it is nice to wake up and there is rain outside. there have been rain all night too, but you have slept through that. dreamt about confusing menus at american diners and suddenly be a boy, running up the stairs in the staircase of your fathers former studio. on the top of the stairs, there will be a lot of photo-umbrellas and other kinds of lamps. people talking, encourage you to talk, but there are no words. no sounds. no fiction in this. wish my dreams could last forever.