Tag Archives: Paris

I am ffffFrench

14 Saturday Nov 2015

Posted by in This world we live in

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What’s on my mind, folks? I tell you what’s on my mind : I am‪#‎ffffFrench‬. I feel more #ffffFrench than yesterday morning. I’ll tell you why. First here’s my quote on this flag, I tinkered and old flag image a bit, recaps well all this.

#ffffFrench
I see my ‪#‎compatriots‬ in ‪#‎France‬ hit and down, bleeding and dead,
I see their blood on the pavement and the tears, the horrendous use of other humans to kill blindly innocent people,
I see the cowardliness of so-called noble fighters who call themselves defenders of integrity, who only prove once more that violence organises their “model” society and show the limits of their hypocrisy.
I see a people who has fought bitter battles in the past,and has won, alongside others or for others, I recall Lafayette helping the American young nation getting its sovereignty, I could name Malplaquet and Dorylaeum, the battle of the Chesapeake, the battle of the Vosges, Lodi, all the battles between 1914 and 1918, Koufra and Bir-Akeim, Operation Dragon and the Battle of Normandy, the terrorists attacks in Paris in 1995 and the Charlie hedbo tragedy…
I see the flag of freedom punctured by the poisonous stakes of hate,
I see my blood running in my veins bleeding onto this beloved flag to give it its red color.
Let me explain the flag that I cherish : there is the blue for the eternal skies of freedom that every human being should be able to enjoy above his head,
there is the white, like the immaculate page onto which my compatriots and any lover of freedom can write their own sacred story, and there is my favorite colour : the red. Like the blood of life, the blood of anonymous heroes fallen and not forgotten, and innocent people randomly killed and martyrs of liberty. Red, like the fire and the passion with which we fight back. Unafraid.
For one who falls, seven stand up.
Because we are ffffFrench. As in free, fighting-fit, free-thinking, fearless French. It’s in our blood. Even when it stains the streets, it remains the blood of ‪#‎liberty‬

I am also friendly, fun, frank, and now, fortified.

Be well you all and fear not.

ffffFloreva

Café littéraire

18 Friday May 2012

Posted by in Cafés, Caffeine, Writing

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As the day begins, this is what I am given, while driving towards the city. It is 6.55 am. A pinkish mist coats the hedges and the lawns I pass by. Sky promises to be bright blue. There is little traffic before I hit the feeder leading to the centre of the Metropolis. The ideas and whereabouts regarding the writing I am battered in start to roll in my mind. I am making corrections and adjustments already, in the quietness of my car.

I enjoy the rising of the sun. Anywhere I can. It feeds my need for beauty and aesthetics in the simplest possible way. Like a token of joy. I think of the characters I must deal with today. Their motivations, their interactions with others, their conflicts, their nature, the drama, the laugh…

Then, moments later, I sit in front of a freshly brewed coffee. With my laptop, I can carry my work office everywhere. I connect through WI-FI and voilà.

A glance around me, and I dive into the thoughts nurtured by the latest movies or series I watched, or the current piece I am working on, and that I have sorted out during  my earlier driving.

The day develops while I keep writing, proofing, correcting, changing, cutting scenes…My brain races. So much to do, so little time. I take a second coffee, then a third. My heart beat quickens a bit. I begin to be very caffeinated. I drink water. I gaze at the walls when they are decorated. When I am stuck in a scene in the screenplay, it is utterly helpful to let fresh air (metaphorically speaking) rippling on the ocean of the codes and conventions one follows to build characterization or inner conflicts.

When Nemesis escapes you, close your eyes and smell the coffee.

It sometimes induces a loop in the field of the work I have to do, like a breath of fresh air.

Writing in a café is highly pleasurable.  It makes a daily task blissful. Cafés littéraires, as they are called in France. Cafés or coffee houses where one writes or discuss literature (or politics).

It connects us with all those beloved authors, and allows a spiritual communion to the magnificent prodigy of human nature : crafting sentences and words to craft and explain our lives and the future.

Coffee and writing, seemingly so intimately bound to speak of our human conditions. The best could be found in the cafés in Vienna, the coffee hours held in the Salons in Paris, London, St Petersburg in the past centuries, where ideas for better everything where sketched and refined.

The warmth of the anonymous company of fellow beings. The observation of nature.

A microcosm accommodated within 4 walls and processed by a coffee machine.

Long live the cafés and coffee houses, where we can seek and find matter for writing, fuel for our thoughts, and nicely light ephemeral connections through a smile or a inconsequential gaze.