Berlin and getting organized. Welcome back to my depressing transmission. It will become juicy again I promise. Just have to get on the move again. What’s wrong with running anyway? And your unabilities, you better understand that they have a function too. Aren’t you a bundle of functional fiber? You have to understand the function of every cell of you, in order to master the “grand function”.
The eighteenth of August, two thousand and nine. A day on death-row. Executed only a few days after, when the firesquads of angst will shoot it into oblivion. Is there beauty in this day? Most probably, yes. Black is not her face, nor does she smile morbidly. There are messengers of beauty in this day, they may be fruit flies with their microscopically small hairs, sitting on a green leaf, they may be some portrait images flipped over by the wind that visits the room, they may be old breadcrumbs left on the tablecloth. There are fond memories of this day but they are not in my head. I want to know why. The past, after all, is not an army attacking us from behind. Does anyone have memories of this day?