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.:Sunday, November 06, 2005:.
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Fais que ton rêve soit plus lons que la nuit.
"Dromen zijn waar omdat ze gebeuren,
onwaar omdat niemand ze ziet"- C.N.

L'espoir de la victoire Cela importe mon ami . Vangelis.
I'm dealing with a reality that is intractable and manyfaceted and essentially unknowable. I'm pre-occupied. Like some Freud's essay where you're about to fall from the bridge without safety net, a parachute or a falling angel that reaches you right on time like Klark Kent playing his alter ego. Like a dream in a sub-alternative reality. That's the whole paradox, a transparent or mysterious reality.

I went to Utrecht yesterday. "Yesterday" like that lovely serenade from the four of Liverpool, A song that actually came from a lucide dream hanging around Paul's unconscience.
I went to Utrecht and remembered how my past still keeps me alive and how my future, impatient to assume the world, walks its ambitions on city streets and guides it's vanities while drinking coffee with architects to be and photographers on the road. Like children from Koolhaas and muses from Bassett.

As I rode the bus back to reality, a poem from some dutch writer repeated in my memory an apparently process with quiet nostalgia, I felt like playing twister with immortality, right hand blue, left foot red. But you? are you taking the blue or the red pil? Are you here, there or somewhere else? Are we playing like space monkeys? monkey see, monkey do?
Aanwezig, afwezig (Present, absent) Has your world desintegrated over time? are you counting time or icecream spoons?
Is this summer or winter time?
I'm not concerned, just pre-occupied. I penetrate the mistery of time and I'm far from impenetrable to the migrations of my soul in a lifetime. My life-time.
Yesterday, Utrecht. Today, not @ home and tomorrow makes contact and breaks the moment in Istanbul, Colombo, Paramaribo or even Bali, who knows, do you?

Me, as L'avonturier, a true lover and a dreamer... will wait for victory while gettin' some sleep. I'll wait to be waken up with french kisses and English breakfast, all by Miha, a real gentleman from a cityblock somewhere down in Slovenia, up in heaven or back in Utrecht.



Now Playing: Last Flute (J. Derwort)- Best served with: Beer and cigarrettes in Utrecht.
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.:Lo wrote this at: 3:52 PM:.
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