~no faces when photographed~

November 28th, 2016

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Dinner at Clärchens Ballhaus, built in the late 1800s (in the Gründerzeit), to celebrate our first dinner date sixteen years ago today.  Then a seven mile stroll across the city in 23 degree freeze, with a stop midway to greet Goldelse. I massacred a bit of Als das kind kind war (aka Lied Vom Kindsein/Song of Childhood by Peter Handke), as this statue always recalls the film Wings of Desire for this Yankee.

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When the child was a child it walked with its arms swinging,
wanted the brook to be a river, the river to be a torrent, and this puddle to be the sea.

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When the child was a child, it didn’t know that it was a child,
to it, 
everything had a soul, and all souls were one.

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When the child was a child, it had no opinion about anything, had no habits,
it often sat cross-legged, took off running, had a cowlick in its hair,
and made no faces when photographed.

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When the child was a child, it was the time for these questions:
Why am I me, and why not you? Why am I here, and why not there?
When did time begin, and where does space end? Is life under the sun not just a dream?

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How can it be that the I, who I am, didn’t exist before I came to be, and that, someday, the I who I am, will no longer be who I am?

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