Ahhhhh, Salvador, Salvador, Salvador

14 days in Paris and I finally found my favorite refuge. After climbing Montmartre again and shoving all the beef jerky artists out of my face, one who told me that I must be Italian, the other who asked if I was half Japanese (what???), I paid my 8 Euros and tumbled down the stairs to a gallery space featuring the works of Salvador Dali. This was after a petite stumble among the Parisian graveyards on the Day of the Dead with mi amigo Nacho from Barcelona as we watched the ladies of the world salivating over the tomb of Jim Morrison (which by the way is all barricaded now and guarded by French police from time to time...)....oh ouch my head is going to explode...slow down Nikki...one tale at a time...

Anyway, I finally found someone who once existed who is as weird as me. This was quite a revelation for me! The exposition featured drawings, paintings, bronze sculptures, furniture, and even a gallery where you can purchase some pieces. (Note to Santa Claus, if you're reading, I would like the Alice-in-Wonderland-bouquet-of-roses-head sculpture under the Christmas tree this year if'in you don't mind. Gracias.) There was even an installation of an entire church where you sit down for an abstract Dalinian sermon-film at the altar. Wild.

I love it when I find something kindred of sorts here in Paris. Just those little things that make me realise it was destiny that brought me here this time around. This morning I took a suburban PArisian bus to my SNCF train station, headed downtown with the Eiffel Tower on my right and Sacre-Coeur on my left, arrived at Saint Lazare and take the number 14 metro line to Chatelet, transfer to the RER B line two stops to the Latin Quarter and walk a few blocks to this net cafe. I had this strange dream last night where I was the only person in the underground Metro system and there was Klezmer music playing but no trains running, no people, no signs of life anywhere but in my own beating heart. It was all that Dali stuff, having no sense of direction, even with my compass, all this cosmopolitality (can I make that a word?) and this strange fusion of language I am speaking everyday. I'm totally schizophrenic in thought, disjointed and severed in the mind, but for the first time in a long time I feel alright. Worried about the future, bien sur, but still feeling alright.

That's a good thing.