2 - Paris-Basel – June 30, 2003

There is something lulling about the movements of a train.  As soon as one gets onboard, the inclination is to go to sleep. 

Looking into the w.c., one can see the blur of rails framing the ladder-like rungs, recalling the motion of film frames when slowed down enough to betray the cinematic illusion of continuous time.  Everyday, thousands of people fill the spaces between the rungs with evidence of human life.  In this way, another level of temporality is superimposed over the passage of cinematic frames.  A thought occurs to me: why, then, are these fertile avenues not perpetually in bloom? 

Enroute, we stop at a town called Troyes (pronounced “trois”).  Everyday, unintentionally, we retranscribe Homeric journeys.  Mythic cities lend their names to living cities – however distorted phonetically.  The city of Troyes is an industrial footnote.  It’s close enough to Paris, that it wants to be closer. 

The parenthesis that circumscribes Paris and Basel is in the heart of both cities: Tanguely fountains. 

The train just stopped at Vesoul. A quant little town where nothing ever happens, except for life. Who knows?  There may have yet to be a famous battle to be fought here.