Desire Caught by the Tail

Today I learned that Picasso wrote a play, entitled by the above sentence fragment.

I also went to the Museu d'arte Contemporani de Barcelona, and walked on broken glass:
This is Cildo Meireles and his instalation, which I very much enjoyed. I had to sign a waiver before I walked inside it.

Before that, there was a room. A red room. All red. White walls, white light.

It might make you go mad.
A sink, running red liquid·blood
with which to paint the room.
With which to paint everything.

Photo credits: Leitura Favre, Maria Gimenez

For you.

If I was in Oxford, I would make you some homemade soup.

However, I´m not. That´s sad.

It was the song that shattered when the musicians stopped listening.

In the White Horse, a boy asking for pie and a man staring blindly into space.
Loneliness as tangible as incomplete thought or moment of time years past.

Time always. Not the right time, she said. I agreed. She wore a beautiful gold necklace.

Not that I do not want it to be.