The struggle of people against power, is the struggle of memory against forgetting. (The words of Milan Kundera, in the voice of John Pilger).

Outside of the window the brownish grey building almost grow outwards, distinct and massive against the blue background which is the sky. Later I walked noch einmal about, the streets were grey from melting snow, grey from drain. To be away from home does something to me; I see the people, they pop-out and possess a potential depth I completely closed myself from in Trh, or in Norway. Everywhere I pass potential friends, and every one of them walk alone; human beings loose their mystical lustre when they enter into plural, if one can say that? Because they thereby close themselves in that unity wherein they circumvent, instead of in themselves? Because they thereby play a game, unrelentingly adapt, become something else and radiate this?