I had a terrible jet lag. I would rather have been sleeping or to holing up. I hated myself, to need a dictionary even for cooking. During my whole stay I had this weird blackout, I couldn’t keep anything in my mind, I was not even able to remember the brand name of the butter she used to take. She was right. My English was very deficient for communication, „very limited“ just like the harmony between us. But why got the spoken word suddenly such an importance? We didn’t miss that in Italy. Although, I told her everything, what I wanted to tell. I don’t like to repeat myself, so I wrapped myself most of the time in reticence. In the meantime I realized, even if I didn’t want to admit it first, she only could give me the feeling through her letters. Her person was too strange to me, in reality I couldn’t let her in either. She couldn’t perceive me, cause she just perceived herself in her selfish way. She didn’t want to understand, what it meant to me to love her, to be able to love again. She just enjoyed narcissistically being desired, and my dependency due to the situation. She drove the car, I took the bus, if I could find a bus station. One night we were going out nevertheless, she was showing me some parts of the city, Little Italy, the Pier 29, and we were at John Lee Hooker’s Boom Boom Room. We didn’t meet the „Father of Blues“ personally, but I was sitting at his reserved place. Somebody took a quick picture for $ 5.00. We both looked sceptically into the polaroid camera, during Mr. C was thrilled blowing the harp.
Mr. C • CYCLONE SHUFFLE