J is a proper European that you don’t see very often anymore, that you’d expect walk out of a medieval mansion. He has a collared shirt under a mud-colored sweater, soft hands that never did a day’s work, a Cambridge education that ended with transporting thirty kilos of books back…

“I don’t want people to know,” He says. We are looking at the very thing we are in: our blossom of love; the mud puddle of excitement, confusion, fear; the night friendship turns to romance by way of physical touch — first a hand on the thigh, then a tilt…

Day: Aurore — There is so much movement in the marble sculptures, a lightness so contrary to the quality of stones. One girl (Aurore, 1900, by Denys Puech) lifts up her long, draping hair that envelops her, looking up and smiling from where her hair parts. At some places, the marble is so…

The coot submerges himself into the water, his head being the first to disappear. It’s gone for some time, then some time more, some time so much more that I would no longer remember having seen him. …

So we are going to Switzerland. So I am going with Ujeza to stay with her cousin, which means for free, which in my opinion is the second best condition for travel. The first is when you feel — or, rather, are overtaken by, because you never really have control…

I bought a pack of antique matches at an antique market. I assume that people collect these for their packages, but I bought it simply out of my distaste for plastic lighters, which is almost as much as my distaste for neatly factory produced objects. They are blatantly single-serving. Nothing…