listening to Mystik, an African/French rapper on the steps of our little welfare appartment in the midst of the worst place to live at in white nice Santa Monica, that is, next to the head of the gang of these blocks, (well maybe it s better to live next to the head then not to....;-) takes me home with one sweep, home in the broader sense of western europe, my past....
french is such a wonderful language...especially with an African accent ;-)
the sun rises over the houses and tells me i am late. i think of my life and see things i never thought i would see.
me filming (well, i am not infected by the hollyweird virus, i have actually always known that when i am forty i will make a movie but still, it is not my plan to film in the near future...) stuff about social issues in europe and everywhere.
me travelling around, getting to know the people of this world and loving them
i truly truyl love human beings, with all their flaws and in their beauty. children....ah.
french rap, take me home, to a place i do belong, over the oceans and continents to Marseille, to Lyon, to Bordeaux, to nantes, Rennes, to Paris, finally and let me dance in the street, barefeet and dedicated.....
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