Okay, but I’m for roomie:
We all keep losing things that are precious to us … valuable opportunities, possibilities, feelings we can’t find again. Living, it’s that also. But within our mind – I think it is within our mind – there is a small room where we store the memory of all those lost opportunities. A room with shelves, as in this library, I guess. And we must produce an index, with reference cards, to know precisely what we have in our hearts. We also have to sweep the room, aerate it, change the water of the flowers. In other words, you’ll have to live in your own library.
Kafka on the shore,
novel (2002) by Haruki Murakami a contemporary Japanese writer
(Umibe no Kafuka, original title)
The Blue Spoon and rrose semoy associations are the offices for lost and found of which speaks Haruki.
With the others, by their wealth and diversity, we invent-ory the possible, bind the dreams. We play the gold finders and the alchemartists.
We index these famous lost opportunities, as in the Magic Theater of Hermann Hesse (Steppenwolf), a writer I love, and we still have the ability to revive them differently, in our creations.
This is, again, a mapping of the sensitive we are trying constantly to complete, exploring together new interior continents.