Four days before I became 25 in 1978, Jacques Brel died.
I was young, and sad. Not too sad, though. I was young.
Today I realise, I have – so far – been allowed to live eleven years and four days longer than this fascinating man.
And I wonder [attention: rhetorical question]: Is life fair?
Time to thank those who have been and still are kind to me, to those who love me and to her who only today said "I love you like mad".
If I were a magician everyone reading these lines – and everyone not reading them – would feel her / his heart filled with serenety and love.
With exception of those bastards I do wish an extraordinarily long life with but one tooth left – and 59 minutes toothache each hour – and slowly and painfully rotting testicles!
To mention but a few contemporaries: . . . Uff! So many?! Oh dear!!
Surely you will know some more.
May lots of empathy be upon you . . . and me. :)
I leave you with . . . Jacques Brel, although in this very concert he does not sing one single favourite chanson of mine.