Minding my own business I was jettisoned from my plane seat due to ticket misprinting. This did not please Yours Truly as they wanted to move me to the rear of the plane, in a center seat... for an international flight of interminable hours. So I grumbled. Said Look, I need some sleep, etc.
Suddenly a new seating op opened up, a nice roomy one with a next door neighbor who was in Air France's 1,000,000 club. No lie. So he's angling to get bumped up. Then he is. Now I've got no neighbor and the flight, or so I thought, was leaving imminently. Nope. The entertainment system was kaput and suddenly some kid got sick and had to himself be jettisoned. Then they couldn't find the luggage of the family who was deplaning. This all equals 2 hours. Suddenly Perfect Me is approached by a nice crewperson who had heard my stellar grumbles and this femme moved me up to 1st class. But the next flight was missed so instead of Tel Aviv I'm in Paris. Where I've been wandering for 12 hours. So tomorrow CDG for another attempt at Israel for Inbal and Gideon's wedding.
Today Paris was sunny and in its summery heyday packed with gawkers and wanderers and lookers and bona fide citizens.
Headed for the George Pampelmousse Centre and got lost in some good, some bad, art there.
Onwards to dozing and jetting afterwards.

Doze of Love.

Rimbaud believed that the poet became a true visionary by a systematic 'deranging of the senses' and by absorbing all 'poisons.' William Blake coined the maxim, 'The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom.'

On an overly school-imbued day like today Yours Truly might think of days of yore when poets and artists were just that. Were they grad students. No. Did they jet to and fro to do things. No. Were they required to be other than somewhat irresponsible creatives. Nope. Did they hunker down and make art. Yes. Did they enjoy the thickening joys of wormwood-enhanced Green Fairy juice. Yup.

Where does that leave Perfect Me on a day. Like today.
Full of poisons of the caffeine variety. Full of excess of ideas ilk.
Wending my way to that palace of wisdom.
In my mind it's a ring road, not a path, to Wisdom Palace, an approach, a leaving, another approaching and on.

Approach Love.

If anyone suggests to you that you MUST see (misogynistic) The Saddest Music in the World (starring Isabella Rosellini), don't just respectfully decline, vehemently do so - peppered with words of both slang and salty varieties. Wasted two hours last week doing so, well, it wasn't a complete wash as I used said time to update my contacts in my cell phones.
Arrived in Shiny Apple mere hours ago. And speaking of salty, a renowned woman with a salty tongue who shall not be named, former top administrator of Middling City Hospital for the Unwell, was alongside JetBlue Yours Truly. I have done work for her in the past, political and personal, years ago. I intended to say hello when I saw her terminally in the Middling City and, as I fall into Travel Coma before planes are rolling, didn't actually realize she was next to me until I awoke from the deepest of pre-liquid nap (read coffee) zoo snoozes with my head back at a 90º angle and mouth at Venus Fly Trap ready. Then we deplaned. Public transpo was sought. On the way to JFK a few days ago started talking to two teens who shared with me some of their top slang words that they've coined and that they're trying to get into the public sphere. I did alert them that I'd be stealing some of these words. I did not, however, tell them that I blog and that I'd be bloging on their words in the near future. First word: chillaxin'. Second great word: conversayshuh (short for conversation, a short conversation).
Three or four times used and they are so yours.
From Kennedy to Kennedy to Parsons to Kennedy to Kennedy.
My jubilant whirlwind.
Whirled Love.