Thursday, December 07, 1995

Thursday, 7 December, 1995

Finding fault with the composition. Aided inspired multiplied, criticism from amateurs, necessary enemy, like the furniture, blurred at this moment, a hidden unity, becoming themselves on a shifting map. Bandages, walls, harbors affected in this respect, this stopping of time, dissolving them in fluid. Condemned to the irreplaceable experience of knowing it. This lack of events. Invisible traces, tombstones. Shining patent-leather boots. Clearly against the background. On both shores, trains. The gap opened up by the urgent needs of the moment.

There is no crisis. Living means wanting everything. Have always struggled. That's her business. It is buried forever. Everything has already happened.