Sunday, 4 December 2011
Straight lines in black and red have drawn an alternative outcome all over the bathroom tiles and I stumble across the floor like a three year old on a sugar high.
Sunspots outvote the closing of a perfect day.
The scent of fermented wheat pushes every shape of sound to the background as the mirror seems to have doubts about this reflection. An unfortunate act of force crippled an early ending.
The clarity of it all blinds me. Nothing will ever be the same.
Unbridled screams of panic escape my mouth as anger takes over.
At the breakfast table I put on a mask, made of the pleasure I extracted from our past.
The waiter smiles as he pours hot coffee over my head. I gauge your reaction. There‘s nothing there.
In the room, the smell of detergent slaps the future in the face.
De track kwam later en bleef om dezelfde reden op de plank liggen. Holiday Inn
Ik had niet de juiste beelden. Het klopte niet.
Een bezoekje aan Museum M in Leuven (dankjewel Dirk Braeckman en Mika Rottenberg) bracht daar verandering in. Er zijn beelden.