Not even a Sunday, just a Sunday morning. Three scenes, a thousand words. And the necessary backdrop of the melancholy Central European provinces. The square by the Danube: the river has risen a bit in the last few days, and the long-hulled boats, either on their own or with the aid of tugboats, struggle against the current but they slide quickly and almost soundlessly in the other direction as the brown water foams.
I was still very much under the influence of the surrealists, of attempts to approach the unconscious;
Theres a line. It forms down the center. Indicated by a strip of stiff red poly-nylon attached on wither end to two freestanding aluminum posts, the line forms down the center of the room.
I awoke this morning to find that none of the many irritants in the world irritated me any more.Great! I said. Its about time.