ghent BE 2014

ghent  BE

KASK / may 2014
















guest artists

evelyne verhellen








ilan daneels








leo van cleynenbreugel


tiemen van haver









evelyne verhellen
Looking over an endless space into emptiness.
Un-earthly sounds from below, whatever ‘below’ means.
Giants passing by makes the air go wild.
This emptiness is reflecting with nothing to reflect ‘to’.
There is some nothingness filled with some airless filthy clouds and – look – 1 trail.
The ending or beginning (depending on your mood) is all you can see. But where does it come
from or leads you to? From deep inside if you are ‘body’ – your mouth so to speak. To ‘question
mark’ if you are ‘not-body’.
Shit and spit are floating around.
Something happens behind me. A kid wants to be heard, an old man can finally – after years of
trying – touch the ‘flosh’ but will never get it.
Some peace in my mind.
Not forced to do anything.
Okay, forced to get up of this chair at one point but what follows is only magic.
I see my two boys playing with each other, and I make them play with me. What more is there to
wish for!  I say one word and what follows is a story out of my control, forming itself by words that
escape out of my mouth.  They mean something, but not as much as they get meaning by the
intense balance-exercise a stone gives me.  4 keys lead to 3 houses and a castle, but ends up in
a bicycle-storage-place. Clear message.
Creating a song out of something I wish I didn’t see.
Creating nothing out of nothing that disappears into nothing and leads to nothing but caused a lot.
I could get used to that.  I never squeezed so many manly tits before. Realising that I don’t want to
think about how that feels. What excuse can you have as an adult to keep playing? That’s not even
a question for the people spending time with each other in this room.  Talking to a grasped wound,
a body, a footstep and a 92 year very young castrated boy.  The veins of your body are mine and are
dying to float together – without ending in a love song.  Because we are body. We want to move and
express and accept and let go.  We want to be alone.  We want to experience together.
Togetherness causes the unexpected and makes the imagination goes underneath the lowest ground,
hitting the roof and landing in your stomach.
What do the ladies think?
All standing there in underwear and un-aware of what happens in the ladies’ minds.
The minds of 6 are different.
The minds of 6 are curious
The minds of 6 reach to each other
The minds of 6 carefully touch each other
The minds of 6 now come together and always will.
How can I write something without spoiling it?
I will find traces on me for weeks. It’s like confetti. Once you throw it around, you can’t assemble it proper.
When I will all have forgotten about it, I will find it back in a peace of melted chocolate, a brownie, my
boyfriend lifting me. I will found it out of a ‘rien de rien’, or just out of a word on a sheet of paper.
Thank you.



leo van cleynenbreugel


Actors and no audience.
Audition !

Grating sound
in my dust bin.

Listen carefully.
Body says no.

Tot het chocoladebittere
einde, stellen wij ons
geluk uit.
We reisden in onszelf,
en het hadden het (op de tram) vergeten.

Fatal appearances
of bourbon in the sky
Fly like a single footed

My voice hurts me
Me have a voice
Je hals perforeren

Perforating performance

An audience without stage
The clapping is like butterflies mating

Tears of chocolate
zooming lense
no thoughts


Beating you up
like egg white


In paradisum deducant te angeli

Duo seraphim clamabant
BhagvAn mahAn asti

Een verroeste vijs op den tarmak
ben ik die vijs of denkt die vijs dat hij mij is?

Een man zit in een grasmachien
hij belt.
Dan rijdt hij verder.

The gut-man speaks
(there are multiple words in this text of which i do not know the meaning)

guilty guts
guilty limbs
shameless lips
lipless shame         shave your dark side
guts twirling around forensic limbs
crawling into faces eye sockets noses between teeth
between your toes
busted was i in the forensic office
before that moment i had remained unseen
unmarried – walking through the drizzle rain
trains of thought – thoughts of public transport
would you like to touch my liver snaking
my head off? My armpit is covered
in gal – garlic president has thrown me out.

Live longer marry the wind be
a windstilling bird. Why worry. Why guilt?

Beguiling guilty pleasures.
the word feels so gnarling
garlic and onion make the sexual fire burn;

lava is sex with the floor
flooring my desires –
    i buy a lava lamp
IKEA sells desired goods
    light weight class desire

What would happen if only my head
could move – without the rest of my body
it would aimlessly roll around driven by
earthquakes or windness. My ear vacuumsticking to
the floor. Talking scientific papers, rolling
around aimlessly.

It is highly important to repeat words.
Highly important … from Australia.

Eye socket socksex. Be friendly with yourself,
with others. NO WAR. Be fatsoenlijk.

Are yAr chup raho main kisi se bhi nahin baat kar rahaa hun.

That broom is wide it's beautiful in it's

frizzle brizzle between my fingers.


animal writing
ticking clock
empty notes
bottle of fun
write rude
refined material
disgusting smell
of … desktop
claws innocent
longing for beauty
drewl dripping out
go beyond the fields
open the window to
your inside

Happy animal
asking questions
of ribbles & chips
fried message of
can't help but
being happy
needing you
emptiness rimes
dark blue souls
shining grey skies
brown leather
why sadness returns
invent rich commodity
food helps.

She opens the window
he shoots the stars
she touches glass
he breaks the bars
togethers they touch
the unused air
vibrating (the) distance

everybody loves everybody always.
Free as a bird a boyd a void

The screaming boy feels a void without
his socks. This is why he is sounding his
sorrow. This is why he is sounding his
sorrow. Zorro would grate his sock-taker
into a thousand pieces and bake a nice gratin
out of it.

beauty makes me sad.
I'm sorry it's always about me, but I
can't help it.

Beauty makes me sad.
I'm sorry it's always about me, but I
can't help it.
My nipples feel so lively. I understand
now why breastfeeding can be so pleasurable
for the mothers.
Collect your steps.
    People will get lost in them.

Your dad is your late alarm clock.
There is this other intensity, the
dimension of normality
why not be normal?
Weird is what? Different from what
you're used to?

Same trip over and over
game over,
start again
game over and out.



ilan daneels


I remember the wind and brownies and bakers
Loving one of them and knowing one of
Them can’t really be called food
Love your wind, marrie her
But do look for your match
My image of a strawberry is not a straw in a
berry but a straw and a berry
When I speak i seem to forget moving but
Moving helps me to speak
Guts and volcanous
And people spitting at the other side of
The room, behind my back.
Ik keek gewoon naar buiten
A woman like a wind
Tempest, tornado, drizzly, tropical
Or made in a laboratory
What about a lapdance from a tornado?
Audience becomes witness
Not neklace but collar
Replace the coles by livers
The sound of steak in the morning
The cold, freezing wind, coming from the Atlantic ocean
Beware of the Atlantic wind
Bodyparts will freeze off
Just let the wind whisper in your ear
Never mentioned red
Let’s hug and talk about windy women/ or female winds
What is a drawing
And leave all specific words
Stormy weather
To finish here: wind is invisible to remind us that we are not!
Do not cross
Snij snede
Listen to the machine in the distance
Railroad rail
Tell me morse
Gestilleerde bliksem
Ga door
But no more than
Come closer and it gets denser
Notice the little version of the original
We can not look through
De bliksem maakt kringen in het water
Make the sound again
It’s like wind at the sea
Like the wind in my ears
Tak en halve stierenkop
Found another little version of the little version
But only bigger
Grens tussen lucht en steen
I cross my eyes and ik voel de nabijheid van de machinekamer
Took the mainroad
Roads, holes, water and tracks
This was once a door
Once a stair
Once a family, achurch, a room
Floating upstream down mainstream
A road for myself
Reminds me of “The road not taken”
Urge to read and eat and rest and speak
This window does not close
A stage for myself, looking beyond the glass
The urge to climb
And feel the soft stone, first shocked
Then enjoyed, now a bigger version
It reminds me of italy
It always reminds me of italy
Leave today, I want to leave today
These birds never seen before.
Everybody loves some body sometimes
Grate, gratefull, shouting boy of 92 and it socks, scream yourself, no help
Budha’s footprints, fever, paint, draw but no drawings for me
Yesterday no pay but to cut it out and start over again, dance little
Boy and take of his trousers, sing me a song and sing along
All those socks on paper islands and nobody knows the screaming boy?
Doo-wap, the boy became a man and suddenly a boy again
Going backwards, going backwards, going backwards and unrolling the paper roll
Eat and digest, wounds and worms but o so sweet a love letter
Cheating like on a test my work, no name, only once i call
It art, make me a painting using only words, pen’s down, it’s
Actually a love letter with wound and worms
Hurley and up she rises
Between and and forgot
A big ‘i’ changing in a very funny man
Drawings with words
The burlom bird, elegant and delicate
Swiss chocolate delicatesse
If only it was belian chocolate
Usefull for art, lips kissing art
Outside with you so we could here
The humming of my voice
Will you give it your best
With all my love I will
Beware the chocolate mouth boy for he is dangerous
Allthough we use his spit to count misbehaviour
Bird, flirt, third, mainly questionmarks
It’s like someone is o my back
Give me the pitch, I sing along, i sing alone, someone sings along, we all sing, make music
Making war signs on his face was nice!
Always combine pink with yellow, please do!
Don’t like it when people say: “Give it a name”
Started with my small letters again
Started a conversation with Guy about forgetting
Mothersday, meanwhile wondering if the others
The pitch, the pitch
Also reused Tiemen’s crown idea
It ade a nice reappearance today!
Everyman a king, forget I said that
Paper tornado, not thinking about
Marrying the wind this time
Just used it as a cloth
Circles & musicality
Let’s shake hands
Chocolate, smakelijk
Applause for the burden bird
Ain’t she a beauty
Splendid splendid
Thank you for sharing the chocolate



tiemen van haver


Ghent / rewritingdistance


Independent of human activity
Once started it moves on without human interference
The belly of a building/womb
Smooth surface
incomprehensible morse-code
Soothing Darkness, velvet
eternal steady power
Some robust, reassuring father, omnipotent and powerful, too big for knowledge
but also scary
very, very scary
The feeling of comfort can easily turn into paranoia
for this is not nature
This machine has outgrown nature
This thing that will give you comfort
soften your suffering 
the suffering of being human and having emotions
This machine will put you to rest, true, but if you relax to much
it will put you to sleep
The emptiness
the dull hum
its voice
its saying whatever you imagine it is saying
but keep in mind that your imagination is not always yours to control
Try cracking the code
every time you look close you acquire some knowledge
but once you look back at the bigger picture
it seems as if the signs have shifted
You are not the first one to arrive here
where are the others
Where does the dust come from
and is that a footprint
Flesh eating plant
what seems to be made for you comfort is a trap.


De strontveeg van de steen
De mobile in de wind
hoe dichter de toeschouwer
hoer geringer de beweging
Iemand die verdwaald is
hoe toon je dat
zet je die persoon in een grote ruimte
of in een kleine
In een grote ruimte toon je de fysieke dwaling
Wil dat zeggen dat je ergens bent waar je niet wil zijn, dwalen?
Verdwaald zijn betekent dat je nergens bent

Waar komt het woord vandaan?
Komt het uit de herinnering van het hoofd of uit die van het lichaam?

Kakken als neerslag van uw geschiedenis
kakken als dagboeknotitie
de enige writersblok die gevaarlijk is

Het kind in de man herinnert zichzelf en lacht.


A lot of chaos
unguided projectiles and splashing and splattering focus
It is beautiful when the filthy becomes the ordinary, normal, everyday
We are all morons and retards
Thinking can obstruct
Sometimes there is need for more restriction
Try to find the soft spot of things by drawing them
the vulnerability that is.


Sjonge jonge jonge jonge jonge
huppelkabouters achter glas als in zo'm bal met sneeuw erin
alleen niet genoeg
dus moeten we blijven schudden.
Doodgewone schrijfaanwijzingen worden een nieuwe poëzie
Wanneer de schrijver in de tekst zakt
Wanneer de schrijver door de tekst zakt,
uit zijn pen schiet.
Wanneer de pen de schrijver vooruit loopt en aan de haal gaat met de tekst
Chocolade als gekunsteld geschenk omdat we ons hart met onze woorden niet gezegd krijgen
We krijgen het hart letterlijk niet uitgelegd
we krijgen het niet uit ons gelegd
dus zingen we
schreeuwen we
I am a bird now
Een chocoladezoen als kers op het canvas
drol op de stoep
Waar is de tijd dat men daar een vlaggetje in stak en wie waren dat?
Ik was toen klein dus beeldde ik me in dat zij groot waren
Iedereen was zo groot.
De angst dat mijn naam niet zou passen bij een volwassen man
Die heten allemaal Luk of Mark of Guido
maar Tiemen
dat is toch gewoon een kindernaam
forever sixteen becomes forever six
Onder het kind zitten duistere gedachten
Is de gekte toegelaten?
De échte gekte
de krankzinningheid

het lachen omdat het van moeten is
de schérpe waanzin
krassende geestesgestoordheid
Terechtstellingsplaats der voor de kop geschotenen
Enkel gemengd bouwafval
De cynische plaatsing der alledaagse elementen
Schone dans van de ironie
kompositie van de willekeur
Huilen met de pet op
she doesn't know
He doesn't know
They forgot for they were travelling
De perverse stilte van de fotograaf (no offense, smiley)
Alles beter met de ramen open
vogels zijn essentieel
laten we hen nooit vergeten, alsjeblieft?
Wanneer het spel doorgaat en we het publiek vergeten
Wanneer de acteurs ervandoor zijn en het publiek nog in de zaal zit
een honderdtal man die vanuit het donker naar een lege scène kijkt
staren terwijl het spel de stad is ingetrokken en de acteurs met zich laten spelen
En dat publiek maar nadenken over die lege scène
de recensent al klaar met zijn openingszin en een aantal sterren dat met elke minuut toe- of afneemt.



guy cools


Rewriting Distance Gent KASK, May 2015

day 1
Miranda’s exercise.
Old blackboard memories. To be called at the board. If I know the answer I am proud. If I don’t know it,
there is some fear. The worst: having to play flute or sing at the black board.
My first job: teaching in high school for a class of only girls. At the end of the day, my hair has turned
grey of the chalk.
The softness of dust. The feeling of dust makes hard surfaces soft. The sunlight on the dust of my black,
wooden desk in Montreal.  Remembering the crystal hearth Oxana gave me and that was hanging in
front of the window and would diffract the sunlight.
Touching the spot where the black paint peels off. Remembering the wall with paint peeling off in the
Founder’s studio in London, where we performed Repeating Distance, re-enacting past accidents and a
huge fire disaster in the harbour of Antwerp in the early 20th century.
Walking away from the wall, the signs disappear; to become first a cloud, shades of black with one white
spot shining through.
day 2
Yesterday, it was all about creating problems for ourselves or for each other and trying to solve them.
And we were struggling with allowing ourselves to let words flow: the word fall.
Today, found again intimacy and that gave us the liberty to converse more, still keeping the body very
active and engaged.
If yesterday we created great, baroque tableaux viands and sculptures of bodies intertwined or behind
glass, today we confessed and gossiped to each other. We exchanged recipes and stories about loved
ones and found keys that open new doors. And our body fluids were omnipresent, the water pouring
out all the holes.
We (re)discovered the luxury and the quality of being able to listen, to receive, to take in and to give it
back at the appropriate time which is whenever it is re-membered: that is dissected or digested and put
together again and trans-formed.
An image doesn’t need to be large to have a big impact. A hand on a cheek can be both a caress and
someone slapping you.
Evelyne travelling a road between two doors and observing all the debris and empty spaces along the
way. Tiemen desperately wanting to have some injury in order to be able to wear glasses or a plaster
cast and to have the same fun as all the other kids.
Practice with Mala in the afternoon.
It is always the shadows that are most revealing. Already when Mala started, close to the wall, it felt she
was peeling of the black shadows of her body. Letting them disappear in the black of the wall to create
pure sunlight, pouring through the windows now and revealing other ones: windmills of our mind, which
is the song I translated in high school, practicing my poetic skills and which to my surprise Stephanie
covered with Oh!.
We were gently rocking the space, measuring our positions, the distance between window panes, being
moved by breath and wind.
I remember why I choose this space. Not for the black, but for the purity of its silence which highlights
our listening.
I am high up in the mountains and feel light. Below the valley is covered in clouds and then a sun ray
appears not above but below. Is that possible?
You can lose precious possessions and you can lose dear ones. But you are never lost. It is just the world
around you expanding.
My teddy bear was the compass bearer of my dreams. Somewhere growing up I lost him to take up that
role myself and to freely wander in this world.
day 3
We had an amazing warm up in which first my eyes became very watery and then my body very grounded.
So I am getting more and more confident to lift people.
The practice started with Leo writing a love letter to Tiemen’s grated knee and from there everything
moved backwards, walking the foot prints of the Buddha in the snow backwards in time to where a little
boy lost his socks but didn’t know how to cry. So Ilan came to help me to find the right pitch.
Somewhere on the way, we got lost and it got very sexual and dirty but luckily Lin and Evelyne (which
only know I realize is Eve and Lin in one) kept guiding us with their jazzy, siren song so I ended up pulling
off Tiemen’s pants and kneecaps and (re)discovering the love letter: “Everybody loves everybody, always.
And we apologize it is all about us. Signed, your grated and infected, sad and beautiful lost ones.”
day 4
Walking exercise.
“It is 10 past eleven.” Today I notice the diversity of sounds created by moving bodies, dependent on the
objects they carry and the material of the surface they move on: grass, sand, tarmac, cobble stones… I
remember the soundscapes and sound walks with did in Vancouver. The other thing that always comes
back is the contrast between nature and culture: the sounds of a construction site next to the birds singing.
I am also fascinated today how much people are working outdoors and how each job has specific
movements: the guys building a podium; a woman cutting the grass; a man sitting in a squat position
cleaning with a water hose a ventilator; a woman painting a bench. Each time they create pure and
beautiful repetitive movements
And then there are also some unique images: a child bending to pick up a stone along the canal; a man
who stretches to pick some cherries from a tree…
The whole world is a working place. It seems the big spring cleaning has started, but I only want to eat
cherries today.
How would the world look like if we could at random add or delete numbers to our DNA or exchange
them like Panini cards? “I have a double 9. Would you like to exchange it for a combination of 3 and 4?”
day 5
It is the last morning of the Gentse Feesten. In front of the Charlatan, a woman is dancing a slow dance
with her own dress and in the background someone is humming ‘La vie en rose’, I have only half a piece
of chocolate left and feel sad that the party is almost over. On the tarmac someone wrote with chalk:
‘love, love, love…’ and someone else: ‘forget, forget, forget, forget…’ It is an early attempt at reinstalling
love in our shared memory of walking up the highs and jumping through the window.
In the middle of the street a gull is eating the leftovers of a bun and in the distance I hear the garbage
team starting to hose away the remaining bodies. It is time for a last flirt. “Why don’t you stay just a
little bit longer? Why don’t you play just a little bit more?” “You are my chocolate queen! Can I be your
burden bird?” The tide is rising and soon we will also be flooded apart again. So my hand brushes a last
time through your hair and you touch my skin in a soft spot which makes me giggle. We are waving to
each other and wishing each other a healthy appetite for the rest of our lives. “Smakelijk” I am feeding
the last piece of chocolate to a passing dog. “Smakelijk”. “Don’t forget to call!” “Smakelijk” “I love you!”
Guy Cools


lin snelling
day one
Writing from Miranda’s exercise of writing about an
object discovered in the room (a shiny silver light stand)
Ode to a Shiny Silver light stand
Light travels and aligns
moves through this seemingly straight
supporting line,
as I walk towards and away,
Urban chakras
sparkle and shine,
spiraling down
and disappearing into the ground.
As I stand in place
and bend my knees
the urban chakras
movement and light,
my body
a magic wand,  
aligned with a light standing.
day two
Wind is invisible to remind us that we are not …
Breeze on skin reminds me
I am alive, temperature, hot/cold
climates of history, or Hollywood movies.
The one about the hotel
or the one about Pompeii,
“remember the poster” he said;
It  was an embrace,
    ….while all around was in ruins,
the wind is like that
as if an embrace reminds us ….
it might be by the seaside,
it might be in the rain in London,
it might be at the café, talking and listening,
it might be in the snow
or at the movies.
Did I tell you I like the wind?
I must tell you,
because again,
I am here now alone
and you,
you are the wind/ness, not the witness …
And it’s inside this place we are now;
is it a stage or a studio?
It’s the wind underneath,
and its called an earthquake,
and the temperature is rising,
this hot lava liquid is moving but/and …
the thing is,
I don’t like water,
or in fact the rain.
I like wind,
………………..but wind and rain,
I cannot marry a rainy day in London.
I could marry a tropical wind,
we are now tropical,
where the weather
patterns make circles
and these circles
continue until
these winds move water,
and water moves
have you ever been to Nova Scotia?
It’s very windy there,
be careful
the Atlantic Ocean is not for
sweethearts or silly people,
stay smart and don’t be stupid.
This body of water,
filled with mystery and temperature,
is always
going somewhere.
day three
He began with a love letter
to a wound,
I know, I know, I always go back
to the beginning,
It’s my compulsion.
He began walking,
his footsteps tracing him
backwards and backwards
until he was a boy
He was lost.
We didn’t find him
until we heard him screaming.
He was much older and taller
than any of us had imagined
and because he was there
right in front of us,
we asked him to scream again,
and so he did,
several screams and all
of various ages and then
she wondered
why why why is it always about him?
Why are you screaming?
You are not screaming like a boy.
Can we have someone else to scream please?
She asked and many answers came
from the past and the present,
all screaming together
beautifully (I had to write that … I did not say that)
and then the whole story
kept going
from underneath the paper
where I was singing … it wasn’t
easy to follow the events,
so I picked it up where she was singing a song,
a jazz number with a black wall
that was about him again
songs are often about
him, her, them, us, this,  and love, and not love, and leaving, and coming
and then leaving and laughing and crying and screaming …
and then
it turns out she keeps singing,
into the present when the
spoken word makes him, yes
the screaming man/or boy
(it’s hard to say at this point)   …….. you fill in the blanks…
he starts to dance.
The song goes away.
The two men are left after the
song goes away,
all of us screaming beauty …
they of course keep going, the two of them
the lovebirds,
the ones who began the love letter,
they confess because
Its still and always about love,
we all clap
and it’s a whole new beginning.
day five (… I missed four)
He/Ilan is standing with his
feet in the light,
he is playing music with his
now she (Evelyne) is telling us that he
is doing what she is
only in public,
while he/Guy is doing what
Ilan is doing.
Tiemen goes to the black wall
and begins to write,
something wonderful about
watching him with the words
and she,
(that’s me)
wonders what to do next,
she tells me things to do
and I listen
and forget
Because she (me again) found
the chocolates and I begin
to do as he did in the beginning …
putting them
between my fingers
balancing desire to eat
with desire to place
them on the table …
little perfect squares of chocolate …
so neat and tidy …
Swiss or Belgian …
Belgian chocolate is the best as it
unwraps to  become  make up
and paint.
I see it dissolving and blurring
and the next thing,
 (forgot lots of stuff in the middle)
was being at the black wall
and writing one long
line that went to
the floor and circled
my feet
(just now, right now, the wonderful song of a bird)
and I gave the bird to Tiemen …
The Bird of Burmen,
and it was spectacular, we all
clapped and screamed and
he bowed so …
then Leo came very close, then closer, then closer
to him …
who was the one who
had been right in front of me,
and now I am watching
this from the audience.
It is a sunny Friday,
that’s exciting
and reminds me of a
French song
can you remember it?
\ wondering,
what the ladies think?
The song lines seem to be balancing between my fingers
in the earth,
just as in the beginning
with Ilans’ feet,
there are songs being placed there
bits of writing folded and placed
between the fingers and the toes,
coming from paper,
coming from floor,
coming from writing,
coming from balancing.
The songs we sing
we have all dreamt before,
lyrics come from
messages between
the toes.
They precede us.
We know it
by the
singing …
and the chocolate.
that’s the word
I know here …
Now perhaps it is time
for another song with Evelyne,
a song for the
window of men ….
for the \
shes hes thees and wees.
The songs here go on and on …
(What do you do with a drunken sailor?)
day five (writing after practice)
Tiemen says the act of being physical (Rewriting Distance practice) engages his desire to write; Leo likes the
concentration of Haiku to capture the experience, Ilan says it brings words back to moving, with musicality, and
that there is the potential for so many things to happen, even in choosing to do one single thing, the potential of
the other things are there, always; Evelyne likes the balance it gives back to her … the words balancing the
movement, there is an aligning happening.  Lin is thrilled the body is so alive in all these imaginings …the voice,
the word, the thoughts … radically dynamic dancing … and such sweet tempos and such astute listening …
potential is powerful … coming in waves of quiet, … like the bird Ilan made; we keep finding the birds… their songs
come to us through delight, solitude, wonder, chaos and chocolate.
Guy has a birthday soon … I think he is 5(minus the 0) and then 15 and then 25 and then 35 and then 45 …
he/we/Guy are so wonderfully attentive to magic … something has come full circle here … I see Guy young, I
imagine him studying, I see him here today, laughing through so much history. It is a birthday party for all ages.
Lin Snelling