the other day, just before i was about to stop dreaming, a friend of mine asked me to help her do some dirty job – to help her clean up her basement. who wants to see the unwanted pieces of someone’s past, the pieces that one often doesn’t even want to share with others? i think i am just an overemotional person and that i am not the suitable one for these kind of confidential jobs. why me?

i think i just see too much in everything, i reinterpret, i give things my-self-imagined attributes, like some voyeur who fantasizes his own stories that nobody sees… at least not at first sight. as aftermath, i often appear as having been right in my weird interpretations, unexpectedly too cruel and too direct, hence, not a very flattering trait of mine.
the basement first shows its less interesting side, because i am a new one. while sorting out the smelly old belongings of others, those others who are surely dead by now, regarding the imprinted years on their back and bottom sides, i notice an ugly little table, expecting some sort of expandable writing table or a convertible make-up piece of furniture. no, nothing of that. it is a reed organ, a real one! old, dusty, neglected and unwanted. as i am asking how come it landed in this mouldy basement, the answer comes back as a question, a question i never would expect… do you want it as a present?

i am still confused, hysteric, ashamed for being materially attached and inpatient like a child about this.
i have a real harmonium from some earlier century, just for me.
i don’t even know whether this story is true or not.