The Dream

Sure it's a dream.

Sure it's escape.

So what. What is the dream? It has only loose forms really. It involves a chateau, my chateau however could just be a two room apartment with a balcony, it must have a view but it does not have to be the riverside. A balcony overlooking an urban area with a tons of people milling around early in the morning, a market for example, cool. My chateau must however be a safe haven, I must be able to be there and to relax, to escape the world below when I want and to be very close to the world below when I choose to be a part of it.

What am I going to do there? Almost certainly teach. This is of course the best option, but wait I said what am I going to do not what I am going to work with. This is a common mistake, I often ask "What do you do?" but I don't really mean what do you work with, I mean what do you do? What makes you burn with passion? What makes your weekdays worthwhile? One of my two passions is photography and I don't mean digital I mean medium format film hand printed to large sizes and hung to show people. I want to have a gallery. It just needs to be a simple storefront somewhere which can be renovated to be really nice. It would be cool if I could afford to simply display the prints I want to display, my freinds paintings, whatever I want not comprimised by commercial issues.

What do I need? Surprisingly little actually, I have lots of things here, all kinds of things. I have the big screen tv, the dishwasher, the kick-ass hifi, everything. When I move I aim to have two bags with me, I will need some of my clothes, my poetry and my cameras. I don't need anything else.

Sure it's a dream. So what.

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Secret gardens




There’s a secret garden
inside the heart,
where even in the depths of winter
the birds sing.
And the flowers
unable and unwilling
to shade their colours
spring forth.

The wall around the garden however
is strong and tall
to find the door
takes a special kind of skill
the young and wild
stumble easily upon the key,
but with age
our vision clouds,

and the garden becomes more secret every day.



Lucien