Return of the Flaneur…in skyscraper heels

Happy new year everyone. In the light of recent events I felt compelled to rant on terrorism, how I don’t believe they are even religous or write a post on satirical artists. My heart hung heavy for Paris.

But if there’s one thing I’m not actually scared of its terrorism because I know at least I have,mostly, done whatever I like as a free spirit. So I think it best not to dwell but carry on showing fantastic reality and all its randomness in the metropolis.

Today I returned to uni, worried they had forgotton about me with no clue of the new term. It turned out the first class was this afternoon- archives and Research. A 2 hour brain awakening, idea provoking seminar on ‘what is knowledge’. Unlike last semesters self conxious and injured neck woes I felt all awake and talkative. This is partly from the relief of stress of writing essays like Frankenstein locked in his lab. It is also partly due to using my brain again after weeks focused on music composing and circus. I’ve gone a bit devil may care with using a literature MA, i just love the subject matter.

So with hours to dissolve before class I walked the drizzly, uncanny morning of Tottenham Court Road: back the crowd and never a seat to eat lunch. So I slipped down a crack beside Primark and have found a new favourite seedy backstreet. It’s lush with all I seek in claiming this city as my delight; old bricks, echoing steps, filthy windows, graffiti and even steam coming out of a pipe in the wall. But most of all it is entirely mine for my steps in its emptiness.




And then I left Wells Street after dark in rain shine blindness where the pavements look like lame fabric shaking with the black velvety figures of rush hour. I went in search of boots I know full well I cannot walk in. I used to wear 7inch heels everyday…before some nasty ankle injuries. I found these, I can barely stand in them but watch too much Sex and the City. Do I try or get carted out of Cirque du Soleil on a stretcher?



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