6.9.2004
Blue Coast. Saw the sea. Its noise; a dark tone, like artillery, which bursts on the rock. It was so wild, far out, maybe even between Tunis and Marseille storms. Wind, that drives the waves to our little bay. Water masses, flowing chaotically into each other, like conversation flows after several cups of coffee, when the tongue becomes fluid. Crackling sky-blue terry foam on top. Had to go in, albeit with fear. I am quickly surrounded by more sea and that stops my madness for this day. Then we hike along the coast. Flying over the abyss, weightless. The cities over there, kalkweiss, whipped by this sea, Marseille, the city, where I want to drink coffee, afterwards and admire the spices in the jute sacks, praised by Arabs with beautiful eyes, deep as the sea, schwarz, like the shine over the harbor, when night falls. Auf La Madeleine. Royal blue the next day too. Inland. Played with stars with bare feet: The frenzy of the cicadas. The language of the sea fading away. Oh, going together somehow.