Nicholas Calas
THE DAY AFTER YESTERDAY
Dreaming. I was making a new triadic arrangement of the seats of Café de la Place Blanche waiting for Elisa Breton to come. I had an urgent need to make a review of the 1930s — socialism and surrealism. Later we were with Elisa to the Adamis' soiree. The widow of Andre 'Breton was tangled up in a gordian car knot at the Rive Gauche. Wheels or chairs? Dilemmas of our time. Puppets of Masson and Dominguez brightened the opening of the exhibition "Paris-Paris" the day after yesterday with the day before tomorrow are hardly met. Place Blanche, the announcement of our lost ones in white frame. Poorest iconolatric light how distant seemed my past when I heard that Georges Henein withdrew from the games of our ideas "a voice from afar," he answered me on the phone. His face faded before I caught him up. How Ionian was this Coptic and myself a Grecian. We were talking about our ancestors Julian and Trismegistus. Chairs were empty and it is still early to take another load. I may pass again beneath another constellation's message.
(Transl. Panos Bosnakis)