MUNICH, GERMANY: A big green lake full of wanderers

Culturally, germany differs from much of the world. capitalize its title if You please.

id love to explain those differences to You. the differences that make it solid and beautiful to me. id love to take all ive seen and pour it into the broth of a soup fitted for a magicians dinner. a dinner he would enjoy immensely and thereafter expel my intricate details to You in a delicate and slighted manner with his trickz... a manner You might have to prepare Yourself to handle, before he begins. but i cannot make this broth for him. too many indgredients.

all of this has been special, but not an quick special. a progressive special. a three month adventure that started in los angeles with a best friend and a shotty ticket...four boxes and no reason but to survive the realization of my own ´far-fetched´ dream. moved on to the mediterranean, where only moving pictures and silent suits mattered. then from train to train i travelled with my best stranger friends...up the coast, we cooked a bit in the west. on to paris, i then was, where foreign babies made my body stop aching with one simple note, stroked in their vocal chambers. a giggle. and there, the street lights of paris said more in one glimmer...than do these here thousand letters surely say about my experience.

now with more freckles and newfound interest in more than a few things of the world, i lay in germany and dream slightly of nothing, all the while of it all. my bed at home. deciduous forests. trains passing. theatrical french lions dancing. purple and yellow fashion boys walking. oysters hopping. subtitles teaching. waves winking. cobble stones sinking. red ladders falling. raspberries growing. spacesbars clicking. hitler yelling. bread baking in france. chocolate waiting in germany. wine tasting in paris. insomnia in altdorf. the lake. the offish windows. the unbound naked beach chidlren. honest gentlemen. antenna bayern. complex days of simply studying interaction. bound by nothing but stuck to paper, forever, i am. until the hours of the morning that no one in the world actually gets through. no matter the sunds position. and still home is waiting. the home that roman gods did not annoint with power or gift to their rivals in fear of war.

but Home. the home that defines what You think You never need when You need everything You used to have, before You left it for something crazy.

NURNBERG, GERMANY: I think the sky is just a bunch of rainbows covered by clouds of blue and white.

Last night i saw its natural hue again. like a storybook at the soles of my shoes, a scene played itself out before me...fog crowded the thick forestland that we drove through to placethere in that festival of color. A high peaked, ivy colored, traditional house provided the basin for the nine oclock rainbow after a dreary day of lost light in the sky. Clouds pink and lavendar. Safe to say that the sun planned this all out from the start of the day, he woke up and said, "Ill rise late tonight in an unexpected beam and keep them up until four am wondering why that beam chose then to rise." Hes tricky; almost as tricky as this german keyboard i here type from.

I now write to you from a flat house in the countryland of eastern germany. I actually had to look up what part of the world I was in on google maps...because I honestly did not know its description. Foreign birds play outside my window, with the purple flowers and green stems that support the colored parts...someones in the kitchen and its all but noise to me, here.

Noise that borders on humor. The german language has truly outsmarted me for the past 36 hours and I have but 2 weeks more to be impressed by my own lack of intelligence.

Flying and training and walking and falling, no longer has great effect upon me. I sometimes wake up with new bruises but its all a part of the game, the journey. I find that rain heals me because its like the sky is being completely honest with us. It rained daily in Paris and as I dismounted the white, red and blue sky shuttle that displaced me in Munich, Germany, but two days ago...mist covered my backpack and chilled my wrists as I found my friend waiting at the place where people meet people in the airport.

As the stereotypes played out marvelously and the bratwurst was anything but imperfect...I looked out from the highest point in Nurnberg and laughed at the funny ladders that lay on each red rooftop. I think I was laughing at the impossibility of my prescence there, but I blame the parallel bars of silver metal on each shingled house for my inability to stop smiling.

It is enjoyable to live uncapturably. Exciting and depressing all in the same. There are no fonts or photos that describe how things go here...its all in the moment. The ever changing moment. The moment youre accidentally dancing to a German rock band play Sum41 songs in the middle of a street festival with one of youre best friends, on the opposite side of the world. Or when youre watching 30 people drink from huge glass mugs and dance around a maypole in traditional costumes to live-oldmanband music as they sway back and forth, holding trees above their heads and being hit by blownup pig bladders in the middle of the afternoon near a field somewhere unexplainably new.

He walked in with Spätzle.

PARIS, FRANCE: Ta Maman ne serait pas d'accord

Details and details stream out of me like the breath of the metro that stops at my feet. everything has been captured on paper. in color. with water. and pigments of tangible expression.

no worries.

if you are curious as to what ive been through; we can look in the books. its all written down somewhere.

heres a summary;
four children, center of paris, habits formed, seventh floor, distant language (both english and french...because as i am alone, silence is popular.)

No television, radio, news, film, internet, computer, car, oven, lotion, backyard, telephone (that i can call from), tennis shoes, money, calendar, elevator, second pencil, clock, nail polish remover, balcony or sugar...but i am not uncomfortable. these possesions are secondary to my raison d'etre.

My purpose right now is to explore the city, meet new people, care for the french children, learn the language, watch the clouds as they accept that the sun is setting...and continue to listen to the world that i live in. I am observant here and it is refreshing to be in such a city. A city that wants you to paint it on a canvas. A city that wants you to write about it. A city that takes sensitive people and gives them little coincidences to ponder about. Like the other day...when, roaming the streets of st. michel, I saw a friend of mine from french class at USC cross the street. Or when I spent a day with another friend of mine from Kansas who happened to drop through Paris and together, he and I both ran into another friend from college. Or last night when my neighbor made me dinner and we discussed film, art and the future. Or when I found, in paris, a friend I had made in Cannes and we spent the evening at a party at the river with a class of film students at the school of cinematography that he attends. Or today when I missed a meeting I had...then bumped into my all time favorite actor Mathieu Amalric. He was such a gentleman.

Its all of purpose. Petite purpose...peut-etre grand...mais petite est bonne pour moi, maintenant.

PARIS, FRANCE: La Collector!!!

From a desk, I sit inside the French flat.

Rain is being thrown in my face. From white sources, it falls. Sunny skies, blue eyes, pouring from the smallest of gray places above. The clouds match the tower before me. All is gray here in July and i love it. Others seem disappointed in the heavens, as if they let us down another time, or something. Gray rainy days with a touch of sun at night. Such a strange concoction is this place that i study in. I study Life.

Papoo is here to save the day. Playing secret agent games with Arthur whilst Francois roams around touching things and giggling. Its been a fun week here near Raspail. I have enjoyed seeing friends at night and have spent a lot of time thinking.

Last night I realized what I wanted to do most in the world...and I made it my goal for the evening. For me, goals get done. So it haddd to be done.

I wanted to do something mindless. Thoughtless. Live without regard. Do nothing, for not the sake of nothing...but for the sake of not doing something. I wanted it so bad. Like a prize, it sat before me. This idea of mindlessness. Lost in its simplicity, I found myself trying too hard. There I thought; Every move I make has thought behind it, here. Every word I speak goes through the process of translation. Every line I draw goes from the stage of inspiration to realization. Every movement I make is mapped out before hand, so not to get lost in a metropolis such as this. I needed to be mindless. I needed to fall and not care or sing to the wall or cook for no reason or shovel dirt...or watch really horrible television or something. Read pointless magazines. I dont know! Something. But all I had was a thoughtful room, with a bunch of paper and Milan Kundera waiting. So how shall we resolve such a frightening situation?

I went for a run and then fell asleep. Thoughtless enough for me, it was. Though I would have rather been gardening, I think.

PARIS, FRANCE: L'huile d'olive et un petit lapin

i moved. i love it. but before comfort settles in, the train is sure to whisk me away to somewhere new. random people in the city greet me well when i ask questions. babies are really smart. vavin is my new home. i have many hours and little to do, but never finish everything i want to get done , so it waits for me until late in the night; where in my apartment i can capture all that i have experienced in someway or another; on paper. with shapes. and things of that nature. or with friends, in conversation. or alone; in thought and recognition.

outside i see the tour d'eiffel. i think it likes me. it looks at me often. rainy days and lots of keys; describes the day to day...travelling...me.

off to the baths and dinner, then paris and i will hang out again. for a week or so more.

though vague; this is now. and i guess thats all i got. my now isnt vague; just the description of it, for time is limited and thoughts jump around inside my mind, with different accents and everything!

SAINTES, FRANCE:Your pages were never blank. they had plenty of talk on them.

Today was spontaneous. it was the cherry atop an already scrumptious chocolate cake of dreams. today we drank orangina in the abbey. we trekked around the village market. we bought bread from charming french women and ate the most stunning dinner i have yet to experience on these shores. i made a house out of cards. we played frisbee and napped in the sun. we went to le cathedral de saint-pierre and held our breath at its beauty. it's mind. the sun was out. then it poured rain. the sun was out. and then it poured rain. we laughed more on those black and white checkered tiles these past few days, than i have laughed in many months. what do you do when reality surpasses the dream state?

well. i suppose you keep dreaming. but if i didn't get the memo, let me know.

i'm off to paris in four hours... so tell me quick cause i hear paris, inspires...

SAINTES, FRANCE: Knives to tap, bobin and the rain

so many letters that I must write in order to sequence the events that play in my day to day life.

il fait beau. il pleut. il fait beau. il pleut. il fait beau. comme moi. il pleut. comme lui. c'est un bizarre rendez-vous. comme la vie, pendant mes jours maintenant.
c'est tres drole. tout le monde. chaque jour j'ai dit, "Je ne t'oublierai jamais, le France. Jamais."
d'accord. anglais. peut-etre comme ca. . .

cold again.
i woke up uber-early to walk in the rain. from there, i had two options. sleep or write. i wrote. all day long. after writing, i wrote more. then to the river...i ventured, where i was found by a frenchman. the sun was raining at this point. very peculiar. upon our chance meeting, i was entertained by his lack of english and we exchanged words about john wayne and the history of the church we could see in the distance. friendly, he was. sans doute.

so now, again. back to the barracks. what a place this is. france, i mean. a place of wonder and light. a place to create and enjoy what others create. i like waking up to variable weather patterns. a body in the sunlight. a body in the reflection of rain. rain that pounds at the wrists of the window that protects the body. either way, i smile when i get up. that, friends, is a far cry from boredom.

listening to music with a new friend. oysters, avocados, calamari, artichokes and mussels are my new best buds. crazy how that happens.

i can only wish to wake up tomorrow. if i'm in the sunlight or the shade, the rain or the river, the garden or the train, this room or a plane. anywhere, i will have enjoyed saintes thus far.

we have a new formula for tap shoes if anyone is interested. Scotch tape butter knives to the bottom of your flat shoes and bounce around on kitchen tiles...instant TAP SHOES!

SAINTES, FRANCE: I keep waking up in france. it's this weird thing that keeps happening...

laying in the greenest grass
baby poppies surround me
the sun is setting
only two were pink
the rest, not a shy gradient of yellow

i took twenty deep breaths
tried to think of nothing.
not even a blank white room.
less than a room
less than a door to an empty white room
less than the color white
less than less
just nothing
nothing at all
not even the inside of my eyelids
and the red color that they make when i look towards a light
not even black
just nothing

i couldn't.
so much is on my mind
by breath twenty i squeezed my eyes as hard as i could
and let my lids free to wonder as they may
after such confusion. restriction.

all colors were brighter
all sensea were magnified
all reasons were present as to why i could not think of nothing
it's because i'm in a place with so much to grasp
so much to absorb
so much to remember

nothing is far from this place.

a day of petanque, frites at the riverside, classical music, nutella vs. jam and samuel clemens.

SAINTES, FRANCE: Nothing takes precedence over the fresh baguette

the rate at which a foreign child speaks, is golden to a language learners ear.

spent the day on the western coast of france in La Rochelle. lighthouses and historic castles, patisseries and open parkways, ivy ridden archways and cyclists everywhere...at the atlantic shoreline, the uneven rocks that we sat on were not merely limestone. they had stories. they had battles won and lost, upon them. cigarette butts in between them. moss growing all over them. zillions of photographs taken of them. and shells washed up upon them daily. their lifeline is admired by many.

i have a beautiful idea of what tomorrow will bring. not places or things, but feelings. as long as i react to where i'm at, good things will come. it's when we stop reacting and just interact within a place...that habits surface and bore us into trouble.

that's today's thesis. haha.
BONsoir.

SAINTES, FRANCE: Mint tea, broken toes and a night of rotoscoping- gentle prose

Literally, too beautiful, are the moments that define my "now".

All strokes come to mind so that I am striken with indecision, as an artist. There is no "one" color that resides in that tree. There is no "one" note that these here birds sing. There is no "one" way to capture the fact that "no one" is around me.

one fifteen hour train ride and a glimpse-of-bordeaux later...i lay my head to rest in Saintes (l'ouest de France). the fresh market this morning, a long walk in the afternoon and a new social scene at night. we're making breaded oysters for dinner this evening, partenered with grape juice, many breads, brie, cheddar and salad avec le vinegre.

last night, we read mark twain outloud.we spend our waking hours outside or at a window. i am with two friends that i met in cannes.

writing has become my very own travel companion. for, with it, i am never alone...just irregularly lonely. for the past four seconds the clouds above my head ripped themselves from one another and let out the greatest cry i've heard from nature, in nearly ten months. it is not raining outside. just thunder. it rumbles from a distance, but france is only so big. i can hear everything. in this six story house, i am alone. not another person is near. i have my journal in my lap and hear the murmuring of another toungue upon the outer surface of the shudders that shelter me from the clouds that don't rain. my tea is now the perfect temperature. and in such contentment i ask myself, what is my purpose of being here? well, what is my purpose of being elsewhere? but to be who i am and see what i see, that is purpose enough for me, i guess. so i agree with myself and move on to other questions.

constant curiousity illuminates the greatest of adventurers. maybe it is silly to write and write and write what ought not be written. but i find joy in the construction of my own thoughts upon paper. writing cures, as does chalk, if you draw the right lines on the board.

and you read and you read and you read, and it makes you a better writer? maybe. what does improve ones abilities is practice, i feel. and AT LAST! my mumbling provides me with a well-utilized vocabulary. well enough to express the simplest ideas, atleast. it is because i speak so much...that i am able to choose my words carefully, when actually listened to. maybe not carefully, but inventively, none the less. or maybe i am just wordy. regardless, it is you, who has chosen to read this.

two doors just slammed. one to this room and one downstairs. the murmurs stopped. the birds found this an opportunity to elate themselves with song. my tea is gone now. my feet are cold. my hands lack the circulation that they once had, before i began this prose. one child speaks outside. seemingly, to no one. that child is not me. with another, he is now. they run and from one end of rue charles dengibeaud to another- they count and whisper sacred words to eachother. eight syllables was his last sentence. i cannot gather the content of his childish french, only the fact that he yelled it and upon the sixth syllable...a bird began to call to him softly. he ignored its attention and ran towards the river. gone now. now, it's just me again. and two closed doors. but in all reality, i feel doors no longer exist. what exists is the chair i sit on now and the tea that i drink. beyond that i have yet to discover.

now a motorcycle is outside. i may or may not go look out the window to see who it is. oh, it is the boys parents. he went with them, from what i hear. undefined, their faces are to me.

in the distance, two tones of an ambulance exchange turns. i am free to do what i want to right now. i believe i will go work on a project i am in the process of realizing. back to the drawing boards...

and no worries, upon each entry, i guarantee...my style will change. todays was a bit stream of consciousness...whereas tomorrow might be a haiku. who knows. i don't think anyone does. and now that you're expecting it...tomorrow will most definitely not be a haiku. got to keep you on your toes. the few of you that are up on them.

CANNES, FRANCE: can't capture it

i find beauty in the words...that people say...without thought. but in mind of intelligence. the words that publish themselves without permission. the thoughts that are so personal, they're public. i am a fan of sharing such words with you.



today, does not beat other days. today was of good nature, though. i much enjoy the routine i have created here. it is one of spontenaiety, new relationships, life lessons, baguettes and paninis.

i want to photograph everything. i want to film everyone. i want to write down everything i hear and i want to capture all i can. it's true. but i can't. for the past week, my sensory glands have been working overtime. so much to absorb, so much to take in. it's easy to get here and drown. that's for sure. good thing my mom made me take swimming lessons when i was young.

i spent a good part of today asleep. aaand a good part of last night awake. until the early hours of the morning, i was wide up working on a few films with friends. we had a good time, it was just exhausting to say the least. i now, have worked with a wide variety of people. all seemingly a bit older, but that is why i have loved it so much. our screening is tomorrow night at the villa montfleury, a hotel across the village. should be a good time.

odd note:
the fishermen here astound me. they get their midday scoop of gelato, roll up their ten-euro-trousers and jump from boat to boat entertaining no one but themselves and the marine life. pethanque is so popular with the older men. as is assuming that none of the american-looking girls speak french and then saying weird things to us. i guess i sometimes look american. and they say funny stuff. and then i retort in french. and they become flustered and confused. it's awesome.

when passing the breakdancers on the streets, i love how they look crazy-tough...and then you toss them a coin and they say "ohhh, merci mademoiselle. bonjournée!" with a voice equivalent to that of a small bird, delicate and sincere. funny boys.

i love how the cast and directors are all here to screen their films for us. today i went to the main theatre at the Palais for "la mujer son cabeza." it premiered in spanish with french and english subtitles. one of my friends gave me a ticket to this red-carpet event. it was exciting for me. though, i went alone.

when i found myself at the top of those red steps, i realized i had a lot of unanswered questions. none of my inquiries related to the film i was about to experience or the people that shuffled around me and defined the chaos that cornered me up there. it was just a blur, really. all of it.

alone, on the french riviera, tickets in hand and hopes in the sky...i curtsied to the usher and made my way through the mess of awe-struck wonderers...right to my seat. middle row à la balcon...dans le centre.

the film was "interesting," i'll give it that. i'm just not much of a critic. i'm rather, a creator.

donc, je sais c'est plus tard. je devrais dors maintenant, et je devrais practiquer mon francais tous les temps. tonight i went to a beach party and walked past eliza dushku from Bring it On. afterwards we got gelato and happened to brush by mike tyson. ridiculous. je sais.

tomorrow i hope to see a few films, swim a few laps and meet a few people. you know people swim laps in the OCEAN here?! it's insane to me. they go back and forth...parallel to the shoreline. incredible, really.

and oh, i figured out what i want to do with my life. i forgot to mention that. kind of relieved i finally know. it's been like, what? 19 years i've been taking a stab at it? well, i know now. and i couldn't be more thrilled.

CANNES, FRANCE: WILD times in Cannes

sand and sun. i find it around me, all the time.
the other day i saw 3 films in one day. lovely, it was. two were eh. one was wonderful. tokyo sonata: wonderful. much recommended, if it ever reaches the states. directed by: Kiyoshi Kurosawa. The whole cast was there, it was magical. music composition: Bam!

it was that good.

yesterday, i worked all day. it was my favorite day thus far. the parisian filmmakers that i worked with were very kind. david (deey-vied) and antoine (aan-twan)... we ran around getting 'b-roll' shots for the AMC reel and ran into sean penn, jean claude van dam, tim robbins and pauly shore. it was successful, nonetheless. i also bumped into mischa barton and the tiny animal she carts around. some might call it a dog. she apologized to me because her oversized, floral-print, marc by marc jacobs hangbag brushed the purse on my shoulder. i just smiled. i secretly wanted to say, "thank you for your work." but what sense would that make? none. none at all. i should thank josh schwartzman. actually, i did that once. when he lectured at sc. i raised my hand and said thank you.

good. i feel better about that now.

anyway, last night peter, danny and i made gnocci pasta and had kazoo for dinner. we roamed around the village and went to 'cinema de la plage'...where they screened looney tunes on the beach at night. it was unreal. then we were in an elevator in the carlton hotel, where all the directors stay, and ran into Ophélie Winter, a famous french singer. kind of neat. what beautiful clothing these people wear, from day to day.

then, as we walked back along the croisette, heading towards 'midnight blues' a place for live jazz and r&b at night...i ran into a friend from new york. that was weird. the third one that i've seen here at cannes. all on accident. he was working for a company that was in charge of the guest list of the party that everyone wanted to get into. i saw him from across the way, and what a sensational flashback. i love those moments in life. when you're somewhere, for no reason. and you fall in the hands of another, for some reason. then you speak and it's just like it used to be. two years ago. in a different random place in the world, during a different random time in your life. it's worth writing about, regardless of when i next see him. just a remarkable re-introduction to a lost friend. i do believe in chance. happenstance. and the prospect of luck, in life.

then, at the point... as my legs were about to fall off and i was to give up...we crammed ourselves onto the bus back to the hotel and with every attempt i made to squeeze through the 80 persons that wanted to get on a 50 person bus...i somehow made it on and rode home. close to strangers. french and the like. christopher from normandy was nice. and i love listening to the people from the UK.

after that, we shot a scene from a film we're working on back at cannes la bocca. le titre est "fin". je parle en francais pour cette film. c'est drôle. mais, amusant.

now, i will go back to work. music music music. finding music for the Mike Tyson documentary promotional footage. then off to the villa where i will work on a few other shorts that my friends are creating this week...et à la fin du jour ... j'espere voir une autre film...peut-être vicky christiana barcelona ou indiana jones IV...jenesaispas.

je ne pense pas que des personnes ont lit mon blog, et j'aime cet idée. donc, maintenant je devrais retourner `a mon travaille. c'est important.

bonjournée...

~shannon (shaa-nohn)

CANNES, FRANCE: Eh, Voila! Mon Travaille...

if you go to www.amctv.com
see the featured video of angelina jolie and jack black

yeah. i chose the music.

whhhhhaaaaaa?!!? .... je sais, je sais. c'est bizarre.

CANNES, FRANCE: la la la la la

i'm on the second floor of a villa on the south coast of france, reading the script of a friend that's shooting a movie this weekend. today i had "work." Tis intersting. I run around the festival grabbing Electronic Press Kit's of films that are premiering here. Kung Fu Panda, Changeling, Vikki Christiana Barcelona, Tokyo to name a few...then I go to their shoots and help the editors find the right music for their "bites" that they "wire" to the states by way of a Paris-London-Staten Island-Manhattan transport...then the stuff goes live on-air by 8pm Eastern Time. I like learning about these things, but it is very time consuming. Last night was fascinating. We went to the screening of "Tokyo" at the Palais on the Croisette...and before the show, the music composers, the directors and a few actors came on stage and spoke. In french, of course. Highlight: Michel Gondry, Boon Jong Ho, Leos Carax...they were there. It was neat. Today the company I work for, AMC TV, interviewed Morgan Spurlock. As well as Angelina Jolie, Jack Black and Dustin Hoffman.

Everyday, I drink orangina. I notice the smaller streets, skinnier doorways, fashionable people, expensive paninis, productive producers, odd streets signs, exquisite yacht parties, and sweet old french men that only speak french and tell me their life stories once they realize that I speak a little. It's wonderful. I'll update more later, but I must rest now. I have a 10am call and tomorrow's a big day. Woody Allens film premieres and we're supposed to interview Mike Tyoson this weekend...as his film premieres on Sunday.

I like waking up in France, but my confusion only begins at this point. I don't know what I want out of this "industry," I just know that it's good to be here. The people, the coastline and the culture all keep me wanting to go go go...I'm just confused when they all ask, "So, why are you here?" I often say, "I'm learning."

That's all I got.

LONDON, ENGLAND: "There's no reason for me to be here"

...but i am.

hello, from london. what is my purpose? to listen to the strange voices that surround me and document my reaction to these crazies. it has been a quiet day. within me. but overall, incredibly telling. my flight. must catch.

it's been delayed, but they just called.

this airport is genuinely beautiful. heathrow everyone, fly to heathrow.

everyone, that is, that listens.

welcome to my first time abroad. a good beginning, i believe.
the land here is no different, just the movers.