It was a Saturday morning, and the windows and doors and eyes and ears were open. Wind played with the light curtains and we sat in a soft place in the back of the apartment, talking about really silly things, like maybe the color of a falling leaf, or the strange idea of making pictures about the absence of things, or... well maybe just other things. And there were some pictures taken, some were really very bad, or just very different and there was a cat or two, or maybe some other animal, I do not remember. And the ceiling was far away and the music was just the perfect other person and there was coffee in the cup and there were little pieces of some sort of fruit on the table and there was some sort of bagel on some sort of plate, or maybe there was milk in the coffee or was it tea or was there bread or maybe an egg?
And there were no passwords and there were no logins and no firewalls and there were no filters and one could hear the words between the lines and there were actually no lines. None of that. Just really some sort of undocumented conversation, though a very nourishing one. One that really opened new doors, and new rooms not reachable with any kind of search engine.
Such simple stuff... and even writing about it here is one of the funniest things in the world...
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