Pluie

A grand Piano with a view onto the motorway. Dreams of harmony and the constant sound of disappearance, surrounded by endless concretizations of disappearance.

Theres only one world where we are together, only one geometric piece of evidence.

I stumble upon a stranger and i sense enough mystery to imagine love. I live our vague relationship like a mathematical function of decreasing secretness, - a strange play of familiarity. I fall into the common fixation on my origin, a fragile dance between source and desire, longing for a new connection, a new world of possibilities, of warm and cold oceans, white and black sands, ice and volcanoes, of merging fantasies and needs, new swing alongs of complex, self opening uncertainties.

I wanted to be a director not dropping into conventional love language, but i am human and on a tender spectrum of Unbeholfenheit, atleast creating some beauty inbetween, some inspiring atmospheres.

I joke of coconuts and cocktails to clarify, that i will never get exactly what 'I' want. You could compare that with the essemble of expectations, that clash with the reality of a movie, the absoluteness of its opportunity loss.

One part of my brain will always write about the ten ways to happiness, the dreams of the ideal, my favorite virtualities and fairy tales. Why do i keep coming back to It?