létranger...

Thursday nite:

Rain, soft weak light and people Ive seen before in similar spaces... xx lager, wet sweater and very silent althought my thoughts were in fluent motion...in fluent curves.

Around me, talk is entirely of ideas, not of people. And if art is our relation to the senses, then they have none. They argue. Meanwhile, their human reflexes are totally absent. A Negro is an idea, a concept. To me, a person who becomes a symbol of what they have to endure.

There is a harshness too, a hard surface from which I shrink. I feel no sympathy or empathy. Just concepts. Any sign of feeling affects them like a breach of morality. The constant relation to figures (masses) seems to destroy the sense of humanity, very much, i imagine, as a general loses the feeling for his soldier as a man, and sees him only as a number in an army; a possibility to succeed. They call themselves artists, writers, intelectuals, poets, hipsters ha!!! ... a good antidote to inexpressive, deadpan faces.