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| | mardi, janvier 25, 2005

It has been awfully cold last night in my cardboard box underneath the Gare St.Lazare.
The trains make a terrible noise because everything has been shrinking during the night, widening the gaps between the rails and stretching powercables. My poodles get desperate from listening to the high piercing sounds of trains braking.
When I take them out for a stroll in the fresh snow, they shiver and start lifting up their tiny feet as high as possible. That's ok, because so do I. We parade around in the snow like Arabian mares, ready for a horse-training championship.


| | mercredi, janvier 19, 2005

The story doesn't end. What really happened was that a woman looked out the window of her office and saw 2 big apartment blocks. She had looked at them daily for years, several times a day. But that day she needed a story. To get her out. A dead body to clear away the guilt. To wash away - no - to prove that certain parts of her life were a fiction.
A fiction that disappeared in the powdered cracks on the faces of old women she watched at noon in the sandwich bar drinking coffee and talking. Widows. Always at the same table, in the shadow of the ugly concrete apartment blocks.
A fiction of things to come or things never to happen.
She watched the old lady with the black dog and dignified hairdo drag herself along the pavement with a walker. Slowly moving, struggling with clenched teeth. Nobody looked, nobody ever cared whether she would finally make it to the sandwich bar or not.
So every afternoon the woman who wrote the story nodded at the old women in the sandwich bar. She smiled at the black dog and the dignified hairdo and thought of death. She tried to imagine what the 5 last years of her life will be like.

But what about the story of Sarah and Claire? Did Sarah get killed in the line of duty, by a stray bullet, before she ever could tell Claire she loved her? Or did they get together again eventually?
What does it mean when someone tells you they want to spend their life with you? When someone whispers: "I want to stay with you forever"? Sarah always found it an idea too difficult to grasp. She used to run away from it without looking into her heart.

Back at her desk in the office the woman who wrote the story asked herself: "What do I prefer? Fiction or memory?"

| | jeudi, janvier 13, 2005

Dykes & the City and The girlfriend threw me a stick.

1. What is the total amount of music files on your computer?
Less than 20 MB and all corrupt

2. The cd you last bought is:
Simultaneously: Superdiscount - Superdiscount 2
and Neil Young - Greatest hits (because rust never sleeps)

3. What is the song you last listened to before reading this message
Horace Andy - Money

4. Write down 5 songs you often listen to or that mean a lot to you:

- Prince - When doves cry
- PJ Harvey - The dancer (from: To bring you my love)
- Most songs by Patti Smith
- Tindersticks - Rented Rooms (from: Curtains)
- Buffalo Tom - Tailllights fade

5. Who are you going to pass this stick to? (3 persons) and why?

- Jo because she likes music
- My 2 poodles Jean-Jacques and Jean-Pierre


| | jeudi, janvier 06, 2005

Monthly forecast for January 2005 (from Yahoo)

The 1st, everything might be a little hazy. That is, things aren't quite what they seem. But what can you expect after that wild masked New Year's ball? If you went with a cat mask and somehow ended up coming home as a peacock .....

What are they talking about? I can't remember that.

Oui, oui, I'm writing. Still struggling with the dead body.


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