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reaction to a poem | romantic realism

interesting night, last saturday. astrid and i went out again after her return from klagenfurt. first café dieglass. one of her favorites although i find it very formal and a little bit stuffy. shared a meal which was actually ample for two. talked and talked. then we moved onto another even more conservative bar called planters. kind of pickup joint for mid-level bankers/business types 27 to 40. the kind of place you’d never catch me dead in.

queen of the nightbut with astrid it was alright. we just sat in our corner and talked about relationships, love and physical attraction.

astrid seems to like these grown-up places. if she decides to carry on in the theatre world, she’d do well to habituate herself to another life. but she does frequent alt wien, as well. as she admits, she’d like to be a theatre administrator and not an actual metteur en scène in any case.

she’d read the poem. she was quite categoric that the girl in it has nothing to do with her. i disagree about the nothing part, but do agree that it is not entirely here. when i emailed her to have a look at it, i’d warned her that it was only partly based on her.

but she insists emphatically that she is very realistic about life and doesn’t have any illusions. i hope that’s not true. twenty-two is a little bit early to be shedding the rose-coloured glasses.

on the other hand i’ve been out with her when she was said she is very romantic. certainly true. but when the romantic side doesn’t follow her script, she is most discontent.

what can i say, astrid is the first for romantic realism… a new artistic movement and genre. nice to have someone care so much about poem. and i had begun to think writing poetry was a waste of time (cf. anna).

a big loss is that she asked me to take one of the photos down from her gallery. in my opinion, the nicest one. i acceded to the request but will try replace it with something else.

three thirty comes onby the time three thirty am rolled around, i had had enough. but astrid delightful as she is, is never at a loss for words. and she likes the last word. at four in the morning, i’m inclined to give it away.

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