Heumarkt

Last night it was beach and party. But after all, “Wien ist anders”, as the promotion says. I remember mornings of paradoxical solitude in cramped underground trains, listening to Ebba Forsberg, reading those words over and over again.

At eight sharp this morning, someone called me, but my w880i played me another trick by turning itself off and erasing all traces of the phone call. Or maybe it was all due to my own confusion, I certainly felt a bit “damisch” this morning, as the Austrians would call it.

Yesterday, Markus gave me a collection of African poems which he bought on his trip to Ghana. Deeply appreciated. Osundare is one of the poets featured. I stumbled upon some fragments by Abioseh Nicol which reminded me of reef-building corals:

“Words are like shells
Many see only their outer hardness
But the wise hold and open them”