of what? I see art and I don't see what other people see in it. I see museums, treasure troves of the richness of days past, an old, free currency that they give to me and that I can't spend. Nobody's telling me any stories that have any point to me. No love behind them; histories of conquering, histories of Napoleon, always Napoleon, histories of socialism and radicalism. People homeless, begging because the government won't let them get any other job. I won't go on about how the French government spends half its country's GDP. That's irrelevant right now.

I see groups of French people. They kiss each other, left cheek, right cheek when they see each other. No hugging-- that's considered too intimate. What? All I want is to be hugged. Fuck kisses. They talk amongst each other. When I go to Dauphine I talk to myself in my head beside them. This is torture. Thinking about this is torture. I want to throw up.

Two months of reluctance, and nothing of it. I am tired of looking sad so I don't want to look like an idiot any further. Sad idiots are always the ugliest. And yet that's what I have to be... ugly. Well, it's gotten ugly. I guess I'll have to remain that until I can blossom again.

Spring is coming; no evidence so far. Paris is a bunch of buildings all the same height; they won't let them grow any taller but they're tall as it is, what's the point? All the buildings look the same. Then some older building that I'm supposed to call a classic. No nature.

When French people see nature they want to conquer it. French gardens are all about man's power over nature. Obviously it's not over man's creative power over nature because the gardens are the most unnatural, ugly, boring pieces of shit I've ever seen. I'm sorry. I'm not happy. But when you remove nature from the whole mess, what is left? A bunch of concrete. It might as well be a modern city because there's no evidence, no tick, of humanity in it.

Old classics, old museums have nothing for me. My heart is not there. Sucking it into the dark recesses of the past-- imagine how many people had to suffer while the government pumped money into these things -- cannot make me feel any better. Everything here is tired. I need to get out.

And so I will. Far, far away. Far, from this old room with no sunlight permitted to enter whatsoever, far from this chamber that, if you think about it, I am enslaving me and my sadness in, hiding me and my horrible state from the public, from my family, from my homestay family and fellow students who live here with me. I'm too embarrassed to tell them the full story about how I've fucked up in Paris. Too embarrassed.

And I'm not happy here. Nature buried under immense stacks of building material and fake, inadequate love. And my nature is stuck under Paris's foundation too. Fuck this place.

I guess now I have to beg for salvation. No.
I'm going for a run. If not outside, in my mind.
But...