Visions about Olivier D. le F.

• Perhaps since around February 11th, I keep imagining because of the posture held in his photo and the words composed by my friend Olivier D. le F. that he is holding himself together trying to speak after having his body parts stitched back together after being ripped apart by lions, tigers, bears and apes in a zoo. And in the world of that vision he obviously has some metal scaffolding somewhere behind you propping you up and supporting his spine , limbs and skull. This is obviously a good sign of something or other.

• However Oliver D. le F. does not want the apes to be part of the vision, he doesn't mind felines but "No apes!" he declared. In response to that, I instantly perceive llamas and penguins replacing the apes, they might be even more vicious from a different perspective.

• I must add today that I perceive this metal scaffolding as being a bicycle frame, with his arms stuck onto either side of the handlebars. This could make all the difference and things may well change.

• It should be noted that in past years, every time he shared a few words in a chat room at DavidLynch.com, I would imagine that he was a shaven headed villager who's time had come to die and he was sitting in a pit of corpses with his arms and legs freshly cut off, screaming ancient prophesies at the top of his voice in a way that would bring many of the local villagers around to the edge of the pit and hear what he was saying before he bled to death and he wasn't too concerned about the fact that he was dying at all because it was all part of an ancient belief system and that would take form in today's reality small comments about this and that in day to day life such as words of appreciation for a cinema movie or a book, or his maybe an update on his own explorations with creative writing.

• (i.) Another past vision of Olivier D. le F. involved him splitting apart down the centre of the head as if he were made from clay and someone had pulled a cheesewire down through his head and this was during the time in the mid 2000s when almost no one apart from me referred to him as Jan Miki-Wan, a mythical figure named after a mispronunciation of the name of the author Ian McEwan by someone in France who had never heard his name mentioned before. (ii.) Jan Miki-Wan probably appreciated dead flies in his jam spread upon bread and butter as an unobvious choice that would have been a valid one at least.