If I could trace the lines that ran
Between your smile and your sleight of hand
I would guess that you put something up my sleeve

i’m sad tonight.
it’s a melancholic sadness, that melts within sights into something bright and happy.

as usual in those mellow times, i find a new song to discover and soak into, and tonight it’s josh ritter. i feel the music resonate in my head until it flows naturally through my silent breath.

From the hills and up behind, my town
is naked from the horizon down

i have finished my first notepad tonight, some minutes ago. i look at it, and i can watch all the time that i’ve spent filling it with my small pictures. it feels heavy, the weight of thoughts and images that i’ve captured almost by mistake. it’s my notepad, but it isn’t my own. my pictures are mine, but the images don’t feel like they belong to me. i don’t know why it is that way.

We walked up in the fields alone
And the silence fell just like a stone
That got lost in the wild blue and the gravel grey

it is said that bruce chatwin had the same kind of notepad, and he said that he didn’t mind losing his passport but that losing his notepad would seem like a catastrophe.
i think i can understand that, now.
i think i would like to pick the address of somebody unknown, anywhere in the world, and send it to this stranger, this unknown person.
i think i would like to make a whole collection of similar notepads full of images and offer them as a gift, it isn’t really that those notepads would worth much, just that maybe, making them and having them has a meaning of some sort, something that i’ll never be able to find, something that i’ll never be able to see by myself…

come and find me, now…

it feels sad that my notepads will end up on a shelf or in a box, eventually, because i can carry but one at a time in my bag.
and maybe i’ll be old and i’ll have boxes and boxes full of those notepads, and maybe someday i’ll die, and maybe the boxes will get lost, and maybe by then the pictures will have faded out, and maybe nobody will be able to decipher my poor handwriting…
and maybe making them is vain, if you think in terms of lifetimes and time that brings everything down, but maybe i’ll keep doing what i’m doing because it has a purpose i may discover only one second before i die, you never know…

Though I’m here in this far off place
My air is not this time and space

i believe that some people would consider my notepads beautiful, this isn’t an illusion, i’ve heard their thoughts, and i’ve seen the looks in their eyes, yet, it’s so ephemeral, like all beauty should be, it doesn’t have any purpose, like all beauty shouldn’t have, and maybe it doesn’t have to have any meaning…

you don’t know it’s right until it’s wrong
You don’t know it’s yours until it’s gone

i open it on the first page, and i’m face to face with the remnants of last summer evaporating slowly in the soft air…everytime i open it, the images of my thens distillate themselves into the smells of my nows, it’s a slow death, memories trying to escape from the spaces that we allow them to take.

come and find me, now…

my new notepad looks thin, flat and boring. but i know i have already new pictures to feed it with. how to stop once you’ve started to feel comfortable only with a notepad full of your head ?
maybe i’m sad because i’m leaving a small part of myself in this finished notepad…

I keep you in a flower vase
With your fatalism and your crooked face
With the daisies and the violet brocades

i’m not sure why the end of this notepad bothers me that way, and leaves me with a sort of helplessness that i can’t seem to understand.
i should feel happy to start a new one, and i do. but i don’t think that it’s much of a coincidence that my very first notepad is finished approximately when i’m leaving my comfortable job for my great dive into the unknown…

Hoping you will come and untangle me one of these days…
come and find me, now…

…and i’m beginning to wonder if one lifetime is about enough to figure shit out…