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| Hamburg, November 2013 |
Sequence
one: a room full of people, young and stickily fashion-forwarded. They are
starring on a screen, which displays water and waves, sun, skies and the tanned
skins of more young and stickily fashion-forwarded people. Laughter and
stickily fashion-forwarded mood.
Tilt: a
band of people, pale and smoking...worlds colliding, blending of conditions...
The scent
of the sea and the certainty always to call out the same places. Ships and
tamed dreams, collapses and hill tribes, shame and resurrection, broken bones
and reconstruction. We left a lot of footprints on this coast over the years,
coming home to foreign land. Berlin seems aeons away already and the echo
died away on highways. Strips and rates, vectors and the repeating joke of
August Ferdinand M.
(And we´re
crossing the space-time-bidges, followed by armies masked with seasons and
empty promises, yelling chants of beauty and imbecility...)
“Are we
there yet?” he´s asking and the lights go red, the ships leave the harbour and
those, who are waving on the bank turn around and go abroad. An incantation
reversed, the spell of an illiterate.
It is
comfortable here, rustic as they say, corners and edges, alcoves and hideaways,
just like the memory. A place for drinking, for sociability as they say...or
for sounds and fog, like today.
Sequence two:
a room full of people and one animal, post-war tiredness. Slowly the noises
leave the heads and pave the way for thoughts. Lost opportunities, colourful
conversations, torpidity in glasses and thoraxes full of souls. New days and
old faces, new masks and old habits. Fingers run over spines of book and he
tries to remember the last line....down and down and down and down...
Earlier:
The
machines are ready, so as the people. Revolting sound waves and negligible
geography and while watching and listenting to Lotus Feed, it feels like if
we´re doing this for years together now. Songs from the past, happily
rediscovered. I really like their energy, which doesn´t give a damn about
ceiling heights and marine depths, about August Ferdinand M. and the people
starring on displays later that evening. It just moves forwards...like that
ship I know somebody waits for my waving on. But I rather stay here, rather
dress myself in sound and fog and leave.
And we´re entering the peak, densely packed but inebriated by a free
will and I like that feeling of being part of that organism, being part of that
unity...dispersed on a handful of square centimeters. And then songs about
devils and kings, about torments and vengeance and when the curtain falls we
seem to have made it up with the sea and its inhabitants. Finally.
Conversations and change of scene. The set is going to be replaced and
so the people..and the fog. Salutes and foreign languages, foreign colours and
a screen outside...water and waves, sun and skies...
And facing the gap in the fabric we guess it´s time to leave. The war is
over and post-war tiredness holds the door open. Just a few corners (which seem
all rounded down for a late-night mind) and the bivouac appears some floors
above. Time to get some sleep and time to run over some spines of books for
recalling lost opportunities, reflecting colourful conversations, torpidity
in glasses and thoraxes full of souls. A passing view from the railing and a
turned away memory.
Don´t grieve over the waving one, who wasn´t there, who won´t be there
at any day, just wish profoundly that he would go away...
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| Hamburg, November 2013 |
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