A Thousand Plateaus

wow! what a strange experience. yesterday the dvd "the tibetan book of the dead" arrived. basically it consists of a documentary about the funeral of an old tibetan man, showing which practices and prayers are performed and what they mean in the context of buddhism. the whole thing is narrated by leonard cohen with the low voice of "ten new songs" and "dear heather", and his readings from the "book of the dead" are pretty impressive.

so when i returned from the gym this afternoon i watched it with aching muscles and worn out legs. and when the film had ended and i stepped on the balcony to let the mild evening air flow around my bare feet i heard all the cars who were driving down the street honking because germany had won the soccer match. and coming from this contemplative mood, from these furrowed faces of the tibetan men and women, from the calm acceptance of the inevitable events of life and death to the teutonic craze of arbitrarily identifying with eleven men who have made one goal more than eleven other men was a pretty rough transition, to say the least.

leah asked: "Do you think Sebastian will ever stumble across your blog?" well, this time i have changed the name of most persons that i mention here. since he doesn't even know my surname i think it's very improbable that he will ever find this blog. in fact one doesn't even find it if one googles my first name and surname. so it's pretty well hidden [;-) @ persons who know who they are].

"What now, Phillip? Will you talk to him upon his return? Will you write a letter in response? Will you begin to avoid that cafe?" if only i knew. i don't think that i will avoid the café. and i think that i really would like to talk to him. i think all this has to wait until the world cup is over, because presently the café is not really the most romantic or intimate place imaginable. so i'm pretty sure the sebastian-story will continue.

in memoriam robert gernhardt

setting: the café. it's 20:30 and i'm drunk already. had two beers, and since i did not really have anything for dinner (or lunch) i feel that beautiful, floating state in which everything seems to affect me so much easier. yes, i think that's what i love about being drunk (i don't really mean 'drunk' in the sense of being completely pissed, more in the sense of being tipsy. but 'tipsy' is be such a terrbile sounding word): that it seems to open me up to affections. read dialogues and it almost made me cry. what a beautiful, beautiful text. "That which triggers an affect, that which effectuates a power to be affected, is called a signal" i was typing just a minute ago while around me the music was playing, the guests were chatting, the waitresses were waiting. "The web stirs, the scalp creases, a little skin is bared. Nothing but a few signs like stars in an immense black night. And sebastian will come by later, he just phoned. Spider-becoming, flea-becoming, tick-becoming. An unknown, resiliant, obscure, stubborn life." AN UNKNOWN, RESILIANT, OBSCURE, STUBBORN LIFE. and i re-read what i just had typed and realized that i have sampled the conversation of the waitresses into my typing.

so sebastian will come by. after my brain – slowed down by the alcohol – had processed the information and had attached signifieds to the singifiers, my first impulse was to take my things and go home immediately. but on second thought i decided to stay.

it's only 21:30 and i think i've already passed the point of writing intelligibly on the thesis (or on anything else). i almost knocked over the glass twice and a paragraph such as "For my pathetic wish to be loved i will substitute a power to love [...] loving those who are like this: when they enter a room they are not persons, characters or subjects, but an atmospheric variation, a change of hue, an imperceptible molecule, a discrete population, a fog or a clouds of droplets. Everything has really changed." presses water into my eyes. jodie's standing behind the counter like a rock in corporeal and mental composure. did i mention that she, too is from bielefeld (which is my hometown). the stereo is playing "horse with no name" – what a simple but great song. timeless. actually i had planned to start writing the chapter on BL today, because, for almost three months i've been typing quotations and i'm sick of it, i really felt like starting my OWN text on the novel. but when i opened the document with quotes that i wanted to use and saw that it was 40 pages i was discouraged by thinking about what a complex and tiresome task was lying before me. so i closed the document, and ordered another beer. escapism? sure!

for there aint no one for to give you no pain. no sign of a point, of sense or s., for that matter. talk about the sliding of the signified under the signifier! i asked bernd if he felt like becoming a part time lurker for the recording of the tv-program. oh, i'm not even sure if i have mentioned this already: i talked to the one of the producers of center.tv, and we fixed a date for august. and it's not really only an internet tv-station: they can also be found on cable, as susanne has told me. i'm supposed to play two or three songs and give an interview. i'm not quite sure yet which songs i should choose. suggestions are welcomed. 22:11. i just had a soup. and when i tasted the first spoonfull in my mouth i thought that i MUST decribe this sensation, but what's the point. it's not really possible, anyway. people have left the café. no one has come. i guess i'll pack my things and go home as well.

leah commented: WHAT IS IN THE LETTER?

okay, i must confess, even though the whole day (and yesterday) has been filled with a ten hour shift at the office that kept me pretty busy, i still couldn't really keep my mind from wondering what might be in the letter. so when i returned home tonight (and after i had been to the gym, naturally) i eventually took it (and when i weighed it in my hand i realized for the first time that it must be several pages long) and then opened it. so here it is (and it has been a hell of a job to translate it!):   

hello p. 

you know, my ex-boyfriend, he was an architect. he always referred to himself as being a 'postmodern' architect. i never really knew what he meant by that because what the hell do i know about post- or pre-modernism? i'm just an unknown actor, trained to say lines other people have put into my mouth. anyway, my friend was into what he used to call 'minimal constructions': you try to come up with a supportive structure (for a bridge or a roof for example) with the minimal use of material. sounds like a simple principle, doesn't it? my friend even said that it was a natural concept, that nature would be constructing this way. he used to say: "we architects have to stop thinking in numbers and measurements, in angles and meters. instead we have to think in forces. you have to know the way that forces are moving through the material." i never really understood what he meant unless, one day, he showed me: he had a glass plate, 50x50 centimeters. and he put it on the floor. and then he took a steel ball the size of an apple and he let it drop onto the plate. and when it hit the glass it created a beautiful pattern on the surface: the thin cracks traveled all over the pane like a spider web. "look..." he said "these break lines show how the force lines move through the material. now, imagine the pane was a roof for a building. if i designed a construction that follows these cracks i can build a fragile but perfectly stable support for the pane." and this was the way he drew up bridges and sunroofs: he simply designed along the force lines that went through the respective material. the constructions picked up the forces, supported the panes at the weakest points, the break lines, and thus created a perfect equilibrium between force and counterforce. he used to move his fingers almost tenderly over the countless glass-panes that he had broken, looking with dreamy eyes, totally immersed in the patterns of the cracks, as if the material had just whispered its most precious secrets to him. he saw it and touched it a way that he never touched or saw me. and this was the reason why we broke up eventually.

bear with me. i promise this will lead to something.

i remember that it had been around the time of the ending of my relationship that i have noticed you in our café for the first time. it must have been over a year ago, before you started to come regularly to work here. in fact i remember the occasion for two reasons: first of all it was the first day of spring. these days are always special for me: the first time of the year that people come in with sunglasses, wearing t-shirts and their white arms are sticking out of the sleeves, pale as bones. and secondly i remember you for the person you were with. she walked in first. i was fascinated immediately. there was a certain glow about her. the two of you sat down at a table by the counter and for the first couple of minutes i couldn't really stop looking at her eyes. they were blue. a light, transparent blue. the kind of watery blue that borders on gray. the kind of color i imagine glaciers must have at places that no one has ever been before. and although i do not really care for girls i was mesmerized by that uncanny beauty. it was a beauty beyond male and female, an almost asexual beauty. i even remember the song that was playing: "unchained melody": "and time it moves so slowly. and time can do so much. are you still mine? i need your love, good speed your love to me."

bear with me. i promise this will lead to something.

the two of you were sitting there, on the chairs that are empty now while i'm writing this (it is half past one at night and there's only one lonely, sad drunk sitting at the counter). she was staring out of the window, you were looking at her, saying things i couldn't really understand. from time to time she was smiling, and you were smiling, too. and when i brought the coffees you had ordered you didn't even look at me, you only had eyes for her. and then, slowly and gently and suddenly, you stretched out your hand and with the tips of your fingers touched her bare arm. she was looking out of the window while you were moving up and down her arm tenderly. and it struck me that this touch was the same that i knew from my boyfriend: you touched her as if you were searching her skin for invisible break lines, for the cracks and canals the forces made moving through her. but your hand was wandering aimlessly, never standing still, never arriving, never finding what it was searching for. and i was so jealous of these hands, i was so moved by how they were traveling over her skin with the sensitivity of a seismograph, that i had to turn away.

bear with me. i promise this will lead to something.

when you got up and went to the rest room, she looked around quickly, searched through her handbag and got out her cell phone. "hi, it's me. i can't talk much right now. will you be home later tonight? i think i want to see you. no i haven't told him yet. it's not easy. i said it's not easy. yes, i do too. more than i can say." you have never been here with her again, so i guess you know about all this yourself by now and will forgive me for being so insensitive. but when i overheard her conversation on the phone i felt as if *i* had just been cracking-up. and i felt as if i had been bound to you in some strange way. and when you payed and left i saw you walking down the street in the first spring sun, and i couldn't forget this afternoon for days and days.

bear with me. i promise this will lead to something.

and then, about five months ago, you started to turn up here regularly. i recognized you immediately. you always come alone, with your books and laptop, you concentrate on your work, and you do not really mind anybody else. and there was this afternoon a couple of weeks ago, and again it was this special first day of spring when one realizes that a new season is starting right now, this very moment: the windows were open, and as usual you were sitting there, reading a book – i don't know which one, i only remember that it had a red and white cover. and when i passed the table where you were sitting, i noticed something strange: something was moving across you arm. at first i thought it were shadows from a flock of birds passing by outside, circling around the belfry of the church across the street that you always look at when you're here. but then i realized that it was something like shivers. like a wave traveling across your skin, making the fine hairs point upwards. i thought you were cold, so i closed the window, an act of advertence that you didn't notice. but you kept shivering: the strange movement on the surface of your skin continued. and suddenly i understood that these were break lines, that these were force lines passing through you, set off by what you were reading, that these were the cracks that you had been searching for on HER arm in vain. i had never before seen anybody being moved by a text like this! and a thousand thoughts shot through my mind: was the text breaking you? were you breaking the text? was it a break beyond repair? was it a joyful breakage? what was it that you were reading? and was there any way to become part of this? would the encounter with a human being move you the same way? and i promised to myself to talk to you if there'd be an opportunity.

thanks for bearing with me. i know, i promised this would lead to something. and this something is my idea of love: i think love is finding out the break lines of someone without having to actually break him or her. and maybe friendship is the ability to construct a minimal structure of support once someone is broken, supporting him or her along the lines that the forces are running.

i've never written such a long letter. i've never told such personal things to a stranger. i just wanted to let you know all this because maybe it can explain my behavior the other night. you must know, i'm a rather shy guy, usually. normally i don't grab people's faces and kiss them. i don't regret having done it, but perhaps i should have asked before. i won't be working in the next two weeks, because i'll be visiting some friends in berlin. but when i've returned, maybe i can buy you a beer and apologize personally. if you don't feel comfortable with that please feel free to ignore this letter, and me for that matter. i promise not to make an unasked pass at you again.

s.

THERE WERE HUNDREDS OF PEOPLE LIVING HERE
SAILS AT THE WINDOWS
AND THE PLANES CAME CRASHING DOWN
AND MANY A PILOT DROWNED
AND THE SPEED BOATS FLYING ABOVE
PUT YOUR HAND OVER THE SIDE OF THE BOAT
WHAT DO YOU FEEL?

i met princess superstar tonight. i hadn't seen her for a couple of weeks. since they showed the soccer match (spain vs france) everywhere, we ended up in this fancy, expensive cocktail bar, which was really nice: dark leather interior, smooth light and even smoother music. and no news of the world cup sneaked in. we almost were the only guests except for two dark-skinned girls who were sitting across the table in our little separé and who switched from german to turkish and back again fluently. one of them glanced over to me from time to time and smiled in a friendly and charming way.

anyway, when i was sitting on the subway home i realized that i'm not drunk enough. so i got off one station early and walked up the street, passing the "maifeld". it was after midnight already but i wanted to check who was standing behind the bar so that i might have a last beer and bring my blood-alcohol to the level needed to chase away the ghosts. i had hoped that maybe jodie was on duty, a rather big, 'burschikose', gay girl who is also from bielefeld.

do you know the feeling when you do not want to return home? because people are waiting for you. because there are hundreds of people living there. because your little one-room apartment is crowded with cockroach-like ghosts who sneak under the bed or between the wall and closet as soon as you switch on the light. but still they're there, stealing the air to breathe, telling jokes and lies about you, coming out of their hiding places when you turn your back on them. and then you realize that home isn't home but simply another contaminated place that you don't feel safe in. and that you are not drunk enough to face the ghosts. and the voices. and the thoughts that jump onto your chest heavy as millstones, suffocating you.

but when i was walking past the café i saw that i didn't really know the waitress who was working. so i walked straight home. so it's half past midnight and in the halflight, in the halflight i look around and see my clothes scattered all across the floor: jeans and t-shirts and socks, and the cushions from the sofa that miraculously turns into a bed at night and my shoes and the hope that the catalog may fill the blank space that is in danger of being peopled by things i don't want to lose a word about. the two cuba libres i had were good and strong. but not quite strong enough.

sebastian's letter is lying untouched on top of the pile of papers and i'm surprised by my own ignorance. i can't remember having heard a more urgent chorus than in kate bush's "coral room". for a moment i wondered where it was coming from. then i realized that i'm still wearing the walk-man headphones. there must be a reason why i haven't read the letter yet. i thought about handing it back to him unopened and saying something like: "well..., you know...i'm not sure whether this is a good idea..." or something like "put your hands over the side of the boat" or  "do you really think you could help me chase the ghosts? do you really think so? do you really think so?" and i swear that if i turn my head, i swear that if i turn my head i can see her asleep on the bed. time to lie next to her.

AND THE PIECES WILL LAY THERE A WHILE
IN A HOUSE DRAPED IN NET
IN A ROOM FILLED WITH CORAL
SAILS AT THE WINDOW
FORESTS OF MASTS
PUT YOUR HAND OVER THE SIDE OF THE BOAT
PUT YOUR HAND OVER THE SIDE OF THE BOAT

AND WHAT DO YOU FEEL?

isn't it funny how quickly a state of reassurance and being certain to cope can change into devastation and the unhealthy feeling of being sucked into a black hole? and this even though i've been to the gym this afternoon and i should actually be way too tired and worn out to think, feel or worry...

anyway. mailed the guy from center.tv today and told him that the 200 lurkers are really just a one man band and that the most he can expect is a guy with an acoustic guitar. "there's not really a stage-show or synchronized dancing!" i warned him. but he wrote back and said that this was more than okay and that i should call him to fix a date. so, maybe the 200 lurkers will be on tv someday, even if it's only on internet-tv. i thought about asking bernd to support me on percussions or maybe on a second guitar. actually i think it would be fun to simply ask everybody i know. i mean let's face it: one does not really have to be a pro on an instrument to add a layer of affection to a song. i mean, everybody can clap, or use a shaker, or play a simple tune on a glockenspiel, or hit a key on the piano, or sing background vocals. wouldn't it be great to turn up with 20 people who have all joined the band spontaneously and temporarily? an assemblage, working together for this singular event.

so when i got home from gym i checked my messages and saw that princess superstar had called me. actually we had planned to go out tonight. but by some fortunate accident she and her prince got vip-lounge tickets to the soccer match in cologne tonight, so she canceled our date. the ukraine is playing against switzerland. i know it sounds ridiculous but i swear that i didn't make it up!

so i rearranged my plans for the evening: i took a shower, got dressed and went to the café to have something to eat. realized that i wasted more thought than usual on the decision what to wear. which was of course due to the fact that i didn't know whether sebastian was working tonight or not. i guess i secretly hoped he would. however, when i arrived, two of his colleagues were whirling around, carrying drinks and food, and the big-screen tv in the corner was tuned to the post-match commentaries for the first game from this afternoon. i had something to eat and drink and wrote a mail to paula. while i was trying to chew and type simultaneously (i'm not much of a multitasker) the news came on. and after the news a show called "kein schöner land" - a pathetic, horrible music program aimed at half-dead (or at least half-deaf) senior citizens. the theme of the show was greek folk-songs. so i was sitting there, while exhumed german schlager-zombies were singing horribly produced greek folk-songs. AND NOBODY CHANGED THE CHANNEL!!!!! it was terrible. somehow they must have sensed my uneasiness, because one of the waitresses came over to me, smiled whimsically and asked: "do you want an ouzo on the house?" which i thought proofed their sense of humor.

when i declined politely (i don't really like ouzo - so if you ever send me some booze, don't send ouzo!) she said: "you are philipp, aren't you?" i was surprised. "then this is for you. sebastian asked us to give it to you if you stopped by..." and she handed me a small envelop and left. i was stunned and felt pretty awkward. i could feel that they were watching me from behind the counter. i stared at the envelop. it was sealed and it had my name written in black ink on the front (spelled wrongly, though). while i was thinking what to think the finale of the tv program started and an undead vicky leandros was singing "white roses from athens".

my decision to pay and go home was immediate and irreversible. and since then the letter is lying on top of a huge pile of papers on my desk. i haven't dared to open it yet. i'm not even quite sure whether i want to know what it says. i think it will make my life even more complicated. not that i'm against complexity, but it gets so tiresome to deal with it when all i want is a quiet, happy life. it feels like i'm further away from that than ever.

another soccer match for the german team today. you know, i'm slowly starting to like it :-) because when the game started i went to the gym. and i was almost the only one : the only other people were a tall, blond beauty on the cross-trainer next to me and in front of me on the treadmill a dark-skinned, almond-eyed, enchanting creature with - i must confess - the perfect ass and the tightest pants imaginable. when she started to do stretching exercises i wanted to fall on my knees and thank god. but then i remembered that i'm an atheist.

anyway, it's night now and i'm pretty worn out. since germany has won the match the entire city is partying as if it was carnival season. it's worse even. so i stayed home and i'm switching through the channels, but nothing's one. actually i still have to correct a huge pile of exam essays, but i'm too tired and can't concentrate.

i am so not happy.

some days deserve a single adjective only: absurd.

yesterday night i met jamie in a bar around where she lives. we wanted to work on our secret project that i cannot tell you anything about because, well, because it's secret. if it turns out okay, you'll get to know about it sooner or later. if it's a failure, it'll rightfully vanish into the depths of oblivion. anyway, we were at that bar, drinking one beer after the next to get 'in the mood' for work, and putting our heads together over the ibook. and suddenly, at about eleven, the door opened, and a couple walked in. i recognized them only on second sight: it was sebastian, the waiter, and he was with a female friend. they sat down at the bar, and after a couple of minutes he saw me, and nodded, and smiled. and the entire night while i was working with jamie and he was talking to his friend, he looked over from time to time and smiled. so excessively that his friend suddenly turned around and looked at me as well, and then she whispered something into his ear and they giggled.

jamie didn't see them, because she was sitting with her back to them and, conveniently, when she said: "i think i have to go home now", sebastian's friend was putting on her coat as well. "are you staying?" jamie asked me and held tightly to the back of the chair because we both had so many beers that we had lost count. "yep..." i said "i think i'll try to finish this tonight. who knows when i'll have the chance to get equally drunk again..." "okay then..." she said, hugged me and murmured "good night, gorgeous."

after she had left i was leaning over the laptop, trying to get a hold of the stubborn keys that were sliding and dancing in front of me. suddenly a shadow fell on the tabletop and someone said: "so, are you working in this café from now on?" "hi sebastian..." i said "no, this is just an exception. i'm not such an unfaithful guy" i answered and tried to make a face that would serve the same purpose that a smiley in a mail does. he mercifully ignored my grotesque features and instead kept swaying back and forth as if a strong storm was blowing through the bar or as if he was standing chest-high in the sea. it took me some seconds to realize that he was standing perfectly still and that it was me who was on an alcohol driven roller-coaster ride. i gripped the table top with both hands in an attempt to stabilize the room or myself, which turned out to be a successful operation. he was still smiling at me. "if you had some manners you'd ask me to sit down" he said laughingly. "jesus! i'm sorry! have a seat for christ's sake!" and i sounded more apologetic than intended.

so he sat down (not opposite me where jamie had been sitting, but next to me) and he ordered two more beers. "this might be the final nail to the coffin of my consciousness" i mumbled when the waitress put the tall, cold glass in front of me. "actually i, too, had more than i could take..." he said with a surprisingly calm and controlled voice. he didn't seem to be the least drunk. "you don't seem to be the least drunk..." i remarked and added "have i said this before?" "well, i'm in pretty good drinking-shape, i guess" he explained. "since my boyfriend and i split up two months ago i get pissed regularly. cheers!" "here's to those we love and hate" i stuttered and immediately hated myself for my pathetic overdramatization!

anyway, we had even more beers, and he talked a little bit about his actor's classes and i talked a little bit about cohen. then there was a pause, which wasn't awkward, though. i simply had stopped talking, and he simply had stopped talking, and instead he was looking at me. which gave me the creeps. i looked away, stared into my empty glass, looked up carefully, he was still looking at me, i raised the glass to my lips even though it was empty, he was still looking at me, i scratched my arm and almost knocked over the candle, and he was still looking at me. and just when i decided that it would be the more sensible thing to say "i'm sorry, i really have to go home now" instead of "you know, sebastian, you really challenge my frail heterosexuality..." he leaned forward, held my chin in his hand, pulled my face over to his side of the table and kissed my lips so unexpectedly that i completely forgot to react or to defend myself.

after what seemed the length of joni mitchell's 2001 version of "a case of you" (which cannot really be, because the song's over five minutes long) he let go of my face. and hadn't the waitress dropped a glass on the floor this very minute and had the crash not jerked me back into the smoky room, to the talking people and the tv tuned to the coverage of the post soccer-match programs, i would have suffocated because i had totally forgotten to breathe. "this was for your generous tip from last week..." he said, still calmly and as if he had just given me nothing more but a receit. "this was, eh, surprising..." i said. "is that your usual customer-service?" "not quite..." he laughed.

as soon as my trembling legs allowed i got up and said: "well, thanks for the special treatment, then. but i think i really have to go now. i've got to get up early in the morning." "i didn't scare you away, did i?" sebastian asked. "oh no!" i said, making an averting hand-gesture. "it's just that i really have to get up early..." "well, see you around then!"  "definitely!" i replied.

the moment i was home i started to question my sanity. it had been such a surreal scene. it goes without saying that it took me a long time to get to sleep. and i woke at six this morning, after only two or three hours of sleep. since i knew that thomas would be at the university pretty early i got up then instead of trying to get another hour of sleep, and went to the office. so all day long i've really been sleepy, not being quite myself. when i got home from work early this afternoon i went to the gym, and when i returned totally worn out and more dead than alive things got even stranger. i checked my mails and found the following in my inbox:

Hi 200 lurkers,
 
we would like to play your music on 'domradio', can you send a promo?
 
thanks and best wishes,
Michael Walters
www.domradio.de - the live wire to above

and while i was still considering whether or not i feel comfortable having the music of 200 lurkers played on a catholic, religious radio station (for the dear foreign readers, "domradio" means as much as "radio cathedral"), another mail arrived:

Dear Lurkers!

a colleague of mine has pointed me to your homepage and your music - i really like it. i'm a producer for the show "Konsole" at center.tv, a daily youth-program on an internet tv-station with room for good music.

would you like to be part of the show? doing an interview and playing a couple of songs live in the studio?

best wishes,
marc
www.center.tv

so. as i said: absurd.

it's getting dark slowly. it's not getting any cooler, though :-( it has been very hot, humid and sultry today again. i was sweating like crazy. even - and in particular - in the seminar. we've been talking about "rhizome" and it went better than expected: broad level of participation and lots of smart remarks and questions. it was fun.

when i got home i changed immediately and went to the gym. i hadn't been since saturday, so it was high time. the moment i arrived, the soccer match between germany and ecuador started, so i was almost working out on my own :-) naturally i was dehydrated like a dry prune when i stepped off the cross-trainer.

so when i was back home i showered, had a snack and then took some papers and went to the café. unfortunately they were showing the soccer coverage, so i sat down outside and read a term paper on City of Glass which did not lift my mood by a long shot! it was full of authorial intentions and misunderstood concepts.

anyway, while i sat brooding over the paper a voice came from someone standing next to me. "hi! back again? what do you want?" it was the waiter i had mentioned in some previous entires, and in the meantime i found out that he's called sebastian. he smiled at me whimsically. "a beer" i said. "a large one or a small one?" without much consideration i replied: "make it a large one" and he turned around and went inside. he didn't return for another 20 minutes, though. when he did, he put the beer in front of me and said: "i'm so sorry, i totally forgot your order! i'm really sorry..." i looked at him, smiled automatically and a little clumsily (because my mind was still with the metaphysical detective story) and then looked at the beer. it was a small one. "f*ck..." he mumbled "you wanted a large one, didn't you? i'll bring you a new one..." and before i could tell him that i don't really mind he was gone again.

when he was drawing the beer at the bar i could see him from where i was sitting: he must be about 26 to 28, has short dark hair and dark eyes, but the most remarkable thing about him is his calmness. the way he moves, the way he talks: all this is very, hm, fluid and calm. no hectic movements. he's sort of like a continuous wave. which i find very appealing, not to say attractive.

when he brought the large beer he said: "this one's on me!" "well, thank you!" i said, arranging my papers. "still haven't finished your work?" he asked and i said "no, unfortunately not. and as things are right now i will be sitting here for a couple of months..." "so what exactly is it that you're working on?" "you mean my thesis?" "yes" "it's about leonard cohen. i don't know if you've heard of him..." "hm, the name rings a bell. cohen. cohen. i think i had tickets for a concert of someone who is singing cohen in swedish. but i didn't go..." i was startled, because this was exactly what i had been talking about with astrid and susanne the other day. both of them saw a poster for a cohen-concert, and i was very excited at first when they told me, until the three of us found out that it was for a concert of jan erik lundqvist who is singing cohen's songs in swedish. and sebastian had tickets for the gig.

"how did you get the tickets?" i asked and he said: "well, i'm going to this actor's school. and our principal was on the cover of the guy's latest cd. so we had free tickets..." "hm..." i said "it's a small world..." "indeed" sebastian said, smiling at me, and went back to work. so seems that i'll have to invite him to a beer sometime since he had payed me a round. i'm not quite sure whether he was flirting with me (he's exceptionally kind and nice to most of the guests), but i think i was.

beautiful thunderstorm! the air is yellow and the branches rustle in the wind. hard, fast and unexpected rain.

predominate emotion today : an uncanny appetite.

my arms hurt. i think i got sunburned this afternoon: i've been sitting in the sun outside the café for four hours reading a 60 pages text by a colleague that we'll talk about in the colloquium tomorrow. i think there are more amusing things to do on a sunday, but few more gratifying. at least that's what i'm telling myself to compensate for the lack of excitement in my life.

predominate emotion today : an uncanny appetite.

i've rediscovered the blue aeroplanes today. i wanted to quote a line of theirs in a mail to paula, so i got out their album "swagger" and listened to it for the first time in two or three years. the last song, "cat-scan hist'ry", could actually make quite a good work-out song! started to think about my paper for the ulmer-fest in olomouc in september. bernd is organizing a conference on the hollywood b-movie director edgar g. ulmer and i'll participate as well. ulmer was born in olomouc, but nobody there knows about it. so in a way bernd is bringing ulmer 'back home'. 

predominate emotion today : an uncanny appetite.

thunder and the sound of rain splashing on the banister of the balcony. despite the storm the air hasn't really cooled off. i wonder if i'll be able to sleep tonight. the past days i've always gone to bed at about two at night, so my inner clock is totally screwed up.

predominate emotion today : an uncanny appetite.

it's 1:07 and i'm sitting in the train from aachen to cologne. i was at a party that lara (thomas' wife) threw, and it was amazing: she's persian so there was original persion food, decoration and a belly dancer. bernd and his wife were there as well and we had quite a good time, even though i'm not half as drunk as i should be. leyla had promised me that there would be lots of good-looking single females from lara's yoga classes. well, there weren't. but it was nice to see the kids again and i smoked the waterpipe :-) now i'm sitting in the almost empty train home, listening to low's "the long way around the sea" on repeat. very soothing. it's pitch dark outside. i'm not happy. went to the gym again today. tried to read the text for the colloquium on monday but couldn't concentrate. "take the long way around the sea" - such a prescriptive song! the female backing voices in the chorus ound like flutes or very soft and low strings. they don't sing, they only aspirate : breathe softly with a tone. there's a small, persitent pain right behind my forehead, almost unnoticable, almost imperceptible, and i'm trying to circle around it, ignore it, circle around it, not let it grow, circle it with my thoughts and ... funny! i had almost written 'feelings'! the train is rattling and i've bought the ticket in vain : no conductor in sight at 1:22 at night. i'm writing with the pen that paula had sent me. thinking about her now and her new girlfriend. thinking about whether i should send eva a text message. we're passing through the outskirts of cologne. guess it wouldn't be a good idea. i wonder if my café is still open.

later : 2:08. it wanst.