I was in London last Monday. For tomorrows.

I was in London last Monday.

Projects. Making. Future. You see ?

I will be in London next Monday. For yesterdays.

I will be in London next Monday.

Echoes. Being. Past. You know...

Last Monday was full of thoughts. About London. About everything.

Making snapshots of words, words only, words for pale delicacies, brilliant jokes and mysteries

The words that could have been found, the words that have not been said, the words that could make you smile. Or thrill.

Here I am, stuck between last Monday and next Monday.

A time without innocence, without rhyme or reason,

Without.

I'm not sure I want to go, I said I'm not sure I want to go, you should go, they said.

Let's call it : What London tells me.

Let's call it : What was written last Monday.

Let's call it : London calling.

And if I get lost next Monday or the day after or the week after

Would you mind if I call you ?

One Monday after another.

And in between, so much indelicacy. That was not necessary.

Nothing hurts like lost innocence.

Tom Waits once has written these words : "Innocent when you dream".

I want a midsummer night's dream

Or even a winter day's dream.

So let's go then let's listen to London calling.

London will be a better place, let's call it elsewhere.

Would you mind calling me somebody, just some body ? Some body going elsewhere.

Full of joy and full of sighs.

Let's be brave and let's be tiny.

Hold my hand and watch me smile.

London calling...