Anna Karina, all she had to do was run through the Louvre to take my breath away, steal my heart. She didn't have to dance , but when she did, it was too much and my heart sort of broke a little. She broke Jean Luc Godard's heart,too. That's what exes do. And sometimes muses.

Anna K's a fantasy of mine. Not that sort, but that'll do, too - - -the woman is digable , I'm not blind. I do prefer Yoko, in principle, for standing by her man, never leaving. I'd rather have a Yoko ,all told. I heart the long haul. Jean-Luc, he may have had Jean Seberg in A Bout De Souffle , Brigitte Bardot in Le Mepris, Chantal Goya in Masculin Feminin but Anna K had this perilous radiance none of them had and, with or without knowing the backstory, you get this sense of a lot more at stake, which is how it should be with muses. And Anna K was the proper, righteous, consummate muse. Jean-Luc never stood a chance.

True story taken from Garrison Keillor by way of Jonathan Carroll - -"Robert Louis Stevenson was passing by the window of a house one night in France when he looked inside and fell instantly in love with a woman he saw eating dinner with a group of her friends. Stevenson stared at her for what seemed like hours, and then opened the window and leapt inside. The guests were shocked, but Stevenson just bowed and introduced himself. The woman was an American named Fanny Osborne. They fell in love and got married a few years later."

I saw Vivre Sa Vie some time back and it will become the Godard closest to my heart. The resident awe for Anna K's face, parts of it, if not most of it, like some porno of that visage. Everything begins with a face you can't escape. Even before the first word is spoken. Even before the first transfer of energies. Even before the parts match. The longing to connect. The urge to pursue. The thundering desire for love. The face reduces you to tongue-tied, sniveling, social deficiency. The face makes you palpitate like a caffeine drip. I have a wobbly theory that none of us are ever sucked in by a fat chance, none of us crush for longshots. There's no empirical evidence - - - how can there be? But it hasn't failed me yet so maybe I'm on to something. Love at first sight is not some wayward phenomenon, it's the standard. I don't know you. But I want you. All the more for that. Right.

She was the kind of young that would make me look like a perv, radiant and out of reach but catching no one else's nonchalant gaze but mine.

She was the best kept secret borne from fleeting encounters, remarkable for how the imprint got stickier and stickier with each run-in.

Is that you, my Anna K? Will you run through the Louvre with me? Could you be loved?

Bravado is an also-ran as I think about Anna Karina,about my own first sighting burning holes in my eyes, as I listen to Roky Erickson's You Don't Love Me Yet and Death Cab for Cutie's I Will Possess Your Heart one after the other, which is sort of trite and so is trying to imbibe the courage of its convictions - - - the cock of its bull as it were - - - but I don't care and do so anyway.

Jean-Luc said once that all a movie needs to sell tickets is a girl and a gun - - -a theory that somehow applies to everything.

A girl and a gun, yeah. Shooting at the walls of heartache. Bang bang.

*Previously published in Philippine Free Press and Swank

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