Rain in Bolzano

All the emails i send and get, and here and there a postcard, and the book i am reading, and the conversations i have with people, in this or that language or in no language. It all flows somewhere in my head, some drop of correspondence blends in with a conversation that flows down a blue tube and then pours into a pool of group emails, and then something hard, a stick or a straw, something left from last nights reading, a style, an idea, cuts in and moves the fluids in a new direction. I would like all of you to put your hand in every pool and stream, feel the different temperature and the changing tempo of flow. Try the other hand, maybe it feels different.

Celine Dion tells me that her heart will go on. Maybe that should be enough? Maybe asking for sense, continuity is too much? A beating heart is after all nothing to take lightly. My heart is also beating, i am sure. Allthough lately i have been busy feeling my neck, my jaw and all the other movement- preventing muscles that are activated when sitting by a table with plenty of food and very few words. In two days, somewhere near Berlin, with one dear friend and lots of people i dont know, hopefully the melting of the neck and the slow beginning of movement will start. And then i will know that my heart still goes on.

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