A glimpse of an experienced moment so short, this entry should be read in under a minute. And if not, then not, then maybe not tonight. To be read standing, and as quickly as only possible. Skipping words is not only permitted but encouraged: The guards were really tiny in the giant room. They were so incredibly reduced in their size by the towering architecture. Millions and millions had been spent to achieve this important effect. The reduction of the guards to almost nothing is an old trick. They might look tiny, my friend, but they are still more powerful than you are, no matter what you have paid to get here. They might look unimportant, but compared to them, dear visitor... you are, well... do you even deserve a name? The uniforms of the guards and their frequent change of stations, make them appear as mere representations of an idea. They are not humans... they are "the guard". No, don't you even think of touching this. Na, step away from that wall, walk up straight, keep moving. Oh, wait, I was not even there. Or was I? I lost the count, really. Maybe I am not able to see the difference between the experienced, the imagined and the yet to be thought of? Did I have a conversation recently with a man who thought of me as a rather curious piece placed in a magical chamber next to procession of little plastic animals? The names of cities he threw at me, I juggled them as well as I possibly could. He looked at the holes in my left sock and I stared right between his eyes and knew that it was easier for me to deal with the names of what he thought were his cities. They were attached to such completely different memories. London: I remember smelling the corners, and they were soaked with urine and oil and probably blood, from the hands of those who sometimes arrive at night and try to move the buildings with their bare hands. Or maybe the hands with the buildings? Paris: If somebody is preparing a hell for me then it is going to look like the streets of this city and I will to be driving around with a giant car, looking for a parking space which I will never, ever, ever find... But on the other hand. Heaven is here as well. This is the city where I understand that it is my job to be not understood, at least not until I buy so much wine that I receive a free embrace from the owner of the little shop on the corner. Oh, this is the worst description of Paris. Berlin: One time only, I think. Me sleeping on the floor at a director's house, the movie was supposed to be about my escape from poland, I had brought my own sleeping bag. Poisoned myself in the traffic jam going home. Threw up for days, until the blood vessels around my eyes started bothering me. Ich bin kein Berliner. Rome: Never bin to. Nancy: It rains, there is fighting. The city is beautiful and the food is good, but it does not soak up screams well enough. At least the walls in the hotel are upholstered. Things bounce off the blue hunting scenes on the ornate fabric. Not much breaks. Munich: I am stretching on a giant sofa, fingering through a picture book of Herb Ritts black and white nudes. In the air some perversely sweet parfume. Obsession, perhaps? Insanity maybe. Hamburg: We leave the door of the van open. On the back seat about $50,000 of video equipment. The door remains so, until we return, the next morning. Hamburgers do not give a damn about other people's stuff. I spend the night on the floor next to a gigantic Anna Oppermann piece. Maybe it was not so big, but I remember it being giant, overwhelming, there, in the place where it had been created, unfinished... These are my cities, among others, they will never be visited this way... and also this sacred place here, it is not really entered. I feel like a really tiny guard now. I am really really tiny, yes, I know... but I feel like I have to protect the treasures of this room. And so I do. I mightily move around the toes in my sock. So they come forward and look dangerous, like little weapons. I could be like a fighting rooster (or are these called "fighting cock"?) Oh and I wear a uniform as well. I am the idea of the man dressed in a blue shirt, black pants and those ridiculous socks. Wohoa... wait a second. What am I thinking? I keep forgetting that I am part of the display. Even a most outrageous behaviour would only better define my crazy nature. My jumping of any kind would just be a confirmation, a good night story to scare some very bored child. A few years form now. I manage to collapse, eventually, turn myself into what I like being most, a simple, invisible thought, one that can just do outrageous things without even being noticed in any way. As simple as that. And I love cold nights. And I love gingko trees who guard treasures. I love when birds land on the water while there is a wind that makes hair a curtain. I love piercing looks that say so much, so much, so very much. I love the cup being held up to a smile. And I love a smile that does not even require lips because it glows from shy eyes. New York: All of the above, and that is not even the beginning of things. And it is so ridiculously late again. And I will probably suffer horribly tomorrow, when I will be in a car for two hours being driven out to a special meeting out of state. Out of state of what? Okay... reading can slow down now. Calm. Quiet. Good night. stop.