My experience of France

A little over a year ago, my friends and I took to holidaying in the Alps with a the intention of snowboarding. I didn't do so much of the snowboarding, myself, but I had lived and begun a slow descent into madness.
This is my experience of France...

I am on a dark coach

(it is night)

full of people I don’t know

and I have just taken a small dose of cocaine.

I am feeling an expanding in my throat

like a large, hollow, bubble

blocking my oesophagus.

There is a numbness in the top of my nose

and in the back of my mouth.

It is uncomfortable

and I feel warm.

*

The club was full of dancing carcasses,

attempting,

some succeeding,

at sloppy sexual interaction.

Heavy breathing,

laden with the husk of liquor,

filled the air

and was sickly to breathe.

*

My days have taken a turn

like those of the writers I choose to discover.

Namely, I have travelled

and now have little money.

Our days are filled with relatively unimportant banter;

(perhaps I’ll try and sway that)

and drinking,

smoking cigarettes and other narcotics.

Due to my current lack of finances,

I’ve taken my first day to exploring the town alone,

and cleaning.

It gives me time to write, however,

and it seems I should make myself of some use

rather than a burden.

*

There is a heavy fog on the town as we leave

(Andrew accompanies me)

and we head for the shops.

Dogs fought

playfully in the streets.

We thought

the place could have been

a peaceful village once.

Before the students came,

Andrew remarked.

I couldn’t help feeling anger

on the indigenous French’s behalf.

*

The mist rose

and the snow that dropped

literally sparkled

in the, now high, sun.

I put a cigarette to my cold lips

and my frozen skin cracked

as I pulled it away.

I had left a

pretty pink stain

of blood on the end.

*

I have been living freely

and giving freely, also.

I take what I can,

when I can

and eat in a similar pattern.

What little I have

I am generous to offer

as those around, offer me.

I have been fortunate enough

to be blessed with a gratuitous amount

of alcohol around me.

My days,

hungry and raw,

cracked lips and cut hands,

have been hazy

and I often awake still drunk.

Though we lack many home comforts

(I sleep in a small, bunk-bed

in a hallway with two sheets, only)

we are alive

and we are happy.

We have fun and explore the town

and our limits.

I was tasered yesterday.

We all were.

This is how we survive.

*

I can't help but feel

as I walk around,

that many of the inhabitants look at me.

They stare at me,

their gaze is not one that shows a welcome-ness.

Perhaps it’s just myself,

I am putting my attitudes upon them,

making their looks seem as such

when it’s not the case.

I walked a while,

hoping to see more of the beautiful snow;

mountains,

sky,

people.

I wanted to see more of France,

but this is not France,

it is England,

Germany,

Sweden,

et cetera.

It is industry.

I feel it is a shame

that something so precious,

so natural and unrelenting,

as it is here,

is turned so shamelessly into profit.

If all the people wish to spit at us,

perhaps we should allow them that much.

*

The past few days have become a blur.

Lack of sleep and food deprivation,

no doubt coupled with drugs,

has left me with paranoid delusions.

I couldn’t sleep last night

and lost all sense of bodily perception

and perspective

within my bed.

I was haunted with hallucinations of people

until I shouted,

aware suddenly of my solitude.

*

I have been feeling light

headed,

constantly as if in

a very lucid dream.

My body buzzes and

twitches;

cold,

cut and beaten.

I feel restless and unaware of

any desires.

confused.

*