Le Touriste

I am the proverbial tourist. What I see are only glimpses and idealizations. What I use - the bowl for my cereal, the long black dress, and the car that takes me to the store - only last for the duration I am here. And there. I breathe in the unique blend of cultural emissions and political scents of the moment, alerting me of what is there. And here. Even the ideas and thoughts that appear do not belong to me; like the placid exchanges with a polite cashier; an early morning greeting from a passing runner; and the birthday candles that stand erect long enough for wishes of another year in paradise. "Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you" becomes my next morning's coffee and croissant. It all whizzes by, and I accumulate these forms within my photo album.