Fleeting memory

I'm starting to be a bit mad at me. My memory is like my collection of LEGO: I still have most building instructions, but I miss some valuable pieces. Gradually, but relentlessly (another very strong word that Björk helped me discover today), the beauty of past experiences is slipping. Recalling the scent of a lover, the date of a date, the grin on a friendly face, the colour of eyes, the ring of the kind words and even the warming of the heart do not escape the sieve.
It is time: I will soon have to write everything down. My tendency for the dark is enabling me to remember more of the pains and angers than of the laughter and joy, so if I do not take note of all this grace, Nullabee may have his hands full of only scary reminders: not good for the attempt to trust the world.

So I wrote down a little more of Prague. Funny: more and more I see it could have been Munich or Rome for all that matter: the city was barely there (in spite of its obvious elegance): it was all about night time talks about not being Buddha (what do you expect if you don't see the idea of a Chinese culture (-; ), too many drinks to last half an hour without a pee, people with life bursting out of them, games of all kinds and promisses of further greatness (Oh yeah, guys, as far as I can tell, the correct translation is a wooden beam).
I also have some photo's. These help remarkably well, so these are in place here as well. I have too many to bother you with all of them online (450 pics taken, reduced to 115), but surely I can find some that will always light up my day. Most of these have nothing to do with tourism, but guess what: I don't mind forgetting how Prague actually looked; I object to letting the pulse of life in it leave my mind.

There are words that will never sound the same again: sushi, poker and even beans are obvious examples. Mike's nationality is another (-:

The only other relevant recollection I have, is still missing: I'm awaiting some guys over there to do the dirty work, and type in those neatly folded papers with the results of our late afternoon in book Nirvana. Hello? Don't get too caught up in representations there, young men!
For inspiration, here's one more picture, the inspiration for a series of poems I'm bound to write: 'Miss Around':

Oh, oh, one more thing: don't forget to check out MySpace, you Dutch speaking lot!