19 September 2011


TEXT BEGÜM SEKENDiZ BORÉ I.T POST A/W 2011/2012 ISSUE 10

ENTITLED
When you smell food long enough, you no longer feel peckish. So the nutritionists say. That's the logic behind why i went easy on the cold shower this morning after hearing the rain long enough. I also went easy on the hair gel knowing very well that rain happens to be as equivocal as it is vocal. Irreverent enough to infringe set decibel levels beforehand, rain would of course be kind enough later on to befringe my forehead. Forehand backhand forehand backhand forehand and just like my hair gel, tennis matches this week will last longer than expected thanks to interruptions by rain.

The same players are there on TV for 6 hours now and the umpire must really have had enough. His chair actually reminds me of the ladder at Palais De Tokyo that i climb up to reach the books on upper shelves. See, this is how they make you buy things : By placing them at high places. No chair gets taller than an umpire chair. Or this elevated bench by artist Itay Ohaly. Hailed to as 'urban furniture with a view' , the magazine article depicts a picture of a person sitting on an elevated bench amidst roadsigns at a Belgian crossroads. That's me. It could have been me at that crosssroads ! At a crossroads yesterday was a person hit by a favourite concept car of mine. It was practically dead because i knew for sure that the spare parts of that particular model were impossible to find in France today. Unlike human organs, which are aplenty. Okay, there are as many counterfeit car parts around as there are fake lips and noses and breasts but that's not an appropriate fact to find solace in.

I close the magazine and slide it under an issue from 5 months back. I've been sliding the last 4 issues under that issue from 5 months back as that cover from 5 months back is my favourite one to date. Which leads friends of mine coming over for a visit to think that i haven't renewed my subscription. My friends think i have also given up smoking as they no longer see cigarette packs lying around. Well they had better grow up and remove those pictures of childish horror tunnel characters from cigarette labels soon because I am an adult who has instead decided to keep his cigarettes in a metal flower pattern cigarette box that doesn't aim to make cigarettes non-smoker palatable. You can not make cigarettes non-smoker palatable by seasoning their steaks with tobacco leaves. They will just spit. Yes non smokers are babies and being addicted to cigarettes is like having subscriptions to your favourite magazines: You have them at regular intervals whether you like their covers or not.

As i leave the building, i see a brown paper bag that reminds me of the bags those mind the gap telling men warn people about in the subway. As it turns out, it's just a random recycled bag full of bread loaves left for the restaurant at the basement. Not having had anything for breakfast, i secretly grab a loaf and give it to the homeless boy outside the bakery where i buy myself a new loaf which i find is better in texture - compared to what they sell at other bakeries. Not that i wouldn't feed the homeless boy a piece of my own bread but i keep remnants only for stray cats and i can't find it in my heart to treat him like an animal.

I decide to spend the afternoon at the City of Architecture and Heritage which is basically a museum people pretend to visit so as to profit from its terrace café overlooking the Eiffel Tower. I am genuinely fond of the wall clocks at the entrance though which are all set to Paris time. Quite a change for me from the stock brokers' offices flaunting clocks set to Sydney, London, Newyork, Frankfurt, and etcetera times. Why turn walls into plastic American Apparel shopping bags when in Paris, nowhere else matters ? One of the clocks which seems to have understood that turning round and round in circles is indeed pointless has actually stopped. Which is a good move on its part. What's with the rat race anyway? At a marathon, the winner is him who stops first.

Well, there are as many counterfeit car brakes as there are workaholics taking fake holidaybreaks and I am one, struggling in vain to convince myself that i am ENTITLED to stop for once.



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