If you are a participant of a conference and you want to get the real kick out of it, the one that gives you the feeling that you are a real participant at a real conference, certain clichés have to come true.

• The location, elsewhere, in this case somewhere in Belgrade.
• The plane ticket, some weeks in advance in your mailbox.
• The flight, direct Berlin — Belgrade with YAT.
• The personal schedule, stuffed; I just came back from a residency in Helsinki, had one day at home to unpack and pack and had to return right after the conference because my mum was ill and it was Christmas anyway. And I am looking for a new flat and a new studio.
• A blinking light at Schönefeld airport warned me "You are leaving the E.U." In olden times it said: "You are leaving the American Sector". It gives me the exclusive feeling that there is something to leave.
• The plane, a 20 something years old Boeing whatever, almost empty; people don’t speak my language and have a lot of fun.
• The lunch on board is the first contact with a globalized foreign culture.
• The airport in Belgrade, a believe in future cast in concrete some 20 or 30 something years ago. I’ve got an email by the coordinator: "don’t take taxi, take bus!" It isn’t easy, (too many taxi drivers, no bus) but I follow the instructions.

• The hotel named Slavia, a perfect name for a hotel in Serbia, is shabby and very talkative of its 70^th grandness, when the block independents met under its orange balloon lamps and in between its futuristic patterned tails. In Berlin Mitte’s 70^th antique shops you would pay a fortune for a fragment.
• The welcome party at the sponsor’s villa. I am late, but the taxi driver knows the house. There are already lots of cars parking in front of it. The taxi driver pretends that he has no change, but the fee is anyway embarrassing cheap.
  There they are. Some of them good old friends, good vine, good food, the waiters do a good job.
  Good old friends are so important at any conference. They make you feel at home and give you the exclusive feeling to be part of the system. While you say tenderly Harry to Harald Szeemann, others seek desperately for a relevant context.

• The sponsor, generous. We have a lot of fun.
• The sponsor, a German foundation, in fact a unification of all German political foundations called "Breitenbildung", which means something like mass education (a little bit cynically translated, but anyway, translation translated means bridging different sides). "Breitenbildung", a perfect name.

I love that idea, I love that kind of total inclusion. I love to be sponsored by all the political foundations of my country at once. Everybody should be sponsored by all the political foundations of his country at once.

I sleep until two. Than I take a walk to the restaurant, where we have our first meeting

• The Rakia.
• The smoked meat.
• The conference’s language is English. Thom Crane is the only native speaker. Everybody has a hard time to understand him.

A conference is a meeting where you spend most of your time with talking, besides eating and drinking and some other things.

The language is a tool and (therefore) out of focus. It is anyway hard to say what we have in common, besides something, which hardly can be described with words. Art perhaps. And a tortured English as a tool of torture.

• Everybody documents what’s going on. There are digits of historical moments and everyone has a digital camera. We all remember these crabby photographs when the Situationists met in that hotel in Goeteborg, somewhere in Munich, in Paris or in Cosio d'Arroscia. The only leftovers of moments, that wrote art history. The only leftover moments, that wrote art history.

And of course the camera never catches the moment but something next to it, just before or after. Not even the video camera catches it. 20 participants, 20 angles of approach. The crossfire of focuses creates an invisible sculpture of non-captured moments of meaning. It must be a social sculpture.

At night we meet in each other’s rooms, show each other the photographs we took, watch the videos together, exchange email addresses, drink beer, vine, the waiters do a great job serving coffee in all that mess.

• We came and we left and some of us did their personal art project in between. But what we forgot after all is a manifesto.
• Belgradean Latency:

1. All the political foundations of all the countries should finance an endless congress.
2. The congress should take place.
3. The conference language should be broken English.
4. The conference should have no topic.
5. Results should be avoided.
6. Everyone invited, should be allowed to travel to the conference, no matter what age, colour, gender or country he or she is from.
7. The next congress should be called after the sponsor: "Mass Education".

• And what we forgot was Anna Balint from Romania. She arrived almost at the end of "under the bridge", when we were beyond documentation. She couldn’t get a visa and waited desperately all these days until the last one at the Serbian border, until she could get at least a transit visa. She met some of us and had some breakfast at the hotel. She was looking for someone to drive her to the Croatian border.

I wonder if someone took a photo of her.

• I took some smoked meat with me and a lot of Rakia and even more of docu pics, just in case. I have to find that balance: Showing something where you don’t see anything, which proofs that you missed everything.