Whipped (c/d)ream.

Saturday, November 2oth 9:15 p.m. local time.

*Stabs the round middle button with left thumb.*

Play.

(Hurry down Bailey's, so that i can speak freely...)

I'm amazed: everything around me is neat. I might as well be there for real. But where is 'there' exactly?
I'm in a forest, a very dark one. The soil under my feet is damp, i slide on the dead leaves and dive slowly into the mud with each step. The silence around is thick, almost tangible. I find myself in front of four large steps of stone, leading to another path: it looks easier to walk up there, so i climb the high steps and enter a part of the forest where the trees seem to tower higher, though more distant from one another. The soil is still very slippery, i try hard not to but i eventually fall. I'm so exhausted that i decide to stay on the ground, my hands are coverd in mud, leaves are sticking to my knees and elbows. I give up. I'm crying uncontrollably and would like to think about nice and brighter things, but i seem to be unable to do so. All my senses are awake, i'm very tense and while i'm trying to cheer up, two very soft arms seem to fold around my shoulders. I don't know whether i ought to be afraid of them, whether i should resist or let myself go to their grip. I wait.
It might be hours later, or only a few seconds, i feel trust the way i've never felt it before: not the one that is usually linked to self-confidence, but the unquestionable trust one can feel when aware that nothing worse could possibly happen. I trust these arms. Suddenly, two hands slip under my own shaking arms and i know i have to let them take the full control of my weak body. They lift me up back to my unsteady feet and something like a rush of air pushes me in the back. I'm running now, ignoring my tired feet, my sore knees, i can barely see where i'm going: my eyes are so filled with tears that all i can see are more and more patches of distorted light. I'm running like a lunatic or so i believe, when i come to realize that i am no longer treading on the ground: i seem to have been lifted above it and my feet don't even touch it most of the time, though i'm still running.
I don't like being carried, so i make myself as heavy as possible: the threat of the trees above is too frightening and i know that if i rise to high above the ground i will hit them and fall back. Somehow, my thoughts seem to have escaped from my head, because i see the trees disappear one by one. I have no more excuse to stay on the firm ground: i now am in a large field, misty and foggy, but luminous as the surface of the Moon. If i wanted to fly now, i could but the hands have disappeared and i'm running alone. The only way is to disconnect my brain from any practical thoughts, then maybe i will be able to fly for good.
I don't care where i put my feet, i don't even notice the ground. I don't mind the icy cold. All my thoughts are located somewhere between that cloud, right in front of me and the deep bottom of my heart. Maybe if i follow the thread linking them?
I feel free here, safely hidden in the fog, scattered amongst the tiny drops of mist. Not a soul can see me, i won't look ridiculous if i attempt to fly and fall. An everything around me looks unrealistic, and in the same time more than reality itself... I look once more up at the cloud: faces i like, love and adore are hidden there, faces i know i shall loose forever if i don't reach them in time.
The edge of the cliff: now is the time. I grab the imaginary thread and keep running, increase speed and jump.

I'm high enough now to ignore whether the air shaking my hair is there because of the speed of my flight, or bcause i'm simply falling fast.
I don't care: i surrender again, happily this time, i could die there in the middle of the clouds, alone amongst those faces i adore. Alone. But am i?

*A shaking right index pushes the middle button once more*

Stop.

Oh dear. It's the last time i do that with three Irish Cream Coffees running in my blood! I already knew it agreed too much with me, the mix of music and alcohol and had the power to take me very very far away from where my body was, but i had no idea it could make me so febrile when i was safely at home and surrounded by familiar things, furniture and lights.

Should i blame the Irish for this, or maybe the very deep impact of things that happened earlier in the evening and that split my soul open like a fresh knife cut? I choose to blame the Irish because i know what is it that guided my hand.

Erwann and i shared the first drinks. A drop of bitter caramel, Bailey's, coffee, whipped cream on top, the whole covered in elvish dust (most commonly called 'spice' or simply cinnamon, but it sounds more exotic and less Herbertian like this) and a straw. It makes a very sweet drink, but extremely treacherous as well... You'd have guessed, reading that bunch of dreamy-comatic nonsense!

Fernando and i had the choice between staying home and going out. I don't know any irish pub in Paris that makes Irish-Cream coffees, and i'm not that fond of plain 'irish' ones (i love Bailey's but am not very fond of whiskey, unless it's very good whiskey, which is not that easy to find in random bars especially when you're as rich as i am!). Had i gone out, i would probably have chosen to drink a couple of large pints of Guinness, one of my favourite beers. I would also have been able to take a few pictures of a nice place in Paris and allowed you to visit it with me, but as i had visited nice places the day before and intended to introduce them anyway, i thought i might as well stay at home, wearing a warm and cosy jumper and having fun with my drinks.

What is the point of The Bridge if you are to visit my flat only!?

That's why, on Friday, i took you with me in two places i thought you would find nice.

In the afternoon, i went to the Cluny Abbey, a beautiful medieval construction with its garden, located right in the middle of Paris. A bit of an Alien amongst the cars and buildings, only sheltered from the XXIst century by a metal enclosure. I'm not going to linger on it, because i will come back to it in a longer post, entirely dedicated to medieval arts and illuminations, but i thought funny to mention it when Fernando had almost visited the Middle-Ages himself a few days ago.

The second place i went to will be more developped though. Not the place itself, but what i did there. Actually, what i dit was quite easy: i just had to sit, open my eyes and ears and let them be filled up to the brim by what was around.

I attended Bach's Magnificat and Cantatas in a Church of the First Arrondissement. The Collegium Vocale ensemble (choir, soloists and orchestra), and its belgian director, Philippe Herreweghe, were celebrating their fortieth anniversary.

Saint-Roch's Church, a pearl of baroque architecture, was the perfect location for such a delightful program. I was maybe seated a bit too far from the ensemble to fully enjoy all the nuances of the music: it's common knowledge that Bach's precision is most impressive, but in the same time, the slightly clouded texture of the sound fitted perfectly my dreamy mood. It's a shame that i was there alone: it's always a bit frustrating to have to keep your joy to yourself after a concert. I used to value that more than anything else, but back then i had not yet met anyone able to enjoy this music almost as much as me...

Anyway! Bach's Magnificat, very nicely directed by a joyous conductor, a couple of very talented singers (not all of them though, at least, they were not loud enough for me to hear and appreciate them properly), a beautiful church, Russian Illuminations from Cluny still drawing golden patterns in my head: i can't wait until the next time i'll be here with you (for today, Harry Potter will be followed by a visit of the Palais de la Découverte, and i'm almost certain that you will be happy to visit it with me)!