A Thousand Plateaus

bad dreams bad dreams bad dreams. i was meeting s.. or i was supposed to meet her. it was in a little town, not unlike olomouc. i still had some time left, i wouldn’t meet her before an hour. so i walked through town, went up to something that appeared to be a castle, but when i got nearer it turned out to be a small zoo like the one we have in bielefeld. suddenly i realized that i had only a couple of minutes left to get to the place where we wanted to meet. but to get there, i had to cross an antique store that was composed of various small rooms that all looked like museums, and it was crowded and i tried to get past people, and after every room there was another room and time was running up and i didn’t reach the exit. finally i decided to get out through a window. once outside i realized that i had lost my cell phone and in the meantime i was late already and i wanted to get to the place where s. was waiting (which wasn’t far away) but i was literally crawling up the gateway of the store, trying to get to the main road, but i could only move in slow motion and i wouldn’t get forward a single step, and i was even holding on to the gravel, hoping this would get me somewhere. waking up i felt tired and disoriented.

the lilies on the table in full bloom: yellow with brown sprinkles. at the next table: a couple that is obviously on their first date. he is talking too much and too loudly, rubbing his hand under the table nervously. she picks a thread from out of his hair, is clinging to his lips, grateful that she doesn’t have to talk. it’s starting to rain and the light is leaving and i’m on page 150. my mind’s distracted and confused, my thoughts are many miles away. “and what is love for you?” she is asking him, and his answer is truly not worth being recorded here. unimaginative and unpoetic. when he’s going to the restroom i have to force myself not tapping on her shoulder and shaking my head fatherly. on the sidewalk: lightning and more rain.
“stop writing emails!” jodie scolds me when she passes the table.
“i’m not! i’m really trying to work here!” and i’m pointing to the novel, my notes and the open document on the screen that looks like a wound i need to suture with stitches of letters. and out of the blue i’m remembering how paula calls me sometimes: ‘my ishmael’. “You are being loved,” F. said “you are being invited into a great love, and I envy you.” x will mark the place, like the parting of the waves, like a house falling into the sea, into the sea

sometimes i think this is *exactly* what i’m doing. only that i am the driver *and* the painter. and at the end of this night i’m on page 153.

and here is section 17 of beautiful losers, because sometimes i wish i *could* talk to you in capitals:

O God, Your Morning Is Perfect. People Are Alive In Your World. I Can Hear The Little Children In The Elevator. The Airplane Is Flying Through The Original Blue Air. Mouths Are Eating Breakfast. The Radio Is Filled With Electricity. The Trees Are Excellent. You Are Listening To The Voices Of The Faithless Who Tarry On The Bridge of Spikes. I Have Let Your Spirit Into The Kitchen. The Westclock Is Also Your Idea. The Govemment Is Meek. The Dead Do Not Have To Wait. You Comprehend Why Someone Must Drink Blood. O God, This Is Your Moming. There Is Music Even From A Human Thigh-Bone Trumpet. The Ice-Box Will Be Forgiven. I Cannot Think Of Anything Which Is Not Yours. The Hospitals Have Drawers Of Cancer Which They Do Not Own. The Mesozoic Waters Abounded With Marine Reptiles Which Seemed Eternal. You Know The Details Of The Kangaroo. Place Ville Marie Grows And Falls Like A Flower In Your Binoculars. There Are Old Eggs In The Gobi Desert. Nausea Is An Earthquake In Your Eye. Even The World Has A Body. We Are Watched Forever. In The Midst Of Molecular Violence The Yellow Table Clings To Its Shape. I Am Surrounded By Members Of Your Court. I Am Frightened That My Prayer Will Fall Into My Mind. Somewhere This Morning Agony Is Explained. The Newspaper Says That A Human Embryo Was Found Wrapped In A Newspaper And That A Doctor Is Suspected. I Am Trying To Know You In The Kitchen Where I Sit. I Fear My Small Heart. I Cannot Understand Why My Arm Is Not A Lilac Tree. I Am Frightened Because Death Is Your Idea. Now I Do Not Think It Behooves Me To Describe Your World. The Bathroom Door Is Opening By Itself And I Am Shivering With So Much Fear. O God, I Believe Your Morning Is Perfect. Nothing Will Happen Incompletely. O God, I Am Alone In The Desire Of My Education But A Greater Desire Must Be Lodged With You. I Am A Creature In Your Morning Writing A Lot Of Words Beginning With Capitals. Seven-Thirty In The Ruin Of My Prayer. I Sit Still In Your Morning While Cars Drive Away. O God, If There Are Fiery Joumeys Be With Us In Our Ignorance And Our Wretched Doctrines. We Are All Of Us Tormented With Your Glory. You Have Caused Us To Live On The Crust Of A Star. Catherine Was Mangled Every Hour In Mysterious Machinery. Be With Us This Morning Of Your Time. Be With Us At Eight O’Clock Now. Be With Me As I Lose The Crumbs Of Grace. Be With Me As The Kitchen Comes Back. Please Be With Me Especially While I Poke Around The Radio For Religious Music. Be With Me In The Phases Of My Work Because My Brain Feels Like It Has Been Whipped And I Yearn To Make A Small Perfect Thing Which Will Live In Your Morning Like Curious Static Through A President’s Elegy Or A Nude Hunchback Acquiring A Tan On The Crowded Oily Beach.

13.97km. new record. even though the only things i had to eat today have been a muffin for breakfast and a sundae in the afternoon. still i ran for my life. even though i felt very relaxed and tired today. it was one of these weird days when each emotion seems to be heightened or extra-intensive. it started with an awkward moment when i was at the university and i went to have a coffee with my colleagues. and while we were standing at one of those high, round tables i noticed that a good friend of s. was sitting across the hall, apparently waiting for someone. it was a girl who has finished studying long ago, so i didn’t really know what she was doing there, and i felt a slight nausea rising when i started to consider the idea that she might be waiting for s. there, and then the nausea turned into sadness and that sadness hasn’t left me all day.

listened to “kathy’s song” when i drove to work. listened to “kathy’s song” in the office. listened to “kathy’s song” when i drove home. listened to “kathy’s song” while i was writing this.

went with elaine to an ice cream parlor after work. i had a huge caramel sundae and she had 15 cigarettes. and quite honesty - i’ve no idea which  was healthier. it felt strange sitting in the parlor while it was raining cats and dogs outside - but i can have a bowl of ice cream anytime, really. we watched how people were running for shelter, holding newspapers over their heads and fighting with their umbrellas that were cracking like twigs in the storm.

we were discussing my problems concerning talking to a friend of mine who has problems in her relationship. and i said that i felt awkward and  unable to be honest about my feelings because i feared that i have, well, ‘egoistic’ motives. i never really cared for the guy she’s with right now and actually i would dump him if i were her, but my fear of saying this for egoistic reasons even makes me *defend* him.

and then when i was walking up to the subway station after having said good-bye to elaine i met d. who was standing in a crowd of people waiting for the train. we looked at each other and my confusion about unexpectedly encountering a face i know but being unable for a second to remember where from was mirrored in d.’s eyes. then we both smiled when we remembered simultaneously. we didn’t talk. i walked on, saying ‘hello’ and i got a shy ‘hello’ back and i was bewildered again by the beauty. not a haecceity, but a definite beauty. and then, when i was standing staring at the tracks and the people around me were brushing the rain off their clothes and swearing about the weather, i felt clothed in a cloud of intimacy that i remembered from the night with d., and a wave of tenderness washed from my heart (if i may use such cliché terms) and all over my body and peeled off from my skin and traveled across the platform in the shape of my arms, my hands, my chest, my lips. and it was such an intense feeling that i was glad to lean against the advertising board because i felt all tension leave my body and my legs became plastic.

on the ride home i spotted victoria standing at the other end of the car. i saw that she saw me and i thought ’stay there, stay there, stay there’ - i didn’t really feel like talking to her. but of course she came over.
“hi.” she said
“hi victoria.”
“going home?”
“yep. and you?”
“getting to work.”
“i see…”
“listen, i wanted to apologize for my burst of anger the other day.”
“oh, it’s okay…”
“no, really - i tend to be a little too impulsive.”
“i wouldn’t have noticed if you hadn’t mentioned it.” and i was trying a friendly smile, but the irony seemed to be lost on her.
“no, i mean, really. in some situations i’m just overreacting a little…”
“you mean you are *not* leading a war against me personally?”
finally she was laughing.
“no, not at all! don’t take it personally! in fact when i first met my boyfriend i bit him when i was drunk. he still has a crescent mark on his cheek…”
“ouch! that *must* be love!”
“well, first it was and then it wasn’t anymore.”
“oh…” and i’m wondering if there’s *anybody* left in a happy relationship in this city at all.
“join the club!”
“oh, i’ve got to get off here. see you at the café!” she said while leaning forward to read the name on the signs outside, her black hair falling into her face gracefully.
“yep! have a good day!”
and i was thinking: ‘maybe i *do* like her.’

and right now i hear the rain falling onto the lawn through the half-open window. there’s such an overwhelming sense of longing in the room that i don’t know where i take the air to breathe. and some things will have to change soon. and i’m *this* close to text-messaging sebastian. and my thoughts are many miles away. and as the song goes: “i’m at the edges of a universe so vast / and i don’t know how long the oxygen will last.”

from yesterday night:

- No, F. Maybe it’s true, but it’s been too hard, too much crazy education, and God knows for what. Every second day I’ve had to learn something, some lesson, some lousy parable, and what am I this morning, a Doctor of Shit.
- That’s it. That’s love! (32)

perfect! downhill from downhill. very good! we’re obviously bending natural laws today. hope the academy of science will take a note of this! talked to princess superstar on the phone, and, well, she mentioned that she’s going out with somebody tonight “whom you do not want to meet.” well, this didn’t raise my mood. so, i decided to get back to work. hm, let me rephrase this: to get through to work for the first time today.

very weird: they’re still playing sebastian’s play-list. kim carnes: bette davis eyes. “Keep the drinks comin’ girl / ‘Til I can’t feel anything!” on each table: lilies whose buds haven’t opened yet.

from this morning:

headache, heartache, brainache. jesus christ! i got drunk very quickly yesterday night. caro and mel were working. “no, you’re not going home, phil. have another beer. we’ll go over to trees lounge (that other bar) when we’ve closed the place and you’ll join us.” later jodie came, and when it was two in the morning already we went to trees lounge. i felt increasingly confused by mel’s hair and looks. she bears a slight resemblance to s., especially the way she had done her hair yesterday. it was not unlike kim novak’s in vertigo, only looser: she had twisted it into a vortex at the back of her head and there were little twirls and eddies of single strands rippling down her neck playfully. she was sitting beside me and even though she does seem to be a little cool and ‘prudish’ at first (thomas once made the point that i would obviously feel attracted to ‘prudish’ women, ’spröde’ frauen. which – of course – is not true) she was very touchy yesterday, stroking my cheek and putting her hand on my leg when she was talking to me. and while she was looking listeningly in jodie’s direction my attention zoomed in on that spot right behind her ear and in a weird synaesthetic moment i could smell how soft her skin felt there. i felt like asking whether i could kiss her there. i didn’t, though, and had another beer instead. choosing between being considered an alcoholic or a molestor i thought the first was the better option.

i came home at six in the morning, and when i stumbled into bed i realized that the entire room was filled with an early blue hue from the morning sky that was just about going through the perceptible change from swallowing to emitting light. and i wondered aloud to myself and any imaginary person present “how beautiful!?!”. a time of the day.

i’m sitting by a table near the window because where i’m usually sitting two women are drinking champagne, looking through a bridal fashion catalog. so while i’m staring at the screen trying to make sense of what i wrote yesterday i feel something tickling me and from the corner of my eye i can see a bumblebee on my upper arm, and i’m brushing it away casually with my hand.
“fucking hell!” i’m shouting, jumping up.
“whats with *you*?” victoria is asking.
“a bloody bumblebee stung me!”
“wait, i get a cloth and some cold water. are you allergic?”
“i don’t know. i don’t think so…”
she’s looking at my arm less concerned than i think is appropriate in this situation.
“well, just sit down again. this doesn’t look serious. it might swell a little and itch…” and she’s off to the kitchen, returns a moment later with a wet cloth that she presses on the sting.
“ouch!”
“now hold still” she’s commanding. rolling her black eyes heavenwards while she’s saying
“i don’t think that it has hit any muscles there” and she’s pressing my upper arm with thumb & index-finger. jodie’s giggling behind the counter.
“that fucking bumblebee!”
“it must have been a wasp. bumblebees don’t sting.” victoria says in a sure voice.
“it *was* a bumblebee. i saw it with my own eyes!”
“maybe it was an obese wasp” she’s laughing
“may i ask, young lady, what qualifies *you* for a chair in entomology?”
“my father was a bee keeper…”
“really?”
“really. he even wrote a book on bumblebees.”
“yeah, right! and i am the president of the first bumblebee spotters society!”
“listen, mr. bigshot: just because you’re sitting here each day with your fancy ibook pretending to write a pulitzer prize winning book you don’t have to show such a patronizing attitude.” and she throws the cloth onto the table, turns around vanishes into the kitchen.
“meaoow!” jodie’s scratching the air with an imaginary paw. “i think this is the beginning of a wonderful friendship” she says without looking up.
“you know, i don’t think that i *like* this woman!”

and - as impossible as it may seem - the day went downhill from then: catatonic staring at the alternating images of the ibook screensaver and not a coherent though in my head except for a silly rendering of the chorus of suzanne’s “marlene on the wall”:

deleuze is watching from the screen
his mocking smile is all i see
as he records the sweat and scream
of every student writing
but the only student here is me
my writing takes eternally
i guess it’s called my destiny
that i am screwing
  screwing
    screwing
deleuze on the screen.

Steady, old scholar! I’ll turn off the light and write in the dark a resume of tomorrow’s Indian chapter that I must get to work on. Discipline. Click! “Triompher du mal par le bien.” St. Paul. That will begin the chapter. I feel better already. Foreign languages are a good corset.

worked. result: oneandahalf petty pages. tomorrow i’m going to buy a rope and hang myself. oh wait, tomorrow’s sunday and the shops are closed, so i’ll have to wait till monday.

jodie and mel are working at the café today, and there’s a new girl: rather tall, brown hair, cut in a very, hm, interesting way. her hair is not really “cut”. it’s shoulderlong and it looks as if it simply arranges itself sort of naturally around her face and neck. she looks slightly asian at first, but when i go up to the counter to pay i realize that she probably has inuit ancestors: her eyes are pitch dark.
“i want you to meet our new colleague who is filling in for sebastian…” jodie says to me and then to her:
“this is the weird guy we’ve been telling you about…”
“hi!” i’m smiling “i’m philipp. “
“hi. i’m victoria. victoria lucas.” the name sounds familiar, even though i don’t know her face, and for a moment i’m wondering why she is introducing herself so formally and whether she has been in one of my classes. she’s looking right into my face. now, if people introduce themselves i expect them to glance at me and then politely look away. but she doesn’t. she’s looking straight at me with open curiosity as if i was an exotic animal in the zoo and i begin to wonder what the hell jodie and mel have told her about me other than that i’m sitting with the ibook and about five thousand books in the corner each day and keep swearing under my breath. after a couple of seconds her eyes make me feel so uncomfortable that i turn away and try to get a conversation started with mel and jodie.
“so, what about sebastian! becoming a big movie star! i still can’t believe it. filming with tom hanks and philip seymour hoffman!”
“i knew that little punk would sleep his way up.” jodie says, then turns away and mumbles “guess i’ll miss him.”
“i will, too!” mel sighs.
“boy! he really *was* everybody’s darling, wasn’t he?”
“well, at least *one* of us is having a career!” jodie says and hands me the check. “that’s 8.90″

leah commented: what part of canada is princess superstar emigrating to?
her prince will be associated with the university of montreal, so they’ll live directly in cohen-city

mia commented: … writing paragraph after paragraph of beautifully woven fiction (*gg* sebastian to star with philip “capote” seymour hoffman…

oh well, i wish it *was* a fiction

mia further commented: … plus: bernd was reeaally cool with this sigur rosish xylophone. great show!

he was! i think it paid off that we did not try to look cool. we just said: let’s go in there and have some fun. and maybe we were so far off in uncool-country that we were cool already

video “interview”
http://www.200lurkers.com/200lurkers_interview.wmv [20.6 mb]

video “the pilot”
http://www.200lurkers.com/200lurkers_pilot.wmv [18.5 mb]

video “space walk”
http://www.200lurkers.com/200lurkers_spacewalk.wmv [12.1 mb]

feeling sick. without energy. paula hasn’t answered mails for a week and i’m starting to worry yesterday the tv-show was aired and we looked ok. unfortunately the final mix of the sound was a bit, hm, unbalanced. the guitar and the voice could have been more in the foreground. also, “space walk” is faded out in the middle of the song but otherwise it’s cool. i’ll make mediaclips tomorrow and put them on the 200 lurkers website for everybody’s amusement. finished scanning beautiful losers. 13.55 km on the crosstrainer tonight. another new personal record. seems like the things i need to run away from keep getting bigger and scarier.

okay, here’s the second part of the talk i had with sebastian:

“so, what it is? what do you want to talk to me about?”
“do you remember that night we met outside the café by chance. you were coming from somewhere else and i was just about closing the place. it must have been the beginning of july. and we saw that firefly…”
“sure, wasn’t that when you were supposed to be in berlin?”
“yes. and i had been eralier that week.”
“and you told me you returned because of ‘personal discrepancies’.”
“that was true. but it was not the whole truth.”
“what do you mean?”
“well, i went to berlin for professional reasons. i was at a casting. at a casting for a movie. and it didn’t go very well. they sent me home after the second round. and then i fought with my boy friend and we spilt up.”
“i’m sorry…”
he’s using his usual smile that is beyond interpretation.
“well, i’m not much sorry for the guy. it had been hell for months anyway. and as for the casting: i *thought* it did not go well. in fact, as i learned today, they already decided after the second round that they would offer me the part. i got the call yesterday morning!”
“that’s great! congratulations!”
“it’s a big budget film. produced by dreamworks. and guess who is starring… philip seymour hoffman! he’s my *fa-vo-rite* actor! and of course it’s so funny because of *your* name!”
“you are filming with philip seymour hoffman?! get out!”
“no, seriously! i cannot really tell you what the movie’s about because, you know, when you’re doing a casting you’re signing a disclaimer that you won’t be talking to anybody about the plot and stuff, but it has to do with cold war weapon trades and large parts of the action take place in berlin in the early 80s. my role isn’t very big, but i’ll have a couple of scenes with phil, and i’m *so* excited. there are a lot of other stars involved as well. tom hanks and julia roberts, but they’re not half as exciting. but seymour hoffman. jesus, i got sweaty hands already!”
“sebastian, are you kidding me? you’re telling me you’ll be in one movie with tom hanks and julia roberts!”
“no, i’m not kidding! i guess they thought since it is a very complex political drama they better spice it up with some big time stars. and me.”
“and what’s your role like?”
“i’m an east-german spy who is secretly conspiring with the cia. but actually i mustn’t really tell you this.”
“wow, that’s…, i mean, that’s great news!”
“it is, isn’t it? but there’s also one big disadvantage: they will start shooting early next month. so i’ll move to berlin on tuesday. i got to be there for a two week rehearsal and dialog coaching later this month.”
“you mean, you’re leaving for berlin the day after tomorrow?”
“yes, unfortunately.”
“and for how long? i mean, like permanently?”
“no, i’ll be back. a friend of mine knows someone who is renting my apartment for the time. in berlin i’ll be staying in a hotel near the production site. all paid for by dreamworks. filming is scheduled for at least a month, maybe a week more or less, depending on how things will work out.”
“hm, well, this is probably the chance of a lifetime for you.”
“yes.”
you know, dear reader, this might be shocking news to you: i’m an egoistic asshole. and that very moment i felt the same way as when princess superstar told me that she will emigrate to canada with her prince next year. i thought: ‘no!’

neither sebastian nor i say anything for a long time which – in reality – is probably less than a minute. we both stare into out beers, he’s peeling the label from the bottle.
“so” he finally says.
“so” i repeat and look up. i feel betrayed. even though i don’t know what kind of interest i have in this person, or if *any* at all for that matter, i feel betrayed.
“well, good luck then!”
“thommy promised that i can keep working here when i’m back…”
what’s that supposed to be? a comfort?
“guess i’ll still be here writing on the thesis then anyways.”
“you know, this sounds mean, but somehow i hope that it will still take you a long time…” effortless gatsby smile.
“don’t worry about *that*!” forced philipp smile.
“hm, i think i have to get back to work again. so, since i won’t be in tomorrow, i guess it’s good-bye, now. take care!”
his hand is reaching over the table.
“yep. you too! have fun!”
a business handshake, simultaneous finishing of our beers. i pack my things and leave. when i look back into the café from across the street he’s looking at me as well. sad face. for whatever reasons. i’m too tired to care.

But I don’t believe, and I’m not consoled
I lean closer to the fire, but I’m cold

do you know these dreams when you’re trying to run but no matter how much effort you put into moving your legs, you only move in slow motion, you do not really leave the spot, you painfully try to get ahead but nothing changes. it’s the same feeling with the thesis. i’ve been sitting here for twoandahalf hours, and all i’ve managed to write is a single page. a fucking single page. it’s frustrating. and this page’s not even any good. and i haven’t even started to work on the complex parts, i’m still writing on the introduction to the chapter, and actually my only task is to describe plot and style, which should be routine work, for christ’s sake! fuck! i have the strong desire to take the ibook and smash it on the floor, but i’ll know better than to give in to this.

“how’s things?” sebastian is asking me passing the table.
“fine…” i murmur “…couldn’t be better.”
the next time he’s stopping by my side, leans on the table and says in an unusually low voice:
“can i talk to you for a minute later?”
“well, sure! is anything the matter?”
“hm, no, i mean yes. it’s just that i would like to tell you something, but…”
“the check please!” someone’s yelling from across the room.
“got to go!” and he hurries away.
great! that’s exactly what i need right now: suggestions that i know will keep my mind busy the entire evening. tell me something. jesus! what is this supposed to mean? good news or bad news? and what would be good news in the first place? and i’m trying to remember the way he had looked at me: friendly? relaxed? nervous? excited? flirtatious? serious? or did he simply give me his old great gatsby smile? after twenty minutes i decide that i cannot remember anymore.

after what seems to be an eternity the café is getting emptier and finally he is asking his colleague if she will manage on her own for a couple of minutes. he unbinds the apron and throws it onto the counter carelessly, sighs, [good sign?], opens a bottle of becks-beer [good sign?] and comes walking over to my table. and before i have the chance to start wondering whether he will sit next to me or opposite, or to ponder upon which option is the better sign, he’s taking the chair opposite me, and wipes his face with his hands.
“what a day!”
“stressful?”
“sort of.” a warm smile. good sign. i smile back.
“hey, come on! you’re a pro! don’t let yourself be irritated by a couple of unfriendly guests.”
“oh, that. no, that’s not it, actually!”
“so, what is it? what do you want to talk to me about?”
 
perfect! and just now the battery of the ibook starts to blink and i don’t have the power supply with me

Oh my God
First love opens like a flower
A black bear running through the forest
light holds me in her sight and her power
But tricky skies,
your eyes are true
The future is beauty and sorrow
Still, I wish that we could run away
and live the life we used to
If just for tonight and tomorrow

- paul simon, “that’s me”

a thousand thoughts again. i need to calm down. predominate emotion: panic. panic rising like a fog during the past two hour in which i have tried to read 25 pages of What is Philosophy, gradually realizing that i do not understand a single word. what the hell is the bloody “plane of immanence of thought” supposed to be? i re-read passages and more fog was blurring the words. i think the understanding i thought i had is a useless understanding. it is neither an analytical understanding, nor an academic one. it is neither structural nor historical. it is purely intuitive. similar to the way you understand a poem when you read it for the first time and realize that it moves you for reasons that you still have to find out. i only understand the beauty of the texts, not their argument. this understanding does not suffice. it reaches its borders too soon and then i find myself standing there: faced with a vast uncharted open land that i know i will never manage to cross. ergo: the panic.

when i entered the café, caro greeted me with a smile and asked:
“so, how are you? do you have a headache?”
and i was surprised and thought: do i look *that* tired and worn out? i *did* check my appearance before i left the house because there was a good chance that sebastian’s working tonight (he isn’t, though), and i didn’t think that i looked totally crushed.
“well, a little… i was…”
“…out last night with jodie, i know!” caro said and grinned.
and i was really speechless! how did she know? i mean we only returned this morning at seven. why do they know that i’m having a coffee at starbucks or have spent the entire night with jodie at some other bar. if i was more paranoiac than schizophrenic i would have freaked out. but i only kept wondering.
and then when i had sat down, caro’s colleague (the one who had moved recently) came to my table and said:
“hey philipp. can i get your number. you know, i won’t be working a lot the next weeks and i wanted to invite you to the housewarming party…” so i gave her my number and tried to be charming and kept wondering.

actually i was still in a state of wonder from last night. before jodie and mel closed the café mel was filling up the muffineers. they were all gathered on a black tray and she poured the sugar into them sort of carelessly, spilling some onto the tray. after she had returned the muffineers to the tables the tray was still there on the counter with some sugar strewn over it. and i looked at it and had to smile and said:
“look, how beautiful! the tray looks like the night sky filled with stars. and there’s the milky way…!” and i was pointing at the random distribution of white crystals on the black tray that, in some places, was denser than in others. mel stared at me and said unbelievingly:
“boy, you are *so* romantic!” and i wondered: *am* i?

and then later that night… no, let me rephrase this: in the early morning when it started to get light outside and i was sitting next to jodie in the bar there was another wondrous moment. sitting beside her (instead of opposite and with the counter between us) made us talk differently. and i think she might have shot major strasser that night for me. we had already gone through the ritual of showing each other our driving license photos which is as close to letting somebody know that you like him as east-westphalians get (jodie is also from bielefeld). eventually she said:
“hey phil, can i ask you a personal question?”
“go ahead…”
“you know, we have asked us…”
“who’s we…”
“some people working at the café, we have asked us: are you gay?”
and i didn’t really know what i should wonder about more: who exactly those people were. why they were talking about me. where they got the impression from that i was gay…
“i mean i remember the first time i saw you coming into the café…” she continued “…and it was totally clear to me that you are. but then tonight you have mentioned your ex-girlfriend, so i’m not so sure anymore.”
[i really had mentioned x. because jodie and i had compared our claims to fame, and i tried to score with the fact that x.'s sister had been in the same class as jochen distelmeyer.
"jochen *who*?????" jodie had only asked and i lost the contest because her mother was in joseph beuy's art class.]
“really? the first time you saw me you thought i was gay?”
“sure. and i liked you from the first time i saw you” a big grin on her face “and i had actually asked thommy: ‘listen, boss, what do you think? can i go over and ask him what he’s working on?’ because i was so curious about you: your were sitting there each day, reading and typing and brooding, sometimes swearing under your breath. that’s why i was really glad when you came to sit at the bar that one night…”

the camera zooms over her shoulder into the out of focus background and we enter a flashback. fade from black: me sitting at the bar in the café for the first time, jodie is washing glasses behind the counter. i had decided to talk to her that night because i was confused. i had gathered all these signs from sebastian and i wanted to know whether he was flirting with me or whether this was just the way that waiters behave. so i took all my courage and said:
“listen jodie, can i ask you a personal question?
“hm, if you have to…”
“are you flirting with the guests sometimes?”
and i sensed immediately that this question irritated her and she gave me an evasive answer.
yesterday night i understood why. [we return to our protagonists sitting besides each other while the early, soft morning sun is shining through the smoky bar.]
“that was why i was so irritated when you asked me that night if i flirted with the guests, because i thought: is he making a pass at me? i’m into girls and he’s into guys! what is going on here?”
“oh i see. no, i was just trying to get some general information, like about something as ‘the code of honor’ of waiters… and you really thought i was gay just from how i was sitting in the café? jesus! this seems to happen again and again!” [and it does and i don't know why. i seem to set off everybody's 'gaydar' – no wonder that girls tend to overlook me! :-(]
“sure. i mean you’re dapper and you attach some importance to your appearance.”
and that remark startled me as well: i do? more than average? i am dapper? only because i take a shower each day?
“so, i’ve got to disappoint you” i’m laughing “i’m not gay. i have always loved women and i’ve never fallen in love with a man. even though right now i’m sort of fascinated by a guy, but i don’t think that i’m actually *in love* with him.”
so, i was wondering about her comments all morning. apparently i’m unwillingly subversive, undermining the heteronormative matrix. i am a straight guy caught into the body of a gay one.

which leads us smoothly to our next topic: the dissatisfying sebastian situation. i know i said the other day that i thought that this in limbo  state of affairs was the best that could happen, but i’ve changed my mind about that. it’s so weird when we meet, because i have no idea how to react. i don’t even bloody know what *he* is thinking about the whole situation, or about me for that matter. and i think i would really like to know. but this would require that we sit down and talk. we can’t do this at the café, for obvious reasons. so we would have to meet somewhere else, and this means that he’d have to come forward and suggest a time and a place, but i think this will not happen unless we have talked about the situation and know what this whole thing is about, but we can’t do this at the café for obvious reasons. so it’s a catch 22, and i’m not really happy, no, not really happy, no no.

the other thing i was thinking about today was the reasons why i have such a hard time with my phd thesis (besides my chicken brain, of course). and i think i realized this again during the taping of the tv-show, because the whole production was such a piece of perfect group work: and i enjoyed being part of it. and it reminded me of the band work, and the team work during the conference organizations, and my secret project with jamie. i don’t think that i’m a lazy person. but i simply am a group-worker. i HATE working on my own. if i could do the thesis with two or three (or even one) other persons i would have finished it years ago. i truly think so. i need the feedback and the dynamics and the synergy. obviously the whole thing can backfire if you have to work with people who suck, but until now i have mostly made positive experiences.

anyway, the past two day i ate 800g of m&m’s. tomorrow morning: gym. tomorrow afternoon: cohen.

“It may be that nothing changes or seems to change in history, but everything changes, and we change, in the event.” (WiP 111 [!])

“Saints and friends, help me out of History…“  (BL 111 [!])