lots of things in my head that I could write about.

there would be 4 men, of which two are famous. Two of them have diaries, actually 3 of them have. But only two are updated frequently. I strongly admire 3 of them. All four of them have brown hair. All four of them are creative, all four of them write. The four of them show up in my dreams, although not together.
I could write about the U.S. again, about Karl Rove/Valerie Plame/ joseph wilson.
I could write about two of my friends Finally getting together. About the trip to the north of France we made yesterday. Somehow it sounds better to say 'the north of France' instead of 'Duinkerke'.
I'll write about a mouse. Today 4 girls came at my door, for a trading tour. The had this somewhat aged orange, which they wanted to trade. I went into the kitchen, then back to my room, looked around, and found a brown stuffed moused. I went down asked if it was ok. They were thrilled. I guess they had been trading fruit all day. Only five minutes later or so I realized that I had given away a stuffed animal that my "one great love" had given me once. My one great love is the boy I was with between the age of 17 and 19. One of the two boys I loved in my life. My longest and deepest love. I never had a connection with the mouse, I can't even remember why he gave it to me. IT's not like the bear he gave me for my 17th birthday, which still lies in my bed. of the three little golden hearts for valentines day that I still keep in my jewelry box. Or the stuffed sun flower that hangs from a shelf, which he gave me during my exams, together with a sunflower card, because sunflowers are my favorite flowers. I gave away a mouse, and the only memory I had of the mouse was that he had given it to me. My room is full of stuff, stuff that I won't throw away because I'm attached to it, for good reasons, for no reasons at all sometimes. With the parting of the mouse, came the melancholy. Thinking of how it started, the first time we met, the first kiss, moments of misery and moments of glory. How is he right now? Last thing I heard he's doing good, wins a lot of competitions, graduated with highest honor from the conservatory and has a girlfriend. LAst summer I sent him an sms to apologize for the way I acted the period after the break up. I immediatly got a response. He apologised as well. I congratulated him on his graduation, he asked about my present career in photography, since, I was still in Law School when we broke up. But we didn't meet. In octobre we saw each other on the train, usually we would walk passed each other without looking. Now he came to sit with me. We talked and it was so familiar. He made a joke, a typical joke he's famous for with my friends. WE asked about our present lives and occupations. He asked about my dad, which is a very sensitive subject, which he didn't have to cut, but he did. I was so glad to tell him he was off the booze. The pressure of my dads addiction strongly weighed on me back then, was responsible for my mental downfall, and my downfall was the end of us being us. And it felt good, good to know that he had taken an effort to ask about my dad (and he feared a negative response, I could tell by his face) and then me being able to tell him he was alright and clean now. He seemed very surprised and also very very relieved and happy for me. I saw him twice that day. Two times we took the same train, very unusual.
I wonder if just once in a while he still thinks about the times we had. Does he still have my picture in a frame, not on his desk but forgotten somewhere in his nightcabinet underneath his dads old porn magazines? Does he still have the little hedgehog I made for him out of white clay? The wooden yoga-meditating man? The white clay owl? I remember when we broke up, and in a superfluous effort to stay friends, I visited him at his house. On his tv, next to those little things I made him, was a plastic figurine of a dolphin, in blues, greens pinks with a lot of sparkle, obviously bought by the girl he dumped me for. Hideously kitschy, and I m usually a kitsch lover. It had been a bad break up, it took me 18 months to completely get over him, and I was horrified by seeing such an ugly store bought thing next to the things I made and gave him. Plastic next to clay and wood. It symbolized so much. Either way, clay and wood lasted two years, the plastic gave in after 3 months. It was a comfort when I heard that. Now I wonder if he still has those things, like I still have stuff he gave me. Probably he's less attached to things in general, and since he was the one that ended it, they're probably long-gone.
I just hope he kept the hedgehog, I really loved that hedgehog.


Ode on Melancholy- John Keats

NO, no! go not to Lethe, neither twist
Wolf's-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine;
Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kist
By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine;
Make not your rosary of yew-berries, 5
Nor let the beetle, nor the death-moth be
Your mournful Psyche, nor the downy owl
A partner in your sorrow's mysteries;
For shade to shade will come too drowsily,
And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul. 10

But when the melancholy fit shall fall
Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud,
That fosters the droop-headed flowers all,
And hides the green hill in an April shroud;
Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose, 15
Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave,
Or on the wealth of globèd peonies;
Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows,
Emprison her soft hand, and let her rave,
And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes. 20

She dwells with Beauty—Beauty that must die;
And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips
Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh,
Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips:
Ay, in the very temple of Delight 25
Veil'd Melancholy has her sovran shrine,
Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue
Can burst Joy's grape against his palate fine;
His soul shall taste the sadness of her might,
And be among her cloudy trophies hung.