Dreams, signs, fragments, margins, letters, one could also add love and memory to the list. My enchanted kingdom is filled with real aimlessness. The more the better. All that is left behind after it has disappeared is quiet. In the end I feel there hasn't been enough time to play. I want to say good-bye to this irrepressible feeling right around now though. After the color, the shape and the words have disappeared what will be left? Perhaps that is the tragedy of the twentieth century.

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