See?

I've been lazy with English these days. Sorry.

I suppose I still have things to write. I won't get it right, I'll get it written. Apparently that's what British people like to say. So pragmatic, as usual. I like it.

How are things in the world by the way? Medias are never telling us what is going on in the world. They like stories that are happening in the neighbourhood better. And because they mention something about Russia or Palestine here and there, we tend to believe that we know. But we know nothing.

Newspapers in France put the "Clearstream" affair in the highlights. Don't ask me what it is, because despite all the articles that I have -fully- read, I am still really confused. I just remember it is something really bad for us.

I have put some pictures of Aix-en-Provence underneath this post. I spend a lot of time there, and I thought that you might like to have a glimpse of what France could look like. A lot of old streets, with no cars, many people walking, talking or drinking. You'd like it.

Nothing’s new otherwise. Finishing the master's thesis. I could post some of it here even though I don't think it is an amazing work. It's dealing with globalisation. Looking forward to finding a job too. I am slowly being the victim of the jobless syndrome. Waking up later but no bad conscious. Going out all the time. Spending money I don't have. Doing little work everyday. Leaving people in the middle of a post. See?

from my friend's flat 

Rue de la verrerie. This is a street, in Aix-en-Provence, where I spend a lot of time with Michael. Too much time. Good times.  

Aix windows. 

Aix streets. 

Aix streets.  

Typical. 

Le cours Mirabeau, again. 

Le cours Mirabeau. 

Full moon. 

Quand vient l'été.

Couché caché, à l'abri d'un volet, pour l’invasion Soleil, quand les oiseaux crient l'heureux ciel rose et bleu.

Marcher dans les rues de Provence, un dimanche au réveil, il est trois heures.

Boire une absinthe d’herbes et d’eau, au point du jour, quand les premières ombres pleuvent autour, et que de leur sein suintent les chansons naissantes du soir.

Rouler fenêtre et musique grande ouvertes, karma polis pourquoi pas, et crier et gueuler que l’on veut vivre un printemps de vie.

Rire ou se chamailler, jouer un peu, discuter sans rien dire, les yeux dans tous les bons coups, les cœurs un peu plus haut dans la poitrine, entre deux amis.

Parler aux filles, leur sourire, et aux murs, et aux tables, et aux chaises des terrasses, et aux assiettes et aux verres et aux tasses des cafés, et sourire aux sourires, et sourire à la drogue d’éternité, pour la venue de l’été.