Spring is here. Blossoms are falling already. Leaves are open and amazingly green.
The sewers of Paris are restless and infested with flies and other insects. I'm coming up crawling out into the light. My varicose veins bursting with energy, sending a chill through my skin with every heartbeat.
Bois the boulogne is preparing for the high season. The lonely men at dusk, the lonely women with tiny babies during the day.
There's always someone to rob, to seduce or to lie to.
My pink poodles, jean-pierre et jean-claude are losing their hair. All of it. They are a highly aristoratic breed and have ancestors with incestuously blue blood. The hair loss is only a small disadvantage I have to reckon with. I'm making a nice wigg out of it anyway and I've put both of them in one of my old corsets
. It's orderly, it's fine. I'm going for a stroll.
A la mode: baby birds