He Went to Paris: I can smell the Darkness


And he went to England; played the piano, married an actress named “Kim:”…  She was a good wife… ‘I’ loved her.

This is a continuation, albeit a flashback, to my story of Janet and Random Memories from The Middle East.

Months before the events inked here, here, here, and here, I found myself in Paris (actually two Paris’s—One Texan—One French). Confus’d yet? Stand by: it grows worse(r)

Let’s back up a mite (mites are hard to back up by the way, militarily that is: damn small and damn slippery, them mites… and they tend to mite-bite one, usually on one’s ass)

We call that “Green on Blue” and if you are following the recent news cycle, you will surely know that, that is inappropriate. But that is just how I roll. Screw Afghanistan and their pretended bullshit “We gonna take over security of our country…” Won’t happen. But after ten plus years there (and some several months there by me, after Iraq–got ‘liberated’–now there is yet another joke. I can speak to the idiocy that is ‘our’ foreign fallacy.

I was in Sinai, 1978 and I received a letter from my step-sis. This was not unusual back in those days, as we were still ‘speaking’. She sent me a rather long and boring letter regarding Honey Grove and all the ‘Happenings’ thereabouts. The letter was indeed ‘boring’ until I got to her ‘PS’. It read and I quote (loosely), “By the way, R is marrying J. Jesus-Beezus!”

This was, to me, devastation by way of bad.

Unspeakable news!

‘How could she?! She was MINE. Mine to mine and to have and to hold… just as soon as I finished with my wanderlust. How dare she?!” How DARE she?!

What to do?

Well, I had some R&R time ‘on the books’ so I hopped on a freighter (airplane), and flew back to Texas, ostensibly to break up the marriage, just like Dustin Hoffman in The Graduate. Problem was, was that I screwed up the dates and the logistics, and arrived not in time to bust up the wedding, but just in time to see the happy couple speeding off fast to Waco and their honeymoon.


Never having been more depressed at missing a rendezvous, what to do? Rebound Son! Rebound!

So, I sought out Janet. Let’s call it a ‘bank shot rebound.’ I knew she was working at the Hopkins Lamar (See? To this day, I never know which county I am in)  County Courthouse as a probation officer, so I timed (this time, my timing was spot on) my entrance during her lunch break: Intercepted her coming down the stairs of the courthouse.

“Hey Janet!”


“C’est moi! How’s Trix?”

“You are supposed to be in Egypt,” she said.

“I escaped,” I said. “Wanna have lunch?”

“Uh… Sure. Why not?” (Why not indeed)

We went to lunch. Then she took the rest of the day. We went to her apartment and drank gin. Later that eve, after I had regaled her with fantastical tales of the Middle of the East, she took a drag from her Virginia Slim and asked, “So are you gonna f*#k me tonight, or what?”

I said, “No Ma’am; I am gonna make love to you—something I should have done five years ago.”

So we did—I did—make love to her.

The problem now became that I had a plane to catch to that other Paris: that one in France. The other part of the problem was that my plane was waiting in Houston. I was about five hours at seventy miles per hour away from my Air France plane at Houston Intercontinental. I had to go. Now.

I hit the road to Houston, not really wanting to go, but I had promised my buddy Bart, Black Bart, that I would meet him in Paris on such and such a day. Naturally, I ended up missing my flight and arrived Paree a day late. On the taxi ride from Charles de Gaulle airport we drove under a bridge and the taxi car lost its windshield to a lone rifle shot. (my theory) “Terrorist?” I asked the cabby? (en français).

“Merde!” Was all he said, as he dodged the flying glass. I did not care anyhow, but this rather happenstance occurrence did not bode well for my first day in Gay Paree.

“There’s my hotel!” I exclaimed as he had managed to (somehow) keep driving.

I paid him off, got out of his now mangled, windshield-less cab and made my way into the cheap hotel lobby. Went up to my room, dropped my shit; then went looking for my buddy. Found him at last sitting on his rack, rather sullen in mood. I checked out his room. It had a wonderful view of the Eiffel Tower.

“So Bart,” I asked finally, “What have you done here in The City of Light for twenty-four hours?”

“You see that tower there?” he asked, pointing to the window.

“Yep,” I said. “That would be the Eiffel Tower.”

“Well, since you didn’t show, I went out on my own… and hey! Ya know what, they don’t speak English here? I went out on my own. (You mentioned that) Walked over to that tower, looked up at it—kicked it—and said to myself, ‘Yep. That there Bartamus, that there is the Eiffel Tower. Then I came back here and took a nap. And would you please tell that France Maid that I do not want no f*#kin’ breakfast? She wakes me up in the f*#king morning with her biscuits (‘croissants’ Asshole) and lousy coffee.”

“Sure Bart,” I said. “I will post a note, en français on yer door.”

“You speak France?”


“Well Hot Damn then! You be Bogey. I’ll be Bacall.” (of course)

“I weren’t able to bust up the wedding.”


“The Wedding.”

“Oh you mean between R and J?”

“Yep. That one, you moron.”

“Yer better off,” he said.

“OK. Then why am I so depressed?”

“Dunno. Did you have any other adventures while you were back In-The-World?”

“Matter of fact, I did. I hooked up with Janet.”


“Nope. No bullshit. Why I missed my flight, in fact.”

“Well, I was just about pissed off at you, but now I unnerstand.”

“Thanks for that,” I said.

“Hey!” he said. “Let’s smoke a bowl and you can tell me all about it while we go and kick this town in the ass.”

“Light her up,” I said. We smoked and drank and then off we went stoned and semi-drunk and in Paris (France) Just two more ugly Americans (Texans)

Now Y’all…

I hesitated while choosing the vid to represent this post. Then I swerved onto this one below. It is somewhat depressing, yeah. But, but… This is how I see my life ending up. I hope you will take the time to watch, listen, and comment.

Vid Credit: 




To Be Continued… Hopefully.

“Losing his hearing, but he don’t care what most people say.”

“Lately I been thinkin’ I just might quit drinkin’…

“I feel like Hank Williams tonight”

JJ Walker

tex flag

41 thoughts on “He Went to Paris: I can smell the Darkness

  1. Pingback: No Bare Feet Beyond This Point | Texan Tales & Hieroglyphics

  2. Reblogged this on Texan Tales & Hieroglyphics and commented:

    Hell yeah!
    He went to Paris (and Rome, and Basra, and Kenya, and Sydney, and Cairo, and Tel Aviv, and Diego Garcia, and Amman, and Dubai, and Baghdad, and Kandahar… and…. Honey Grove, TX)
    So what?

  3. Waxing philosophic now yeah me, him, her, you, yeah.
    Perfect song for the end of a not-too-cautious-wasted-nothing-to-show-for-it-life-lived-youth-squandered.
    But lived.
    Oh Yeah: That’s me.
    (And “thanks for the pepperoni”— sorry, inside Lenny Bruce joke— maybe you of all ppl Heathen, git it– then again maybe not)
    Here is a clue and a nickel:
    First the clue: LB.
    Now the nickel: Religion INC

  4. I’ve always loved the high note ending of that song. That’s really what it’s all about, isn’t it? Some of it’s magic, some of it’s tragic, and what matters is which you elect to focus upon. Come the Apocalypso… 🙂

  5. Stuck on Lenny Bruce now. I never knew he existed! (I am so ignorant!) Loving what he has to say. (Hey, I just realised that I hadn’t commented on your actual post yet. I’ll get the hang of this commenting lark yet. In the meantime, keep writing and I’ll keep reading… and listening to Lenny.)

  6. Ann was/is cool, yo. I wouldn’t mess with Ann. I’d rather be doomed to a life lived without ever knowing the joy of being a Texan than fuck with Ann.

  7. oh, yeah… easy. I thought I was gonna have to mud wrestle Ann Richards’ ghost or something. This’ll be a piece of cake in comparison as I’m pretty sure Ann’s ghost would kick my ass back to Arizonee.

  8. It really is just so simple and harmless:
    You must eat dillo chili.
    In sight of the Alamo
    and drink Lone Star Beer (from San Antone)
    Easy yes?
    Oh… and you have to know the six flags over Texas, and you have to know the name of Sam Houston’s dog, and you have to have shaken the hand of Lance Marcom, and you have to have…. been to Cut ‘n’ Shoot, TX, and you have to have known at least one HS Semi-Famous football player, (preferably one who has been on TV, i.e. “Friday Night Lights” which means you must have been to Odessa, or Midland.
    One last thing:
    You must own an awl well…
    Easy, yeah?

  9. Oh, shit…

    I’ve been to Texas. My dad lived there fer twenny year. As a result I am most afeared to ask:

    What’s the initiation?

  10. Hey! Jerry Jeff Walker was born in NY State. He got over it, and became a Texan Icon.
    There is yet hope for you.
    But you must pass the initiation…

  11. two chay.
    Mercy Bow-Chops.
    ( I knew there was a raison for this season…)
    You make me smile, and yes: I read your blog and love it.

  12. How dare you!

    Dude. Have you READ my blog? (I know you have.) You don’t ever have to apologize for being in a mood to me. I don’t begrudge anyone the right to feel feelings.

  13. “Some of it’s magic; some of it’s tragic, but I had a good life all the way”–jB
    I think I am done here.

  14. As a wanna be Greek hoplite…no, “hopeless” romantic, I will need to think on this…
    You, you, yes you! are my new best friend.
    No pressure!
    I love yer well-thought-out commentary…
    (and you type almost as fast as I)

  15. You keep writin’ it, and I’ll keep readin’ it. 😀

    All love is true when you’re in it. It’s only after that we start doubting it. We have this screwy idea that it isn’t true if it doesn’t last “4 Ever” but human beings generally aren’t wired that way.

  16. The sad part… is that I would trade MY life for a life such as described in that song. A rich life.

    Granted, I have seen and been around the ‘whurl’, been there, done all that, but I never had that true love to lose… tragically, or otherwise. I guess I never slowed down long enough.

    Thanks for reading and thanks very much for listening to my ‘mostust’ ‘bestus’ favorite JB song…
    “He was impressive. Young and aggressive…”

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