grenoble means walnutt or chestnutt....

.... sifting through the scrap metal and years of collected and neglected boxes and buckets of refused rusted iron, steel and aluminum wastes, a basket of old plumbing joints marinated in rain water let loose a secretion of slime and the ungodly unholy smell released by the bowels of two unidentifiable dead corpses, my guess baby animals, either birds or frogs, and who knows what other bestioles and insects that thrive off of the floating mix of rusted waters and neglect of old.

The smell. Jesus the stench of aborted fetuses who died shitting themselves mixed with the old and dejected ejaculated preservatifs (rubbers) of last week surely now giving life to deformed degenerates incubating in plastic garbage bins under the 34 degree Celsius southern france mid-summer july heat. A smell i am sure garbage collectors quit their jobs over regularly at this time of year. all babies look the same, but God help whoever catches a glimpse of these poor souls.

Trying to make logic out of the in-organized abandon of a vietnamese restoraunt patron saint of guilt. Who happens to be my (x?)wife's father and who's cook became his lover, and who's family became his burdon.

Life is so repetitive its nausiating.

Everybody sucks, fucks, cheats, lies and steals the same.

No one is exempt from the collective conscious' conscience that keeps us up at night and keeps motivating us in the day to uphold some sort of whacky bizarre translucent facade of having our shit held together, and some 5 year plan for our future.

None if this interests me , or even seems to matter while sipping on a Balantines on the rocks , and beer , under the natural umbrella of a healthy and leafy green tree next to an above ground pool with even greener water. More of a cemetary / breeding ground for lizards slugs and insects of all races, than a place you'd want to soak any one of your orifaces.

This makes me laugh. And as i do, i almost burst out crying.

And so i decide to cheers the sante of all present company, and secretly i dedicate these gulps of emotion numbers to absent family and friends who seem so far away.

All this, on the first day of my 30th year in the garden of my (x?)wife's father, with the father of my (x?)wife's child and the sister of the x-wife of my (x?)wife's child's father.

What?

Quoi?

All the characters are present for your typical french film of an A-typique families life/love story.

Cut.