Belmondo

Belmondo

A night of no sound of no wind of no company. A moth flutters in through the sleeping-room door and out again. I pause a young annoying and chain smoking Belmondo in black and white. Gauloises were thicker back then. I check the calendar. It's still summer. 

            too much solitude
            people become
            foreign words

Maybe it's the character, maybe it's the times, but he throws his cigarette butts on the floor and the soundtrack is cool be-bop.

Belmondo

En nat uden lyd uden vind uden selskab. En natsværmer flagrer ind ad døren til soveværelset og ud igen. Jeg pauser en ung irriterende kæderygende Belmondo i sort/hvid. Glauloises var tykkere dengang. Jeg tjekker kalenderen. Det er stadig sommer.

            for meget alene

            mennesker bliver

            til fremmedord

Måske er det karakteren, måske tiden, men han smider sine skodder på gulvet og lydsporet er cool be-bop.