Finished this Wim Wenders book of photographs and stories on the escalator at 2:30 this morning while listening to the music of a small Taiwanese choir which ended with the female soloist crying at the end of her song. It was such sad, pure music, just as this collection of Wenders’ images resonate with such an honesty they could be confused at times with a heavy sadness——his writing sounding like it’s from the deathbed. His favorite memories cling to life and outlive him, standing still somewhere forever. These two songs finishing together left me leaning against a wall while the people passed as I sifted through time like holding a precious photograph into the flames watching it melt away from everyone. July 8, 2006