some people have to live like this and they work until they get fired and they are all over the world and you see them all the time and their lives consist of problems and all kinds of trouble and police is always a constant and socialworkers come and go and men beat up their wives or kids and things get stolen or get lost and it's always somebody elses fault and they get aggresive over nothing because nothing is something they know and it's all they have so they protect it with a fierce you rarely get to meet outside a warzone and so you better look out you, you with the camera, fuck you!

this is the outskirts of cordoba and a little kid threw a rock at my car

i love this game. pilota. or pilotaleku. or pelota. all depending on the region. well, it makes absolutely sense as a sport, i think.

a ball. and a wall. and they just use their hands because that's easier.

i sit hours and watch them crack it against the wall. young and old, doesn't matter to me. the sound is like a pistol being fired. i sit and jump all the time but everyone is use to it. it's just part of the noise in the city, like carhorns or shouting and so forth.

the dogs or cats never even look up?

this picture is. well, i'm on my way to the beautiful but rather dull city of san sebastian. once again i recieved a call and once again i mistakingly took it meaning that i'm suppose not to work but i mean. it's not always easy.

but yes. i went to a meeting between various independent groups, it was oddly enough a UN-funded gathering and i was there with belgium-representitives for an independent flandern and wallonien. there were also groups from euskadi, katalunia, wales(!), lombardia, a greek-kypros delegation and others.

and all of a sudden. around guernika i was back in liège! the stretch on the highway lasted about five minutes and it was filled with old cars and cranes, rubbish piles and broken signs and so forth. it was the outskirts of liège and it was in the north of spain and i took this photo with my cellphone doing 100 miles an hour because i was late and whatelse is news and maybe that why i need a break so come on lukasz!

bilbao this afternoon: humid. cloudy with chances of rain. i'll be in my room, reading klaus mann, smoking a cheap cigar and maybe having a tio pepe with it. tomorrow i'll visit friends in casco viejo.

sep 09.

i was in town so they asked me and sure. today, i've been ghostwriting a speech for belgium diplomate xxx who is giving a small private lecture at guggenheim on european culture prior 1985. in the background, of course, is the museum. my family have endorsed substancial fundings over the years so it was an honour to finally meet juan ignacio vidarte and alicia martinez.

in the kitchen in my home in genève i have a framed picture of my father and i together with antonio milososki when antonio and i were boys. antonio always talked about buildings and the great german architect mies van der rohe. today antonio is minister of foreign affairs in my home country the republic of macedonia and he has been in my thoughts today looking out at this spectacular building from the terrace of the hotel.

embassies have apartments all over the world and sublet them to hvomever is on a contract. since it’s now owned by local businessmen i think i can reveal that i lived in this building in the late 90’s. neighbours was friendly, mostly other consulate people or foreign attachés. henry kissinger, former us-foreign minister, stayed here in the 80’s and in the reception, behind a glasswindow, there was gifts and memorabilias he had left or forgotten. it always impressed first-time visitors and i remember a watch/camel from ghadaffi with inscription. there was a handwritten note from ismelda marcos to kissingers wife, a sixfoot mirror from chief something of burkino faso and a painting from a former highranked soviet official my family also knew.

back then the building was guarded but today you can walk right in and when i’m in town – this is in south-eastern europe - i sometimes walk by. it was a nice place but i don’t miss it. the sound of gunfire is still with me from those days.

outside liège. a gasstation i always pass on my way to friends alicia and jack. they work at an embassy close by and are close friends today after we spent two weeks in a train thru europe as part of an international litterature festival. i remember the hungarian minister of transportation pal szabo reading - very load and in the morning in grenoble - his quite moderate - in fact - poetry.

oh dear. people were enjoying themselves.