I am exhausted, my computer too. The planes are so low, the detonations so frequent; a bomb in my place would be less astray for NATO than the hospital collateral damage: and locally who would manage to dig us out... We were listening to "A Whiter Shade of Pale", and I felt joy, of being young, of being alive... Then another close detonation... Wild seventies... But the children scream... stop that stupid music. What does Whiter shade of pale actually mean, beyond death... we played with death, now we are living our words of youth... For my children, it won't be so.... It will be the opposite. I cannot explain anymore to them my music , my way of lifestyle... The famous wind of Belgrade Kosava is blowing strongly as an enemy, screaming behind our door, banging the window, Stop the wind. I wish everything would just stop for a second and give me a chance.

My market used to be the happiest place in the world: with gypsies, peasants, second hand shops, smugglers, police running after all of us doing illegal stuff, but not too fast because they did the same things privately...Now, it has become a hard faced market: we intellectuals don't talk politics anymore, but people on the market started, they take sides: and I heard this morning more than two sides were at stake: NATO, our official president's and Djindjic's, the leader of the democratic party in exile...After many years we have more than one option, at least at the market of ideas...And the woman who is selling me eggs said: yes, my love, we have still everything except happiness, my son is fighting in Kosovo and I haven't heard from him for many days now...She didn't even cry, there was a hard sadness in her face, in her hard talk...