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Hamlet, sharpen your sword of trust, for Macbeth is surely waiting.

The specter of ‘Civil war’ stalks the land and the ghosts of senseless violence, so long docile, have come to hollow-eyed attention.

Our cauldron was filled with innocence, as the ever-thirsty succubi require, the glory of war is being shaken, not stirred and the betrayal will be served as quick and cold as steel.

#chefskiss
Inspired by Kurt Philip Behm‘s poem “Shiloh.”
Peter had to fly,
was that just last night?
I have attachment issues.
I hate saying goodbye
- it always makes me cry
an embarrassing tear or two.

Holidays go so fast
relativity’s been proven at last!
Fourteen days of leisure
of sordid intertwined pleasures
on days free of study pressures.

This morning i was in despair
splayed out on an uncomfortable chair
with tangled, unbrushed hair
wearing faded PowerPuff underwear
bored, and wishing Peter was there.
“22½ euros for a Martini,” Peter remarked, when he first scanned the menu.
“It’s not like we aren’t going to get them,” I said, “we’re not going to cheap our way to abstinence." The waiter came and I gave him my card, “Put that table on this card too, please,” (pointing to Charles’s table).

It’s a cool night in Paris and doof-doof music’s slammin’ from a stack of Mackie DJs. It’s about 53°f, but they have those umbrella heaters at every table and other heaters that blew warmer air on the dance floor (maybe not a great idea). Peter and I have a table on the terrace, out under a muted, light polluted starfield.

We danced, we debated the issues of the day, like, when will Taylor dump Kelcie and what were the best Oscar movies? (We chose ‘Poor Things’ and ‘Past Lives’). We ate Steak au Poivre with Red Wine Sauce and then we danced some more. We were having fun.

But when a party turns into ***** mayhem it’s time to leave - or is it? Watching the shadowy edges of things, I asked Peter, “It’s getting CrAzY, wanna go?”
“It’s just getting interesting,” he answered.
I squinted at him, was he serious? I couldn’t tell - martinis scramble my amygdala.
I decided to flow with it. “Ok, freak, get me another then.” I said, calling his bluff, and sliding my glass his way.
As he left for the bar, I glanced at my watch, 2am. It felt like 10 pm to us American east-coasters.

I looked around and Charles and Chinthia (Mrs.Charles) were laughing and chatting away.
‘You GO, old people,’ I thought - not unkindly.
Peter came back, two martinis in one hand, snapping pics with the other.
“Stop!” I barked, holding my hands up like I was fighting off paparazzi, “stop!”
I’ve learned things, like how, in early pics, when we arrive at a party, I look like Mary Poppins - but in end-of-party pix l look like Norma Desmond. Peter doesn’t see it  - but I do.

I sipped at my new drink - It tasted sour and bitter as sin - I made a face. Peter cackled like a villain in a low budget flick. “It’s a Winston Churchill,” he reported knowingly, “they were out of vermouth.”

When the bar runs out of vermouth, it means something. I pressed the walkie-talkie app on my watch and asked Charles, “You guys ready to go?” He didn’t look around but gave me a thumbs-up just before they rose.

My mom and (step)dad have joined us, at Grandmère’s, for this vacation. I was gleeful, at first, but it’s like my mom hasn’t noticed I’m not in high school anymore - that I grew-up in their three-year absence. I get pressed when she thinks I’m slouching, rearranged when my hair’s out of place and shown a pained, icy face if I order a martini.

She’s piercing the membrane of my privacy and expecting obeisance! I tried to explain it, like an adult. “There are multiple value systems,” I gently reminded her. My Grandmère even suggested Peter move into his own room. Luckily, Peter and my rooms adjoin and she put my parents on another floor (in the suite she grew up in).

I’m secretly afraid they’ll be up when we get in, that it’s 10pm for them too and I’ll get ‘the face.’ I told Charles about my situation and he said, “Look, she’s missed you, she’s just lavishing you with attention, she’ll relax,” but his oceanic optimism seems.. hopeful. We’ll see ??
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Obeisance: an acknowledgement of another’s superiority.

doof-doof = a type of ‘HardTrance’ music
Mackie DJs = a favorite brand of speakers used by party DJs

our cast
My Grandmère = grandmother (in French)

Peter, my bf, a physicist who works at CERN, in Geneva. His job’s to break things and see what happens. We’ve been ‘together’ for about 2 years - I use ‘together’ loosely because, well, Geneva and New Haven.

Step (Stepfather) is an invasive cardiologist, he and my mom have been married for eleven years. He’s my dad v2.0

My mom is an anesthesiologist - they tend to be perfectionists. She has three children - one is a surgeon (my sister Annick), one is in med-school (my brother Brice) and then there’s me - the weak link - she’s heavily ‘invested’ in my absolute everything.

Charles and Chinthia - Charles, a retired NYC cop, is my long time escort, driver and surrogate parent. Cynthia, his wife of six years, (also an ex-cop) is a VP for a cyber-security company.

Norma Desmond = faded star in “Sunset Boulevard' (a must see movie)
The Eiffel Tower stabbed at a midnight
as blue as an old Muddy Waters track.
From a distance, its lace-iron skeleton
looked like a slick and oily spider-web
crowned with a glittering neon diamond.

(My Grandmère's home is across the street from it).
“Do you want to go climb it?” I’d asked Peter (my bf).
“Naah,” he’d replied, “too crowded - what’s next?”
We’ve been tourist-ing all of the big Paris sights.

As we night cruised the Seine, the rivière looked dark
and perilous - a phthalo-green snake slithering north
westerly at six times the speed of the Nile.

We took a guided tour of the Louvre - it’s a crowded
fortress and you can’t see the Mona Lisa up close.
We day-toured the palace at Versailles, with its ghosts
of past grandeurs and revolutionary, royal beheadings.

The Arc de Triomphe is just an unsafe round-about.
As we Uber’d around it, I turned to Peter saying,
“Joke time: What’s more dangerous:
a shark or an American driver in a Paris traffic circle?”
Paris la nuit = Paris at night

Muddy Waters was a singer and musician - a delta blues man, considered the "father of Chicago blues." Chicago blues was electrified, hard driving and drum backed. The Rolling Stones took their name from one of his songs. He was the original “Hoochie ******* Man."
Anais Vionet Mar 9
(A bit of fun for Thomas W. Case - I think he lives in Iowa)

Hawkeye pride burns bright in Iowa City,
the place where Tennessee Williams learned to curse.

Iowa City hosts the 4th of July, Iowa speedway race, unique perhaps
because the cars have to stay behind a tractor for the first 199 laps.

How polite are the people in Iowa City? I saw a news report where a man was mugged,
traumatic? Sure, but the man still remembered to say “Thank you” before the perp bugged.

There are over twenty-six churches here, people can be a bit pious and obnoxiously reflective.
There’s a Hawkeye infestation in Iowa City because of the university, classified as ‘moderately selective.’

Geographically, Iowa’s where the rolling plains meet a limestone rise.(1)
Did I mention that the bars close at 2am? A travesty in any serious drinker’s eyes.

Some noted authors came from Iowa City, the locals are proud of that and own it.
Most were playwrights and novelists, luckily, few of them turned out to be  poets.

(1) whatever that is
We’re in Paris (Peter and I) at the Régis oyster bar. We just polished off a dozen oysters (each) and we ordered "Plateau de fruits de mer" (a seafood platter). They’re taking forEVER to bring it. Peter’s reading a book. “Mind if I.. ?” he’d asked. I looked at the cover, which read, "Heavy Quark Physics." ick.
So I pulled out my iPad and Thomas W. Case - a poet far above my station had, once again, lavished my latest piece “Brilliant and Wonderful,” (which I seriously doubted). But it inspired me to pen this (while we waited) - his poet page says he’s from Iowa. (5 minutes research on Iowa and 5 minutes to write.)
Ooo! Here comes our platter - bye!
Anais Vionet Mar 5
The sharpened mind - with care - takes aim
- at university, we play ruthless games.
Where pencils scratch, their graphite gray,
and scholarly answers take the day.

I've finished midterms!
It was like one of those TV shows, ‘survivor’ or something.

Enzyme kinetics, metabolic pathways, protein structures and functions be ****** - no, be double ******.

I’d been working problems raw in dreams, waking up tired.

Sunday, I was so stressed I'd felt calm, like I’d accepted my fate.
I can tell you that now - now that I survived.

“I was strazzled but controlled - there's a difference in how
I struggle internally - and what I let show.” I told Leong.
“Is that why you were yelling at everyone?” she replied.

“Now that midterms are over, I feel luminary,” I informed Leong, “am I glowing?”
She looked up and said, “No.” Communists aren’t sentimental.
Of course I meant luminary in both achievement and radiance.

My Uncle Remy used to tell me:
“Little one, don’t worry about being a failure,
that’s your parent’s job.”

I Love you Uncle Remy.
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Luminary: is a person of brilliance or a celestial body.

strazzled = stressed and frazzled

Our cast:  Leong and I.
Leong, (roommate) 20, is from Macau, China and she’s a proud communist ("don’t knock it til you’ve tried it"). She's a ‘molecular, cellular, and developmental biology major.’ We both speak Cantonese, and we talk a lot of secret trash together.

Spring break is in two days - I'm packing for Paris!
Anais Vionet Mar 4
There’s no substitute for life.

I find myself,
seduced by yearnings.

I’m flourishing here,
contemplating sin.

I’ve nothing to do
when I’ve nothing but time.

I’m reusing solitudes -
they’ve become ragged.

What’s the answer then?
Should I seal my girly heart,
engage in uncaring kisses
like it’s ‘casual friday’ -
connive brief excitements
- just to feel a pulse?
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Connive: to be secretly sympathetic to something wrong or unacceptable
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