To catch sight of an island from a boat could be more pleasurable than ever setting foot on it- Edouard Levé
Do you know the story about the hand imprisoned in concrete, that melted? The story from the human with only bad anecdotes?
No, oh, never mind then.
It is a mis-memory of memories...
You are playing Ping-Pong on a solid outdoor Ping-Pong table You hear a splash
The Ping-Pong ball ew in the pool
You net it out and persevere Ping-Pong through the ashy heat
Later you ash your cigarette gently in the folds of the waves You are seated on the platform that water slowly submerges Haptically ashes get sucked up by pump
Do you remember the sky? You left Ping-Pong behind, went to the beach in your friend’s car. It broke down on the side of the road and got towed.
You never made it to the beach, but you walked alongside the water
later with them, over jagged stones and misplaced, malformed, old rubble.
You sat down on an abandoned waterfront stoop
Together you sang so your voices echoed like in a ne old amphitheater
What a day! What a day!
One of the crispiest in memory!
Like a long sip
Like the shade
Like a break in steam Like a breeze
Resisting longing, watch the steam scale the stairs, do not breath too deeply- Madeleine Braun