but before that, like an hour before a friend dragged the photographer and i into the bathroom, i had already looked for a bathroom. and i had not managed to find it. and i had found myself locked out. i was in the other side of the conzerthall. met a women in the corridor. she directed me a nother man. and th eman showed me the way to the bathroom of the big concert hall. so in order to go back to this exhibition/concert space again, i had to go out to the street only to come back again through th eientrance door...
so an hour after that, there i was in the right bathroom of this exhibition; listening to the heartbeats of the boy nextdoor. i will post th ephoto of it here very soon.
so this morning around 1 to 3 pm was all about listening to one another. listening to the sound of the voice, the rhythym. i really concentrate to listen when the language spoken is not my mother tongue. i think of Ferda and how she listens to learn- to really genuinely to understand. so as i practice listening more, i understand Ferda's awareness or genuine interest / curiositty more...
and be selective - who to listen to and for how long... and when to speak and when tıo listen.
and sometimes we enjoy speaking to each other. a quality conversation. that is so good. like a good drink. or a full glass of cold and fresh water. feels just good.
so i go back to listen to a voice i liked listening to. one more time.
and today, i get a message from Christoph, talking about his relationship to Fitzgerald's book:the Crack up. and so i go through some literary quotes and find this one to celebrate the soul of this day:
"It was the kind of voice that the ear follows up and down, as if each speech is an arrangement of notes that will never be played again." — F. Scott Fitzgerald (The Great Gatsby)
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