Fast Food Fast Women

And I'm obviously gonna write about the opposite. Yesterday Jane came over with a fabulous home made lasagna. She spent a fortune and 5 hours to cook it (you wouldn't believe it, I know, but she even made pasta herself). So we had a fruitful conversation (for anything but fruitful won't do) gorging ourselves on that wonder of wonders! She told me she'd started a new job. And there we began. Whenever the word "job" is pronounced with us, we usually end up asking each other what we'd be doing if money wasn't an issue. My all time favorite answer used to be: quit teaching and dedicate all my time to writing. Yesterday I suddenly realized I'd probably be too bored doing no teaching whatsoever. I'd positively miss my students, they are my biggest source of inspiration, after all! So I thought and said I'd still teach, concentrating more on issues like gender studies and literature, but would make sure I had enough time to devote to writing. Jane would love to set up her own restaurant business. I do hope it works out with her one day. Then another question came up: whether we are good at being actresses once in a while. That's clear with me: I'm doing non-stop acting 4-6 hours a day. That's what teaching's all about, actually. And I love it. It's really important when there's something in your life that makes you come across as happy and content on a regular basis. What's bad about make-believe if it's making you believe? Isn't it what we all crave? Okay, I'm not going to blow you mind any longer with my philosophical musing. I'll just mention that today after work Veronika and I dropped by Velvet for the proverbial cup of coffee, which also meant having the ever so soothing spinach soup and gorgeous chocolate pudding. (Both of us seem to be in love with the redhead confectioner at Velvet!) It felt so good to see her after these dismal two weeks I've been through. Good Monday night promises good week to come! Hope it's great with you, too. Cheers!

Any time now

Many stories have already been told, written, read and reread. Many but ours. So far. So good? We’re on c2c train heading to Fenchurch Street in London. Here in England with its dampness and all I often end up with a ponytail or a bun, a couple of hairpins are supposed to fix it. Today is no exception, for Leigh-on-Sea is goddamn windy again. We had breakfast and took a walk to the station. We got lost in the too similar to each other little side-streets. We were talking, laughing, holding hands, crossing the streets where we shouldn’t have and you kept on forgetting about the left-side traffic, which I find so irresistibly cute about you. The wind rumpled my hair and you fished out the hairpins. You’re fiddling with them now, and I love looking at your long, slender fingers. I’m sitting at the window and we’ve just passed Upminster. What are we gonna do in London today? Perhaps it’s best to leave behind all plans and intentions and go in for a complete impromptu. Each stop the train makes adds people and it’s becoming harder to be invisible behind the tall seats. I’m writing in my Moleskine, you’re trying to figure out the TweetDeck on your iPhone 4. You’re holding my left hand in yours. You’re caressing my fingers driving me to a mute ecstasy. I feel like stroking your unruly black hair, like removing your specs. We are both sleepy and slow today, which is no wonder. I couldn’t go to sleep last night and kept you awake. We overslept and missed at least two or three alarms on my iPod, but, nevertheless, the stubborn ducks kept on quacking. Hate’em! We then shivered under the shower cursing the forever chilly old English houses… I can’t go on with this when you’re not by my side. Forgive me all the present and past tenses I used. It’s Fenchurch now and I must be off.

Best Saturday night in a long while

Last night David Brown and Brazzaville were playing at TASS. I hadn't planned on going, but everything just fell into place and I ended up having a really great time at the concert. His 'Clouds in Camarillo' has been getting me ever since the summer of 2007. This time we had a nice chat after the concert. There's positively something out of this world about him. He says he loves small atmospheric towns like the one where he's playing tonight. I asked him whether he still lives in Barcelona. He says he does, because it still inspires him in a very special way. And I must admit, Barcelona is a very special place. I've been there a couple of times and it did leave a trace in me. It provoked a lengthy talk with a friend once. At night, at a hotel, having gallons of coffee. It went something like this:

- Do you like it here?
- That’s a tricky question. I can’t say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to it. I’ve developed a strange relationship with Barcelona. I’m always here unexpectedly; usually en route somewhere else. This time is no exception. Did I know leaving New York in June that we’d next see each other in Barcelona? My mind tells me I’ll never love it as much as I love London and Paris, but my heart keeps falling in love with Barcelona every single time I end up here. And each time it lasts but a few days.
- Go on, that’s getting interesting! Do you remember your first time? Your first impression?
- You bet! First and foremost was fleur d’oranger.
- Fleur d’oranger?
- Exactly. Once mother and I went here for a week at the end of February. She went on business, I accompanied her. I don’t know why she took me with her, she normally didn’t. Maybe because it was just before my birthday and she allowed me to skip several days at school or maybe because she wanted to distract me from the pangs of my awkward first love.
- How old were you?
- Fifteen and everything was hopeless. London was forever raining, while in Barcelona it was already spring. Can you imagine, just an hour by plane and you are in a different season. Plants were in bloom, including orange trees. That’s what particularly struck me – the smell of fleur d’oranger. Nothing compares to it. We stayed at a small hotel in Eixample and in the mornings when mother was busy in her gallery I went for a walk on my own. I walked down La Rambla to the port and then looked for some park and everywhere I went I could smell fleur d’oranger. The whole city was shrouded in the bitter smell of unborn oranges, which is far more complicated than that of ripe oranges. My feelings were somehow similar – bitter and hopeless. The feelings which were never to develop just like I was never to see how the white blossoms on the trees would turn into fruits. Don’t you know why I’m telling you all this?
- I reckon I do. What’s between you and Barcelona this time?
- This time it’s even more complicated, but also more interesting. I’ve only been here a couple of hours and she’s already under my skin and it doesn’t matter if this feeling will evaporate as soon as I leave her. It’s important I’m having it – here and now. She is the most reckless and eccentric city I’ve ever been to. She pulls out the inmost. She’s different and unpredictable every time and you never know what she turns out to be next. Strangers cast an eye on you as if they know everything about you and you can’t hide anything. She is like litmus paper which reveals the most intense and hidden feelings. Only for an instant, though, and it’s ever so fleeting. Besides, here the presence of the sea is more evident to me than anywhere else. She lives and breathes the sea. Everything comes to her by the sea; everything goes from her by the sea. And she’s stood still for two thousand years already and is pretty infuriated about that.

I think it's high time I got back to you, Barcelona!

Fall

- You're outside, it's the wrong time?
- Time is never wrong.
- I sometimes forget about the difference.
- That doesn't matter.
- Tell me what it's like with you.
- Sunny and heaps of fallen leaves.
- Warm?
- Yes. You know that special feeling of enjoying something which is due to disappear soon? There are days or maybe even hours left.
- You're frightening me.
- It's just fall. It's always like this. Something fades away and you have to tear it off your heart.
- You're right. I've completely forgotten... You've reminded me of something really important.
- Don't say what. Let it stay with you so far.
- I thought you'd say that.
- Joy is always followed by sadness, then comes oblivion and then it's the turn of rebirth. The proverbial circle.
- Then it's the season of sadness now? I'm coming back to New York in a couple of days.
- That's good.
- See you there.
- Sure.

Night in

It's a Saturday night and I'm staying in. More than that, I'm completely on my own. It feels right, though. Okay, since it's Saturday night anyway, I'm supposed first - to summarize on the week, second - to make plans for the weekend. Well, summary first? This week I've had 12 classes, edited 4 chapters of the book, and watched 3 films. Besides, yesterday wandering around killing time between the lessons, I happened on a place which sells Moleskines! Purely by chance. I can't tell how long it's been since I had a Moleskine and how desperately I wanted one and now I've obtained it - it's black, pocket size lined Classic and it's totally awesome! Now I'm comfortably tucked in bed (yes, I was thinking of an early night, mind you, it's only 'thinking') and I'm trying to figure out what movie will put me in the right mood for tomorrow. The romantic side of me craves for rewatching something like 'The Ice Storm' or 'The American Beauty', while the pragmatic one claims I still haven't seen 'Into the wild' and, anyway, there's a heap of DVDs on my bedside table! I'll probably choose on being pragmatic tonight, which doesn't mean I can't tweet the slogan which has been getting me for something like 12 years now: 'The American Dream was over. But the hangover was just beginning. (c)' I can't even explain why 'The Ice Storm' is ever so important to me. I remember only too well how I saw it first. It was a late autumn of 1998 and I was in Russia and good old NTV was still good and they beautifully dubbed movies. It was a late night showing and one of those precious moments when if feels like you've just been through something truly important and you've instantly become more mature. I can't say for sure how many times I rewatched it (I now much prefer the original, of course). But I remember last time I saw it was 2 years ago and that again coincided with a very controversial stage of my life. It's pretty obvious now, isn't it, that I'm not watching it tonight? I should give it a little more time. But, most importantly, I don't fancy doing it on my own. There's someone very special I want to do it with. Someone who is just the same way into it. Then it's worth waiting. And now I've had a cup of hot chocolate, which I don't feel guilty about and I'm right on my way to pick up a movie I haven't seen yet. Have a good Saturday night, everyone!

Music to my ears

Yes, it's Friday and yes it's not TGIF again for I'm working tomorrow. But still the end of the week feels great and I get the mood for watching some nice movie and finding something new music-wise to sync my iPod with for the next week. Music is my greatest source of inspiration in life. If under certain circumstances I was forced to live without music, most probably I would only survive a couple of days. My music taste is very eclectic. But the most important thing is music sounding right for the time being. Want some names? Here we go. (The order's gonna be purely random, of course). I like Jamiroquai funky sound, especially in the beginning of summer. I like PEACHES when I'm on the way to work and in a bitchy mood. I love UH HUH HER, they are awesome! I discovered them a couple of years ago and have been loyal ever since. I can't go without Alina Orlova in early spring! Her complexity and poignant voice never fail to put me in the very special mood! I used to love Kings of Leon, they will forever be associated with someone back in 2007. And although I'm now over them, "Sex on Fire" is still on my iPod. I like the Verve which again bring reminiscences of two unforgettable people. I've been totally in love with MUSE since 2004. Their Unintended saved me through one particularly harsh summer. And yes, it's predictable, but my iPod is never RADIOHEADless! David Brown and Brazzaville went so good in Barcelona two years ago. Amy's ever so dramatic and I love that about her! One of last autumn's (other known as my "very French period") discoveries is AaRon and his album "Artificial Animals riding on Neverland". Placebo's My Special K hides an amazing coincidence for me. CocoRosie with their proverbial Lemonade concurred in so many ways with this hectic summer. Its other pleasant discovery is Holly Miranda. No doubt I have missed out on at least a dozen other important names, but I'd never miss out on Kurt and NIRVANA. I've been seriously into them since I was like 12 and a very dangerous mind.

Dropping you a line

This week's been pretty strange for me and not only. First of all it's still unusually hot but instead of feeling great about it I was really sad today walking along the street seeing the fallen leaves. The air is different now from that of spring and summer, it's much dryer and kind of electric if I can put it like this. Besides it gets dark really early now which is another reason for taking the sweet autumn blues. I've already mentioned on Twitter I haven't got my laptop on me tonight, that's why I'm forced to be using my cellphone to go on the Internet. It's not particularly convenient, so typos might be inevitable. But who said my spelling is flawless? :) Anyway, to kill time tonight I finally finished re-watching "To kill a mocking bird" (no pun intended) and it felt so good! In fact, it always does with this kind of old b/w Hollywood films. Why did I re-watch it tonight? Because I was in the mood for something thought-provoking, because someone worked late and we couldn't go out, but, most importantly, because someone else who means the world to me is nicknamed the same as the little girl in the movie. And that special someone else has just woken up and Saturday, October 2 has just begun there. The world is a wonderful place at the end of the day (again, no pun intended). Do I remember now what I began this post with? Do not forget I'm typing on my cellphone which allows me to see only the line I've just written. But, of course, I remember. Sometimes I wish I didn't have that painfully good a memory as I do. I began with saying how nervous this week has been. Especially yesterday. Maybe it was just the proverbial Friday syndrome or maybe something else was in the air. Whatever it might have been, I hope next time V. and I see each other, she won't be overreacting about a mere trifle that had happened to her the night before. That's about it, actually. Have a lovely weekend everyone and sleepy, cuddly you!

When September is wearing out

I'm always sad at the end of something. Just one more day and September will be over. I've already mentioned that it's been exceptionally sweet to me this year. It's been full of events, full of thoughts, full of feelings. A lot of people I love have their birthdays in September which is such a blessing! I'd rather not mention the amazing colors of the leaves in September for it's way too trite. But I can't help dwelling on the color of the sky. Have you ever noticed how dramatically the sky changes in September? Just three weeks ago in West Wittering it was still summer-like and low. Now it's much higher and azure and so very fragile looking. The summer's been too quick again. I've just been re-reading some posts on another blog of mine and I happened on one which had been written just before I met you. Such a weird feeling. You've still no idea of what's exactly going on with me about you. And I've still no idea of what's best to do and not to do to break the proverbial ice. You do know, don't you, that when you're madly in love, whatever you do seems to be desperately wrong? It's the end of September and for both of us it's been full of events, full of thoughts, full of feelings. We'd better not rush things. We'd better live our own lives for the time being. I hear South Cal is sweltering again? Do come this side of the pond if you ever need to cool down. You know, you're always welcome. And have a nice day, as Tuesday's just begun with you. 

Random thoughts

Just saw Tasya van Ree's new video "Blood is thicker than water". So good! So fresh! So talented! Amber and Whitney are amazing! Made me think of my beach holiday in West Wittering, Sussex just three weeks ago. There's nothing on the face of this planet which I love more than the sea. It doesn't matter which and where. When I feel lazy and in the mood for heat, I usually go to the Mediterranean. My favorite ever spot is on the Tyrrhenian coast not far from Rome. I used to spend innumerable hours and days there. Reading, writing, swimming, eating ice-cream, watching the sunsets, forgetting about everything, believing things were gonna work out the way I wanted to. I'm never miserable near the sea. Never. This summer I was too heartbroken to head to Italy and decided to stay at the English seaside. I know this seems like a very strange kind of logic, but that's just me. The sea in England smells different compared to that of hotter countries. Even its very salt is different - in England it's much finer. The water is cold, sometimes shockingly cold. But strange as it may seem again, it was exactly what I needed. I swam every day, sometimes for as long as an hour in one go. I shivered and trembled when out of the water and had to immediately put on my hoody. Did the clear cold water of the English channel help to cure my heart? Time will show. One thing is for sure, it switches off all the random thoughts and the only thing you're likely to have on your mind is: how do I survive in these insane waves when the tide is coming? And that's good. Because if I'd stayed in the city just a little longer, if I'd checked on my email 200 times a day I might have well flown off the handle! I'm much better now, thank you! Thank you for your unawareness. Thank you for making me stronger even without knowing it. Thank you and I'm not being sarcastic. A year ago I couldn't imagine what I'd be going through now. And there are no regrets, naturally. They never work.

The promice I can't keep

I promised myself many a time I would never ever again fall in love with someone who is allegedly involved with someone else and at a distance. I've broken my word. I fell madly in love. Something that began with a chance encounter at the end of April has grown to be an uncomfortable, controversial, torturing, but still a wonderful feeling to experience. I couldn't imagine in my wildest fantasies that you and I would happen to be invisibly connected by such a great number of coincidences - too meaningful to be ignored. Although there's nothing much I can do about the situation apart from keeping my cool and never letting you know the inmost so far. I don't know what's going to happen next to you and to me. I'm not sure whether I want to see you this side of the pond right now. I can only hope one day we concur in time and not only. And I hate myself for doing it. I hate myself for being weak, for being unable to put a stop to it, for being unable to accept things as they are. How do I kill that annoying mocking bird in my head, ah?!  

That day in September

Yesterday was unusually, lullingly warm with us. In the afternoon I caught a bus to get to work for the two classed I was due to give. I felt hot and had to put off my jacket. The bright sun dazzled through the windowpane. I pressed "shuffle" in my iPod to mix the songs. And when that girl got on the bus I was listening to Kirsten Price's "Magic tree" and I even remember the line in the lyrics "Knocking on hard wood like I know you should, You'll be shakin' on the kitchen floor". Okay, there she was and she sat next to me: utterly bad tasted, wearing cheap jeans, dark purple high boots, long black tee shirt, fake leather jacket; on top of that she was poorly made up with Amy Winehouse's worst day thick black eye lining. And in spite of all that she was an absolute goddess with her finely shaped nose and delicate facial features. I wondered if she realized that. I wondered if such thoughts ever came through her mind. When I got out of the bus I remembered it was my friend Kate's birthday. I dialed her number and for the seven minutes I walk from the bus stop to work we were chuckling on how weird it feels that it's her second birthday in a row when we end up in two different parts of the globe. Thank you September 21! It was a good day for us. Hope it was good for you too!

The Heart Is Deceitful Above All Things

It is. No matter how pretentious it sounds. It is deceitful. You texted me last Friday saying you'd missed me badly and wanted to see me for a coffee. I worked till 8 pm and couldn't do anything about it. I asked if you'd mind to see me after 8. You didn't know. Our schedules are pretty conflicting this autumn. I wanted to see you. I tried to shift my late class, but in vain. At about half past four the strangest thing happened: the late class canceled itself, quite unpredictably. I phoned you. You said you'd be free in half an hour. We met at five sharp and our casual embrace was probably a fraction of a second longer than usual. You said you'd missed me. You said it felt as if you hadn't seen me at all since I came back. I felt so too. I felt there was a little more tension between us than before. You wanted a scarf. That blue, striped Indian scarf which you'd seen a couple of days before. I said we should go and get it. We did. And dropped for a pizza into a restaurant nearby. It tries its best to come across as Italian. It was raining when we went out. The first proper autumn rain after two weeks of nervous dryness. Quiet, ingratiating. I didn't have my umbrella and we sheltered under yours. We talked and laughed of silly little things and it felt great for the tension had finally disappeared. The damp warmth was blissful. The leaves murmured above our heads. And I kept on thinking of the startling, huge, awkward, fluctuating feeling I've nurtured towards you in the past four years. And I couldn't help admitting to myself how agonizingly in love I am with someone else. I told you, didn't I, the human heart is so deceitful. 

My cousin Paul

That time Paul and I met in one of the cafés around the Duomo. I don't actually like the place for you can hardly have a quiet talk over a cup of coffee there with all the tourists rushing about. Thanks goodness it was not exactly the high season. But Paul is Paul. He adores luxury, he loves posh places and he absolutely despises the industrial outskirts of Milan. In my opinion Milan is far more theatrical than Venice even. It hardly exists behind the small coin of its very dramatic downtown.

One of Paul's favorite spots in the downtown is an elegant café in the Gallery of Vittorio Emmanuelle II – just across from an eloquent sign reading in looped silver letters “Fratelli Prada”.

“My God, Paul!” I exclaimed when he raised from his chair to greet me “have I just seen a McDonald's over the corner?!”

“You're desperate, sweetheart! But don't mock it straightaway! Seen its colors?!” Paul gave me a big kiss on each cheek, “You look fabulous!”

I was waiting for the proverbial “I haven't seen you for ages!” and was even ready to respond he is such a bastard being “that busy all the time”, but he was smart enough not to mention it.

“What shall I order you, darling?”

“Something nice. Actually, you should know better, you live here, don't you?”

“Due macchiati e due cornetti,” he said to the waiter.

“Con la crema o con la marmellata?” the guy must have not noticed how concentrated on each other we were to mind the fillings in the pastry.

“Okay, you tell me now what you are doing in Milan,” Paul began in his usual suave tone.

“Isn't it you who's supposed to begin?”

“I might well do that, if you wish. As you probably know, I bought a flat here. But I can't say I've already managed to figure out what for.”

“Do you really feel like settling down here?”

“Who knows? After all I found something I really like doing in the fashion industry. I tell you, it feels like something I fancy doing!”

“I fancy doing! You sound like a limey!”

“I was a limey once, wasn't I? In fact, we both were! Do you ever think about that time in Oxford?”

“I think a lot about it. It was not that bad at the end of the day.”

“You mean it? Don't you think we all tend to idealize the past no matter how miserable it was?”

“Could be so. The past always seems smoother than the tormented present.”

“Aren't you happy now?”

“Not as I used to be.”

“What happened? It's somehow connected with this escape to Europe, isn't it?”

“I lost a child, Paul.”

“Oh my God, Liz, I didn't know! When?”

“In the spring. I thought I was going to lose my mind.”

“What was the term?”

“Ten weeks. John was really depressed as well. We've been through such hard times. So we decided to take time off.”

“I see. How long are you planning to stay?”

“John's working on some research. Guess we're gonna stay for at least a year. I don't care about it.”

“Are you working on anything?”

“Yeah, I’m doing some writing. At least I’m trying as hard as I can, ‘cos it feels awful to do nothing, apart from leafing over and over my miserable experience. And I’m also working on some lectures, although I still can't bring myself to come back to the university.”

“I think you'd better not rush with that.”

“It's so good seeing you, Paul. I missed you awfully!”

“I missed you too! We should get together more often. Though I’m going away soon.”

“What? A business trip of some sort?”

“Yeah, I’m meeting up some guys in London.”

“Really? Say “hello” to my beloved Soho, will you? You travel a lot?”

“Seems so. Do drop in some time, will you? I'll leave you the address. It's within walking distance from here.”

“Everything is within walking distance in Milan we dwell in. Okay, I will. For sure. Is Thomas here with you? (I stressed letter “a” as usual)”

“Thomas (he stressed letter “o” as usual) is here with me! We're forever together!”

“I bet!” I paused. “Don't you think it feels strange? I mean, I've been here a couple of times before and we stayed at some hotel and now we're staying at that strange flat where I want to change every single thing because it's not mine! It's so not mine!”

“Even John?”

“John's not a thing, he cannot be changed! And why are you forever mocking him? Is it your jealousy speaking?”

“Who wouldn't be jealous of you?”

“C’mon, stop it, Paul!”

“Neither Jane nor I was ever so important for anyone in the family as you were and are and will always be!”

“Stop it, Paul! That's not true! That's not fair! And you shouldn't be telling me all this!”

“Maybe they are just deep-rooted childish frustrations. I should have probably overcome those bats long ago, but you know it's a damn hard thing to do!”

“Paul, have you ever thought what my life's really about? Have you ever put yourself in my shoes? There's nothing fabulously special about my life and you wouldn't be able to survive some of the things I live with! Do you really think that when a late child in the family is pampered by all the kin much to the jealousy of her brother and sister, do you really think it makes the child happy? No way, Paul! No fucking way!”

“Don't go so mad about it!”

“I try my best not to!”

“I’m sorry if I touched a raw nerve with this.”

“You did! Indeed you did!”

“Please,” he took my hand, “can I walk you home now? I really want to!”

I looked at him, at his clear blue eyes and wondered why, in spite of really loving each other we were never ever able to have normal, healthy brother-sister relationships; or, to be more exact, cousin-cousin relationship.

“Thank you, Paul. But I'd rather drop into a couple of places on Via Montenapoleone before going home. You don't fancy carrying my shopping bags, do you?”

“You always had enough money at your disposal to spend it elegantly!” he smiled one of his most charming smiles and I instantly got what he was driving at.

We both stood up and hugged.

“Take care of yourself, Lizzy. I'll see you when I come back from London.”

“Have a safe journey,” I replied somewhat dryly for I still couldn't bring myself to forget Paul's silly attack on me and to be my usual loving self with him.

Needless to say I didn't go shopping then. It was just an excuse not to walk home with Paul. I roamed about Duomo a bit. Had a drink at one of the bars (it was 4 p.m. already and I thought I did have the right to have a drink) and strolled home.

I strolled very slowly the too-short-for-thinking distance and once at home (John was still at work, naturally) I made myself a cup of coffee, settled on the sofa near the window in the so-called living-room, glanced at the neon “Geox” sign just opposite our home and began recollecting my “Oxford period”.

When I'm in a NYC state of mind

In a fortnight I returned to New York.

The morning I flew was chilly and cloudy. The sea was all foaming, sluggish, dull olive, under a delicate haze. Subtle hints here and there of the inevitable change of the season.

Suitcases packed. Grandma and grandpa kissing good-bye. Miles and miles of French countryside from the windows of Sud Express. Paris. Charles de Gaulle. Nine hours among the clouds. La Guardia. Another world.

Indian summer reigned on Manhattan in its ultimate gorgeousness. New Yorkers were coming back to the city from the Hamptons. And I, as never before, enjoyed the merry bustle of the Madison Square and Broadway and Park Avenue. It even seemed at times that my wounds were healing, although I knew that the poison was still in. I went shopping buying new clothes and shoes and in the pleasant fuss of it hardly noticed the arrival of the fall. The cool wind from the coast prompted at times that the season would click soon, until, at last, shy rain at night quietly whispered that a new season had officially begun.

It was my first fall at university then. Paying due tribute to the presence of the itchy French genes I went on studying the Romance languages at the philological department of Cornell. 

An hourglass

Life is like an hourglass. At first it seems that the sand doesn't pour at all, that it pours out at the very last moment when there's no time left to think about it. The present is inevitably stealing. We can never withhold it. There's only the past and the future. Our daily routine never fails to distract us from the pouring sand. So more and more often we do not notice anything else, even the hourglass itself.

Barcelona

It wouldn't do to hide your eyes here. You see someone. They see you. You look straight into their eyes. They look straight into yours. You understand everything about them. They understand everything about you. You keep on walking your way. They keep on walking theirs. Probably, that is why Barcelona, more than two thousand years pierced with these glances, is so impressive.

Barcelona is an open place. As any port it's open to all new and strange. Because all new comes from the sea and goes away by the sea. It accepts everything that the tide would leave. It's never surprised by anything. It looks straight into one's eyes for everyone's equal before the sea – the biggest thing in the world.