Someone screwed off the head of doll Sandy. I pick it up, shake it. Shake it, shake it. Like autumn leafs, the ideas, images and stored sounds fall to the ground : I see a bird flying against a car (or would it be a car driving into a bird?), a transparent human red nose, a flock of 30 black birds and only 2 white ones, the news. I hear seagulls screeming, a door slamming and a toilet flushing. The new sounds of Sandy’s appartment.

I’m back. The weather has been too good to be sitting inside. The dates too numerous. I found out about the rendez-vous site years ago but only recently signed up. The reason might have been the Deva-failure, which made me realize I am not incapable of falling in love. Or could it be I desperately need a handyman? Whichever reason may be the cause, I met 5 men I didn’t know before the summer. I like them all but no one seems to be third category.

Shake it, shake it, shake it, like a polaroid picture. I see Sandy scratching the back of Ella Bandita. A crazy dutch girl who makes good lo-fi punk trash music. On Theater aan Zee, she played a set containing the infamous song ‘scratch’ and felt a sudden urge to interact with the public by asking them to scratch her body. She jumped off the stage like a little insect and there she stood, back turned towards me, asking for a scratch. And I scratched.

Yesterday I met The Brother. 100% Category 3. I need to dash now (off to Brussels) but more soon. Tomorrow. It's all in my head and ready for paper.