I burn aroma sticks all day long today. Never had any of those until I got to a little ¥100 shop near Shin-Okubo. I keep them since then for don't know what.

Whirles of smoke are making rounds in the air, going up to the lamp and I'm silently watching it. Shaking off the ashes to an envelope. When the air flow in the room changes, smoke gets into my eyes. "Letters of a dead man" on the screen. Flavour of apples, then black currant, gardenia, chocolate, now amber. And cold air slides along the floor from a balcony.

I'll keep these ashes in a match box. Ashes from these sticks are not simple, I cannot throw them into a bin just like that. They are to be scattered in the wind in some appropriate place, don't know where exactly yet.

In a manner of speaking semantiks won't do
In this life that we live we only make do
And the way that we feel might have to be sacrificed