Life Is Weather. Life Is Meals.

We Were Moderate, We Will Never Know What It Is To Spill Out Our Lives.

You Lived And Died Alone, Especially In Fighters. Fighters. Somehow, Despite Everything, That Word Had Not Become Sterile. You Slipped Into The Hollow Cockpit And Strapped And Plugged Yourself Into The Machine. The Canopy Ground Shut And Sealed You Off. Your Oxygen, Your Very Breath, You Carried Into The Chilled Vacuum, In A Steel Bottle.

Why Is It So Difficult To Assemble Those Things That Really Matter In Life And To Dwell Among Them Only? I Am Referring To Certain Landscapes, Persons, Beasts, Books, Rooms, Meteorological Conditions, Fruits.

They Are Travelling Cheaply, With That Touch Of Indolence And Occasional Luxury That Comes Only From Having Real Resources. They Live In Levis And Sunlight. Sometimes They Brush Their Teeth In Streams.

Being Somebody: It's One Of The Ideas In Life, No? That's What My Father Made Clear To Me. The Importance Of Being Somebody. He Wanted To Be Somebody. And He Underlined To Me The Fate Of Trying To Be Somebody And Not Quite Managing To Do It.