Diary 6: La Voie De Bijou De Paris (The Trinket Streets Of Paris)
My most admired secret Spy and Reader, hark Your memory back to those few posts of the past in which I drew – without any grown-up inhibitions – comparisons between myself and that of the little explorer who took a fantastic dive in a rabbit hole only to find herself in a whole new world whose natural grain was of the most unnatural order. Her name, of course, was Alice and the world that I speak of is Wonderland. A firm resident of my ever-swelling library at home, Alice and I are carbon copies of each other, we do not have a hope in the world to survive without some sort of adventure under our sleeves! The air we breathe is second to our first priority in Life: To actively seek out knowledge and to share it out to others so that it births sunshine in whomsoever chances upon it.
If You have not had the supreme pleasure of reading Lewis Carrol’s masterpiece then I suggest You get off Your horse and make a run for the nearest bookshop now, for the significance of the photograph that I present to You this evening will only become clear and resonant if You are learned in the story that pulses backstage.
Once again You squirm and coil in tortuous anguish. What on earth is she babbling about now, You huff out! Your mind has already leapt to the monochrome photograph of the street stall stacked with artistic collectables, and the posters hang as if they were clothes left out to be dried by the sun or, for the photographically orientated eye, You might liken the scene to an outdoor red room! Well, the story was that I happened to have splintered away from my siblings somewhere over the River Seine, my senses exuberantly infatuated by the many streets-side stalls crazed with trinkets of all shapes and sizes. Dusty old covers of LPs, vintage books whose smells would require new adjectives, and film prints of pivotal films from the sea of noir that is French cinema. All fluttered in the breeze, but ONE, yes ONE, poster found me. IT found me and not the other way round. Le Corbeau translates as ‘The Raven’, the plot synopsis is rather sinister and macabre and I had never heard of it but that was not why it peers out so prominently in this photograph. It shone with singular energy because I knew in my gut – in my tummy – that it would serve me well in the future. Literally! You see, in Alice In Wonderland, a notoriously famous and world class riddle is cited by the Mad Hatter to Alice for which she cannot reply with an answer.
The riddle is as follows: “Why is a raven like a writing desk?”
I shall now prove to You that Magic does walk with me. A nonsensical riddle will always refuse a smooth and uncluttered consensus however if You click on the link below and read the first line in the main box that begins with ‘The answer..’ , the chances are that You will either sink in a puddle inundated by tears of joy, or burn Your bubble cheeks in ravishing strawberry blushes! Whichever it is, be prepared to undergo an over-reactive explosion, in an INSTANT… :))
P.S. Say CHEESE….! :)) :)) :))
Photography & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Near Saint-Michel| Paris | France 2015