Today is this day. 
Questions are answers. 
Split as always, whole as always.
And taking off.

At the airport everyone was kissing goodbye, slow sensual cliche kisses, searching eyes for answers, beating chests, standing on tiptoes. In the seat in front of me an older man talks to a younger woman in German. She mentions her boyfriend a lot. The guy next to me has a nervous tic, repeatedly snapping his fingers, vibrating the arm rest. He takes out papers about cash flows, and now closes his eyes, fingers to a standstill. Then sudden full body jerk. And stillness again. 
Before I left my friend told me my life stories were reminding her of a seventies band. Time to get out of town for a bit. See the small world from above. 

In Berlin they say some left wing punks have set fire to a BMW in a nice calm neighborhood.

This is the least of it, the world really is in tumult. 

She thought about him, she thought about language.
She thought about how he was a figment of her imagination, a springboard, a bounce, a mirror. She thought about how he did not exist.

In the south of Germany there is a full moon on the solstice, the first time this has happened since 1967, the Summer of Love.  She stands watching the full moon from the window of her mother’s childhood home, wondering what fantasies of travel and escape were running through her head as she looked out this window in that year. Her grandfather shows her the fields that he plowed as a sixteen year old, six weeks of plowing in exchange for a pig for the family. He was the youngest of eleven, but he was the tallest, like his father. 

Everywhere she is there is soccer and everywhere she is they win.

In Lisbon there is an easy breezy apartment with the room from her dream. 

The projected album piece "Songs from a Tall Room" is a response to Leonard Cohen and an investigation of Flipping the Muse

Cobblestones. Balcony. Sea below and winding walkways.

An Irishman tells her about his broken heart.

The British exit the European Union.

In Italy there is a man with a very Italian name and she wants to be riding with him on a motorbike through the hills to a mountain pool for the rest of her life. 
They drive through a flock of sheep, the town is empty. A car drives up, a big man with white hair in a ponytail, he is a famous musician. He says, tell them I sent you. The town is silent. The pool is at the top of the world. To one side there is a cage with unexpected peacocks. In the water they are
completely alone, or the town has secret eyes all around. Swallows arc and circle above, dipping down into the pool for a moment, and another perfect moment. Le rondini.

He helps her film things.

From the right angle she can blend in with the trees.

What is this hidden world. She tries to take a picture in the dark. 
The only evidence we have is our shadows. 

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