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Garment Dyed - 6.5oz Black Short Sleeve
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Corresponding Klew: K-11 “What is it, Identity”

Damiel: It's great to live by the spirit, to testify day what's spiritual in people's minds. by day for eternity, only But sometimes I'm with fed up my I'd spiritual existence. Instead of forever hovering above like to feel a weight grow in me to end the infinity and to tie me to earth. I'd like, at each step, each gust of wind, to be able to say "Now." Now and now" and no longer "forever" and "for eternity." To sit at an empty place at a card table and be greeted, even by a nod.

I know now, what no Angel knows

Damiel: First, I'll have a bath. Then I'll be shaved by a Turkish barber who will massage me down to the fingertips. Then I'll buy a newspaper and read it from headlines to horoscope. On the first day, I'll be waited upon... For requests, ask the neighbor. If someone stumbles over my legs, he'll have to apologize. I'll be pushed around, and I'll push back. In the crowded bar, the bartender will find me a table. A service car will stop, and the mayor will take me aboard. I'll be known to everyone, and suspect to no one. I won't say a word, and will understand every language. That will be my first day.

ꜛIn the Library scene, A voice is overheard reading the following passage from an edition of Walter Benjamin: Walter Benjamin bought Paul Klee’s watercolor, Angelus Novus, in 1921. Until his flight from Paris in June 1940, it hung in his various workrooms. In his last writing, “Theses on the Philosophy of History” (1940), he interpreted the picture as an allegory of a look back over history.

Paul Klee, Forgetful Angel, 1939 ↓

The Dying Man comforted by Damiel, helping him remember the things that are worth living for: The Far East. The Great North. The Wild West. The Great Bear Lake. Tristan da Cunha. The Mississippi Delta. Stromboli. The old houses of Charlottenburg. Albert Camus. The morning light. The child's eyes. The swim in the waterfall. The spots of the first drops of rain. The sun. The bread and wine. Hopping. Easter. The veins of leaves. The blowing grass. The color of stones. The pebbles on the stream's bed. The white tablecloth outdoors. The dream of the house in the house. The dear one asleep in the next room. The peaceful Sundays. The horizon. The light from the room in the garden. The night flight. Riding bicycle with no hands. The beautiful stranger. My father. My mother. My wife. My child.

Wim Wenders: “If we can improve the images of the world, perhaps we can improve the world.”