Listening to music. And that’s all. Some Indonesian electronic fusion. And reading Dostoevsky, trying to understand him as others do– I’m relaxing, a day off. Of course, it’s a dream. I’m just listening to music. I put my book down. Think of Paris. It’s a dream, and with me, around me, the thought of the street and the walk down whatever street that was.. sure I remember but I don’t want to be one of those Americans that misspells it. Now a guitar, light but consistent with chords; musical all like the wine I sipped last night, what probably gave me this dream.
I lost the way to where I was going and I never have a way. Had it. Now gone.