We look at the walls. We read the walls. A May of blossoming trees. A May of goldfish. Paul [Celan] watches, fascinated, a bill sticker. We read Artaud on the walls. We read: The One Alone exists. And his voice reads to me what's written on the walls. He says: 'Our mirrors of today are the walls'.

A word while walking. At the crossing of Boulevard Saint-Germain and Boulevard Saint-Michel, going North. The crowd of May 68. Paul looks at faces he's never seen before. As if – this is implied – the crowd should be familiar, always the same. – 'They've come out of their holes and don't know they can never go back'. – 'After the events?' – 'Yes, after'.

stray paragraphs from Jean Daive's Under the Dome