He has been visiting. Some described their feelings. Michelangelo didn’t have a camera either. Aristotle also had no computer. Odysseus also had no car. Who was Karel du Jardin? Who was Leger? How are you. The deconstruction. The beauty of destruction. Destroyed cities, networks, visionary, Utopia, art. And the identity. You adopt suggestions to make yourself more interesting (not more beautiful) more attractive (more beautiful), but the decorations have no connection with your own historical self, they only have to do with appearance. Not with your own self, your own inner self. Or: the externalities connect with your own current self and thus become part of your history. And then: if you want them gone, they still seem to be more firmly anchored in your personality than you assumed. You take on suggestions, and then you are sorry, and you want to undo them. In the undo you destroy that in which you have included the suggestion. The damage must be repaired, but the repaired damage still reminds us of the desired appearance. And the ax hangs in the large firmament above the supermarket. A great future, boring for yourself. Imagine boring. Also good for removing suggestions. You may not have noticed that you arrived in spheres of great bliss, like Piet Mondrian who was filling the white with white in his Boogie-Woogie in 1941 in New York. The white in his painting as the space in Hannah Arendt’s policy. But these hours are lost. And he sang: “A … shirt I am wearing, shirt I am wearing, shirt I am wearing”. That, of course, cannot be verified. An individual case in a private situation. That is not a parliamentary inquiry just before the next crisis. He was old anyway, but that is not always an excuse. Because there are older men who are older and don’t sing, certainly not something like that. Although that cannot be verified. We don’t really know. Unsure. But the old man was older, though. Then they removed that mural from that older painter, that and that, after protest from the neighborhood. They found it shocking, inappropriate. Slightly too much thigh seen from behind. A little too much towards underwear, a little too much suggestion. Yes he could, that and that. Yes he could. Yes, he died recently. Yes, he was old in his nineties. Rustling in the leaves. And he thought the garbage lies in black plastic garbage bags in two rows along both sides of the tramway. A stork picks up the bags with its large beak and removes the edible waste. Starts it up and clatters with its beak. He almost smiles inside now, so it seems. The old man is not wearing any clothes and can no longer find the newspaper. He thinks everything, but not the newspaper. The old man gives me a fan. It is already an old device but it is still doing well. The plug in the socket and there the fan starts to run, it also swings back and forth. The pale light shines with malice in the gaze of the stork. He always had to start again. It is then important, perhaps, to refer to the source. A broadcasting guide. Undisturbed that go its own way. A broadcaster. Donald Duck and the bears. A guide. It had become a habit. A guide from the broadcaster. The psychological mess. There is a lot to be said for that. The writings. Walt Disney cartoons. Parent. The booklets. Provided it is the right way. Astronaut Bruce McCandless only moves through space with the help of his backpack full of rockets. Parent. The right direction. He says he has a “beautiful and magnificent” view of the earth. He had to start over and over again, time and again … the smooth running of things. Milestone in space travel. He (inserted), and what about me? Just keep doing what you did. He wondered again and again. Successful walk in the universe. As an arable farmer. Who was he if I were him, or was he me? Those figures pop up everywhere. At the end of July at two o’clock in the afternoon in a big city. It was more or less clear to him. At that time already. That was already fifteen, twenty, twenty-five (35, 38) years ago. “So long?” Dramatic lifelines. It is already busy in the park. That suddenly seemed important. How do I walk to the park. Smarties. I quickly find an empty bench anyway. The time described. There seemed to be an arc, rise and fall, and then a peak in the middle. With the promise, perhaps. It is two o’clock in the afternoon and at the end of July. The appearance of reliability. However, the high point seemed to be one of the many lows, and not even the deepest. The multitude seemed to miss nothing. There is even a waste bin next to the bench. Much has been missed. So perhaps it was a high point, among the many depths that made it difficult to climb. Nothing can happen to me here. I was. I sat down. He knew it.
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