And iiii am at Plac Zamkowy and it’s raining
My friends, goodbye. I left you there on the street. I had an idea for a time machine
| Влади́мир Ильи́ч Улья́нов | dohánybolt| vážně | грязный | & twoim otoczeniu | & there was no curfew
But I am not at Plac Zamkowy, it’s not raining
And when I live my dream I’ll forget the things you told me And the empty man you left behind It’s a broken heart that dreams, it’s a broken heart you left me Only love can live in my dream I’ll wish, and the thunder clouds will vanish
And I am in a coffee shop in Łódź, on the corner of Nawrot and Sienkiewicza. I am sitting down with my coffee when this group of absolute nutters invades the place. One has on a Guy Fawkes mask, one has a guitar, one has a tinsel wig, and one appears to be carrying a tray with the nativity scene on it. One of them is doing a morris dance. I just ignore it but it’s pretty funny.
I can’t hear the song they play anyway, as I have my red and white urBeats in-ear phones on, and My Truth by Cocteau Twins is playing at full volume into my head (from my Android phone) which alongside the weird side effects of the decongestants I’m taking has the effect of partial environmental block-out. Valuably subtracting any element of sincerity from this exercise in psychogeography. What’s meaning, and what’s meant? And today, Łódź is Las Vegas and everything is repairable: everything is broken
But I am not in a coffee shop in Łódź on the corner of Nawrot and Sienkiewicza. I am in beautiful Bucharest, huddled in a doorway on the Strada Maria Rosetti, which with decongestant side-effects and half-closed eyes, could almost be Palermo. And my urBeats are playing Damage
And when I live my dream, please be there to meet me