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Memories are like a novel or novels are like memories.’ (H. Murakami)

I was just thinking, sometime last year, that I should burn my diaries. My good old notebooks filled with a long forgotten past, all gone and not important anymore. Burn them up somewhere in the good old Desert, where I had buried my good old dead soul. But what if my old memories would start screaming and begging for their right to live? Hm… On second thought, I didn’t like at all how they tormented me in my dreams…  So, off with their heads!

First days of the brand new year. First days with Murakami. We’ve been together for quite some time already. And his writings always make me hungry, longing for tofu, Japanese noodles, things I’ve never tasted, or green trees, mountains and fresh air, smelling of after-rain grass. Or thirsty. Of a cold beer, or an ungratefully bitter gin, some impersonal whisky, you name it!

This time the hunger should be for my thoughts. Not as much a hunger, but a still-hunting! Murakami’s writings would be the bait!

I’ve started re-reading his short stories collection THE ELEPHANT VANISHES in the last days of 2010. There’s something that drives me crazy about his short stories: their lack of an ending. They build up perfectly, all exciting and thrilling, perfect characters, perfect landscape, all credible and vertical – why would you question a factory for elephants or a dancing dwarf?

Isn’t it right that the above phrase misses an ending? Isn’t it that you would expect an answer to the dancing dwarf question? Oh well, keep dreaming, you won’t get any! DITO!

As for me, I’m still mowing lawns. I’m not very good at dancing. Besides, the dwarf’s proposal is all stinky.

(I’m wondering if Murakami likes Rammstein… Undoubtedly, I’m listening to some music while writing. It’s all dark in my living room, the Christmas tree’s still flickering timidly, and the white screen of my Toshiba keeps mingling the letters, just to mirror my thoughts all relaxed of the whisky and darkness – no metaphorical connotations here!)

The house in THE LAST LAWN OF THE AFTERNOON is very much similar to one of the houses in my dreams. I have recurrent dreams of a house with long halls, all dark and familiar, smelling of dust and memories, the rooms of which I wander endlessly, like a maze I don’t want to find the exit of… You get the picture!

As for THE TV PEOPLE, since I’ve already got a TV and kind of watched it a lot, they’d better give me a massage, if I have a choice here. I’m sure my cat wouldn’t mind them either, or my Iranian neighbours, or the fish in the tank in the entrance hall.

And, as it seems that I have a genuine aptitude to nicely wrap up stories and blog postings, let me enjoy the few lines above. It’s promising for this early start of 2011. I’m optimistic! A peaceful HAPPY NEW YEAR!


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