30 June 2009
Pierrot le fou
Maybe I'm daydreaming. She reminds me of music. Her face. We have come to the age of double men. We do not need mirrors anymore to talk to ourselves. When Marianne says, "It's a fine day," I wonder what she's thinking. All I have is that image of her saying, "It's a fine day." Nothing else. What's the point of figuring it all out? We are made of dreams, and dreams are made of us. It's a fine day, my love, in dreams, in words, and in death. It's a fine day, my love, it's a fine day in life.