Nu-mi simt trupul, m-a cucerit puritatea lucrurilor care mă înconjoară; nimic nu e viu; vântul suflă, linii drepte aleargă în noapte. - Jean-Paul Sartre

"A few seconds more and the Negress will sing. It seems inevitable, so strong is the necessity of this music: nothing can interrupt it, nothing which comes from this time in which the world has fallen; it will stop by itself, as if by order. If I love this beautiful voice it is especially because of that: it is neither for its fulness nor its sadness, rather because it is the event for which so many notes have been preparing, from so far away, dying that it might be born. And yet I am troubled; it would take so little to make the record stop: a broken spring, the whim of Cousin Adolphe. How strange it is, how moving, that this hardness should be so fragile. Nothing can interrupt it yet it can break it.
The last chord has died away. In the brief silence which follows I feel strongly that there is, that SOMETHING HAS HAPPENED.
Silence.
"SOME OF THESE DAYS
YOU'LL MISS ME HONEY

Non. Je ne manque nulle part, je ne laisse pas de vide. Les métros sont bondés, les restaurants comblés, les têtes bourrées à craquer de petits soucis. J'ai glissé hors du monde et il est resté plein. Comme un œuf. Il faut croire que je n'étais pas indispensable. J'aurais voulu être indispensable. A quelque chose ou à quelqu'un. A propos, je t'aimais. Je te le dis à présent parce que ça n'a plus d'importance.

Unser Leben hängt davon ab, was wir aus dem machen, was aus uns gemacht wurde.