A Thousand Plateaus

jesus, what a weird day. i couldn't sleep. woke up at four, tried to get back to sleep, woke up every ten minutes and at half past seven i felt like someone had hit every fucking part of my body with a baseball-bat. got up, went to the gym. i had hoped that it had cooled down, but it hasn't. it's cloudy, but even more humid than the other days. the clouds are low and amorphous and yellow, more like a dense mist hanging over the roofs. went to the café to work. sebastian was there. which i knew. had a hard time concentrating. corrected term papers. when i came across this paragraph,

"The poet encrypts the message in the poem to the reader, and the psychoanalysts try to find out the meaning of what the author wants to say, his own intention. The writers don't write the texts for no particular reason. The authors have their own reasons and intentions of writing. The psychoanalysis diagoses the writer after the symptoms of the desires that are encoded in the text."

i felt frustrated, rubbed my eyes, stared at a line of ants on the sidewalk for 20 minutes admiring how they were organizing their food supply. daydreamed.

herta, the 50 year old female guest who has a crush on sebastian, comes in, sits by the bar. he greets her friendly and they chat. when she isn't looking he's rolling his eyes at me. the light is getting more yellow. wasps are attacking the guests. a chair breaks down. the wind isn't cool but mean and thick and smoky. people walking by look up to the sky and make frowning faces. i knock over my glass of water. it falls down and scatters into a thousand pieces. sebastian is asking his boss if he can go home. i can't quite hear, why. he's looking tired and pale. i didn't have a chance to talk to him. he waves over to me "bye!", and the moment he's out of the door i feel the urge to get up, run after him and ask if everything is all right. which i don't do. thought about sending him a text message and asking whether he was okay. i'm consulting blane and jamie on this question. get conflicting answers and now i'm trying to figure out what to do.

something's not right. not specifically with me or my life (this, too, of course) but with this day. it's a strange day. and it's more than the anticipation of thunderstorms. i have to think about the scene from beautiful losers when catherine tekakwitha spills the wine and it first stains the tablecloth and then goes on to color the whole world: "The entire company, servants and masters, had directed its gaze outside, as if to find beyond the contaminated hall some reassurance of a multicolored universe. Before their eyes these drifts of snow darkened into shades of spilled wine, and the moon itself absorbed the imperial hue. Catherine stood up slowly. 'I guess I owe you all an apology.'" telling this story, the narrator only states: "It is my impression that the above is apocalyptic." and deleuze/guattari simply suggest: "the pink panther imitates nothing, it reproduces nothing, it paints the world its color, pink on pink; this is its becoming-world, carried out in such a way that it becomes imperceptible itself, asignifying, makes its ruptures, its own line of flight, follows its 'aparallel evolution' through to the end." are you becoming-world, too, o catherine tekakwitha?

the last two days i've been hocked on paul simon's "darling lorraine", which is a strange song and one that i wouldn't typically like. but it has these moments in which it is rapidly and unexpectedly changing direction. a single line, and the song is heading into a completely different direction: "her hands like wood / the doctor was smiling / but the news wasn't good"

random thoughts from yesterday:
oh i don't know! i saw him today (which was yesterday) because he was working. we talked a little, but i'm still afraid to look at him. before, our looks used to meet from time to time and we smiled at each other. but now i avoid his eyes because i'm confused and have no idea what he's after. he didn't mention the date anymore. and i don't know if it is because he has changed his mind or because he expects me to bring it up. fuck. today he told me that he had bought that eva cassidy cd and asked if i would be there tomorrow (which is today) because he would copy it for me then. what's that, then? a semi-date? "i'm working tomorrow, will you come, too?"

i don't know. i feel like HE has to come up with suggesting a date again. not me. i tried to arrange a meeting, and he blew it. actually, telling it in this matter-of-fact way, it seems like a pretty obvious statement, doesn't it? what does he want? that i dump the rest of my self-respect and dignity and ask again, risking that he's saying 'no'? but then i also feel like i have not really been signaling that i'm still interested in going out with him. whenever i was here the past two weeks i tried to underline with my behavior that i was there to WORK and not because of HIM (yeah, right!). so i didn't look at him and when he started a conversation, i tended to reply shortly and then turn to the ibook again. you know, i sometimes can give the impression that i'm not really interested in people and that i'm ignorant and impolite. but what shall i do? stare at him the entire day? like a freak! it's a small line letting him know that i am interested in him and at the same time reassuring him that i'm not a stalker.

back to the present:

so, in the meantime i have messaged sebastian, simply asking him: "hey,  is everything okay?" he answered immediately. "yes, just some circulation problems, i felt really sick today. so, don't worry :)"

[boy, i guess he will really flip should he ever stumble across this site!]

great! what a kind of non-answer is THAT? somehow i think maybe i just invented that he gave me his phone number at twothirty in the morning (and mind you, he did so without me asking him for it and he was sober and of sound mind). and why did he offer to copy the eva cassidy cd for me? if he fears that i'll turn into another stalker who's after him (two words: herta and restraining order that he filed against a former friend) then why burn a cd for me? he didn't give it to me today, though. maybe he forgot it as he had forgotten to call. maybe he felt too sick and just wanted to go home. maybe he didn't want to give it to me while herta was there. too many fucking maybes. and it really shows how much i'm at odds with the reality-principle when i keep underlining that i'm not a freak but simultaneously write about every detail in this online journal!

so, i want your advise: how is the story supposed to continue? i know that he will be there tomorrow afternoon. i'm pretty sure that i'll be here, too, because it's still too hot and too lonely and too silent to work at home. so, what do i do?

option one: i play it cool and continue to be friendly and reserved and wait that he will come up with the topic of having a beer together. flip side: i might wait forever and lose a lot of sleep brooding.

option two: i'm being more flirtatious and signal that i'm interested in him and hope that this will encourage him to come up with the topic of having a beer together. flip side: i don't know how to be flirtatious.

option three: i wait for a fitting moment tomorrow and make a casual remark such as: "hey, what about our plan to have a beer together?" flip side: there is a rather good chance that this remark will be met by a face that expresses: 'hey, i didn't call you. doesn't THAT answer your question?'

option four: i wait for a fitting moment tomorrow and make an appologetic remark such as: "hey, i'm not really good at interpreting signs and stuff, so forgive me if i cross a line here, but i think i would really regret it if i didn't bring this up again because, you know, you're really the person i have spent the most time thinking about in the past couple of weeks. and i don't even know why. and i think i would like to find out. and a good way would be to have a beer together." flip side: it signals desperation, puts pressure on him and is an open declaration that i'm interested in him. do i really want to commit to that as long as i don't know what he is after? but then what's the point if we both wait for the other to make the first step.

sigh. you see: endless possibilities. so, what would be YOUR favorite turn of the story?

in other news:
thought about the songs that the 200 lurkers will play for the tv program. the producer i talked to said: 2 or 3. here's my choice:

- the pilot (because it seems to be the most melodic and accessible and the one that i think one likes best on hearing it for the first time)

- headcrash (because it is 'different' and sticks out, and if i get the ending right it can get really powerful. also it's the song that i get most comments about)

- space walk (because it's a classical singer/songwriter song. and the lyrics are great. but then, who pays attention to the lyrics on a tv show anyway?)

- first day love (because i really love the picking and the melody. i think it's catchy. and it's sad. the lyrics are not a masterpiece, though. but less complex than 'space walk'. and i never really considered it to be a 'full' 200 lurkers song. it was never featured on the cd. and perhaps it's time to change that.)

i know: this makes 4 songs. so i'll have to skip one :-( suggestions are appreciated.

i haven't heard from the producers of the show yet again. so there's another good chance that this will implode, just like the "sure, you can open for blumfeld" and "sure, we'll make a record deal with you" and "sure, we'll organize a tour for you". in bielefeld there's a band called 'the willy loman company'. i never heard their music, but i sort of liked the name.

for some reason – that i don't really bother to explore – i feel like running through the streets, holding strangers by the shoulders, shaking them, yelling: "pay no attention to that man behind the curtain!"

later i was sitting by the bar for one last bionade. jodie was working behind the counter, as she had been yesterday night when she had gotten me pickled big time until i started to ask her what one should do if one waits for a call. of course i didn't mention sebastian. i told her it was about a person i met at work. so tonight she said:
"so, did you talk to that person today?"
"no - she was sick."
"bummer."
"yep."
"you know" she said "i thought about you last night..."
"really?"
"yes, and all of today as well..."
i was speechless.
"because there is this song by gorgette dee called 'philipp' and i tried to download it and burn it for you."
i was taken aback. kindness of strangers.
"that's very sweet of you." i said
"but that fucking program couldn't find the motherfucking song..." and she broke into her usual bawling before we both felt too uncomfortable in this curious moment of near-friendship.
then her cell phone announced that she had just gotten a text message. she read it and shouted over to her colleague:
"bloody hell! sebastian just messaged that he's sick and can't come in tomorrow. someone's got to take over his fucking shift!"

so, he's sick. which gives me time. don't know if this is a good thing. don't know anything anymore. it's half past twelve and the only thing i can still agree on is that the world doesn't make any sense.

hi, my name is princess superstar.
yeah, we got three tickets to the 200 lurkers concert
happening this monday night at the maifeld.
you can all dial in if you want to answer
a couple of questions, namely,
what is philipp's favorite candy.
thomas just called up and said it was a form of snickers.
we'll see about that...
give us a ring-ding-ding! it's a beautiful day.
yeah phil, this is sebastian ring-a-ding-a-dinging,
want those three 200 lurkers tickets man. waddya think?
phil, you there?
i woke up again this morning with the sun in my eyes,
when jamie came over with a script surprise.
a university story with a twist,
akindof "seinfeld"-sitcom hitch,
get your ass out of bed, she said:
i'll explain it on the way.
but we did nothing, absolutely nothing that day, and i say:
what the hell am i doing drinking in cologne at 33?
i got the fever for the flavour, the payback will be later, still i need a fix.
and the guy behind the bar kept on smiling at us,
gave us cute looks while we're writing on the ibooks
making up some dialog,
sipping on a bionade,
just me and a friend.
feeling kinda groovy,
working on a movie. (yeah right!)
but we did nothing, absolutely but kiss that day, and i say:
what the hell am i doing drinking in cologne at 33?
with my mind on my thesis and my thesis in the... toilet toilet!
i know that life is for the loving, so i better wise up, and love it quick.
yeah, one more time at the maifeld:
some men there wanted to hurt us,
and other men said we weren't worth the fuss.
we could see them all bitching by the bar,
about the broad line between lacan and deleuze.
and jamie turned to me and said:
"what do you think we got done son?"
we had a good laugh, and i guess that's something, so i ask you:
what the hell am i doing drinking in cologne 33?
i got the fever for the nectar, the payback will be later, still i need a fix.
we need to fix you up, call me monday and maybe we'll fix it all up.
so i ask you:
what the hell am i doing drinking in cologne at 33?
cool-ogne, cologne, cool cool-ogne, cologne

i'm sitting in the café, or rather: i'm sitting on the border between the inside and the outside, one leg dangling on the sidewalk, the rest of my body hanging in the open window. a beer by my side and my almost finished paper on ulmer, guess who is 'waiting' and just right now eva cassidy's version of 'time after time' has started to play.

it has been so hot today – beyond words. it started to rain in the middle of the day for half an hour. afterwards it was even worse! went to starbucks, because they have an air condition. had a hopelessly overpriced coffee (Leno: "starbuck's planning to come up with a new coffee: banana flavor. the only problem is finding a banana that costs $ 5").

i was sooooo pissed this morning. i really needed our secretary to do something. which happens once a year. ... i just realize that this needs way too much set up. let's just say that i was sooooo mad at our secretary that i was literally running in circles in my little room, swearing in ways which frightened me. i just HAD to share this with someone. so i wrote a mail to jamie (who has worked at the english seminar and knows the secretary as well). but it didn't do. i decided to call her up. and this was the conversation:

jamie: hello?
me: is this jamie xxxx?
jamie: speaking
me: my name's cattree. am i talking to jamie xxxx?
jamie: yes, yes.
me: i want you to kill someone for me.
jamie: -
me: hello?
jamie: hello?
me: yes, i want you to kill someone for me. i heard that you're doing hit jobs.
by then i had thought that she had surely recognized my voice and knew what i was aiming at, namley that she should kill our secretary.
jamie: no, i'm usually not killing people
me: even for a good price?
jamie: no, not even for a good price.
me: not even for a good reason?
jamie: no, not even for a good reason.
me: not even for a good price and a good reason?
jamie: no.
me: hm. i must have been misinformed. sorry.
jamie: good-bye.
me: good-bye.
and she hung up.

half an hour later she called me up, shouting at me, halfway between being angry and amused: "don't ever play a practical joke on me again!"
"what?" i asked
"it was you, wasn't it?"
"sure! what did you think?"
"i didn't think anything. i was asleep when the phone rang. i didn't even recognize your voice!"
"you mean you want to tell me that you actually thought that someone was trying to hire you as a hit man?"
"you have no idea what kind of maniacs are calling me!"
"jamie! you thought this was serious?"
"well, i thought it was just another crank call, i only realized that it had been you when i checked the number after i had hung up!"
"wow! and you were so polite! you took me totally serious."
"of course i did"
"and you were so polite as if i had only dialed the wrong number...
"i'm a polite person. and you're a crazy person."

okay, i have to tell you how the sebastian story continued: i received a text message today, saying: "i'm sorry! i was out of town over the week-end and totally forgot to call you. i hope you're not angry at me." i answered: "nope, i 'm not angry. you know, i'm only half as bitchy as i look." (which is true, by the way). then i went to the café in ther early afternoon, knowing that his shift would start at six. but it was so bloody hot that i left and went to starbucks, because they're airconditioned. so tonight at nine i came back to finish the paper. he greeted me, said again that he was sorry. i was sort of cool and reserved as i usually tend to be. i talked shortly to him, but then concentrated on my work and did not really look up.

anyway, now i'm sitting here, half in and half out of the café, sort of trapped in the window, uncertain what to do. the best thing would be to have another beer and then pay and go home and hope that he'd ask me shortly before i'm out of the door: "by the way, when are we going to meet?" of course this means running the risk that he doesn't say anything. either because he has changed his mind or because he is waiting for me to ask.

suddenly everything is ultra-sharp. the tree next to me, the bikes down the street, the lightened windows across the square and the sky the sky the sky. it's as if i wasn't alone. a very curious feeling. as if i wasn't alone. and for one sweet heartbeat sebastian doesn't even matter.- nothing matters. i'm truly content and happy here and now. caught between rags of conversations from the table left of me and right of me and sebastian's look that i feel upon me and that i don't dare to give back but it doesn't matter because all i want to do is looking up into the sky: no clouds, only blackness, wonderful blackness, endless blackness. the blanket.

"ordinary eternal machinery like the grinding of the stars" – it took me ten years to understand what this means. now i know that the grinding of the stars is nothing that happens in outer space. or at least it happens as much in outer space as in the molecules of the air and the atoms of my body.

ps: i payed (while a german country version of 'like a virgin' was playing. don't ask. there are things about this land you don't want to know) and we chatted a little. he didn't mention the date. neither did i. i thought that he would have to come up with it. he did tell me though that he'll have to work tomorrow morning at eleven, which i took as a kind of a semi-date. he'll be working the next six days in a row, he said. i don't know. and i'm too tired to care.

it's one of these moments when you cannot decide whether life is just great or totally fucked up. it's in a perfect, unstable equilibrium, could lean over to either side, and you know that the decision might come immediately in a manner of split-seconds or that it might take forever to lose balance.

And I said, mama, gonna buy you out
I'm a rockstar now
I said, mama, gonna buy you out
I'm a rockstar now

i feel better
i feel better
now you've gone
i got better
i got better
i got strong
i feel better
i feel better
now there's nothing wrong
i got better
i got better
i got strong

sitting at the train station waiting to get home. it's almost nine in the evening and i still have three hours to go. i had been in bielefeld yesterday and today. i stayed at my sister's and we prepared the birthday present for my mother who will turn 60 in two weeks. i slept on a small cot in the living room, and at night the two cats that belong to my sister and her boy-friend were prancing all around me. which was nice. i like cats. at one point the smaller one jumped onto the bed, sort of pushed my legs aside gently, turned around several times and lay down next to me.

carried my cell phone with me the entire two days, and i'm angry at myself. the last time i met sebastian at the café i asked him out for a beer and he said: "okay!" but we hadn't found a date yet. i suggested tuesday, but he wasn't sure whether he could make it so he said: "let me call you as soon as i know." of course he hasn't called yet. this is four days ago. and i don't understand why i am so waiting for his call. yes, i bloody want him. i want him to want me. that's it. i want to know for sure that he has more than friendly feelings for me. regardless of how i'm feeling about him. this is selfish and this is egoistical and childish. whatever happened to my ideals? whatever happened to "For my pathetic wish to be loved I will substitute a power to love"?

it's really much harder to settle into an affirmative, apersonal 'power to love' than to stick with my lacking subjective 'wish to be loved'. seems like i, again, failed to learn my lesson. so, no reason for my teachers to be proud of me and more time and energy to spend on my learning. or on 'a' learning. maybe i just should shave my head.

the ulmer paper is still a pile of confused and confusing ideas and notes. i hope that i'll manage to get the general argument straightened out tomorrow. i'm really sick of wasting time that i need for my thesis. i got to get things going. reading coupland for next semester's course doesn't really help. each page reminds me of how much i want to write myself. a novel, maybe. yep, of course that's absurd and stupid, but i promise you: if i'd win the lottery tomorrow i'd start with it right away.

for my mother's present my sister and i thumbed through old photo albums and scanned some of the images. i stumbled upon pictures i couldn't really remember, and it was a lot of fun looking through all those horrible, truly horrible photos of us. we also found some pictures of our grandparents when they were young and images of people we don't know at all. like those two children. i have no idea who they are and how they are related to me. but i was fascinated by the photo. the boy looks like he went on to become and atom-physicist in the 40s and the girl looks, as my sister remarked, like she really, really wants to be somewhere else the moment the photo was taken.

i don't want to wait for the call. why can't i just ignore it? shouldn't be that hard. i can ignore so many things: like dgfa-conferences and paper deadlines.

on the train: at least the air-condition is working. boy i'm really rambling along as if i didn't have anything to say. well, what do you expect when you begin the entry with a blatant lie. trees and masts are passing by, and birds and highways, and houses and fields, and tracks that appear out of nowhere and vanish into nowhere, and factories and belfries, and bridges and wires, and bushes and lakes, and farms and power-plants, and cars and cottages, and signs and things i don't know the english name for, and gravel and billboards, and platforms and parking lots, and thoughts about paula and hotels, and satellite dishes and flags, and ugly people and beautiful people, and fences and birch trees, and tunnels and blurred branches, and sharp branches and backyards, and happy thoughts and sad thoughts, and sad thoughts and sad thoughts, and a red sinking sun and no rising moon, and signs announcing names of towns that don't matter a fucking bit to me, and candy companies and traffic lights, and football fields and camping sites, and shopping malls and windowless walls, and planes and trains, and rivers and rivers and rivers and rivers.

leah commented: "well, this entry took an unexpected turn. i don't know what the truth is."

neither do i, leah, neither do i. :-( 

an unbearably hot day. the air flickering and the sun bright as headlights. went to the gym early in the morning, was knocked out afterwards. in the shoebox that i call my apartment the air is standing still and it's even hotter than outside. blane called from the university, and he said that in our fishtank offices there's no single molecule that's not been accelerated to its utmost speed : breathing was impossible. so i put on my lightest shirt and now i'm sitting at the café. it's a little cooler, but not much.

paula wrote an endlessly sad mail today, because she had to have put her dog, stoney, to sleep. reading it broke my heart. i was especially moved by the long enumerations of what she did to make the day pass after she came back from the vet, almost matter-of-fact descriptions of mundane things and through every word shone the description of how stoney had looked at her when he had been put to sleep.

later:
the afternoon had passed with working on the ulmer paper. watched The Cavern again and made notes. i have no fucking idea whether this will lead up to anything. i still have a hard time getting the theory and the actual movie together. yesterday night princess superstar and me went to an open air screening of a documentary on 'midnight movies' which was quite good: we were sitting under the cloudless sky that was throbbing with stars while above us the images paced through the night and splashed onto the screen. here in germany we don't have any tradition of drive-in cinemas, so this was as close as we could get to the actual experience.

anyway, it's half past nine now. i have been home, had something to eat and returned to the café because it was simply too hot at home. phew! as if it was any cooler here. lamb's "gabriel" for the second time today. sebastian is all over the place, it is pretty crowded, seems like the entire neighborhood has gone out because it is simply too hot indoors. sometimes he's smiling when he's passing my table. when he came running by the other minute there was this weird thought in my head. a thought that hadn't left since then, even though i know that i'd be much better off if it would. one of these thoughts that you know aren't good for you and will lead to Trouble with a capital 't'. A thought that makes your eye twitch and your fingers dance nervously and arhythmically along the rim of the wooden tabletop.

when a group of guests leaves that have complained about the volume of the music he's saying: "very good, now i can turn the music up again", takes the switch and turns the lights down. wow – that's a strange coupling. in the near-darkness the thought gains momentum like an ugly, fat child on a carousel. i'm taking my shirt between thumb and index finger and shake it, hoping this desperate effort will pump some fresh air over my skin. while doing this i realize that the fabric is glued to my back by sweat and i thank god that i'm sitting with the back to the wall. realized this afternoon that the owner of this place is called tommy. i mean, just because of "tom's diner", and i'm a little proud of myself and the small, subtle clues i'm leaving. das habe ich mir mal wieder schön ausgedacht :-)

it has gotten darker outside and i guess the ibook's little illuminated apple logo must be shining all through the room, announcing my hipness to everyone who cares like a lighthouse. a little lighthouse. the windows of the café get less and less transparent the darker the streets become. instead, the mirrorings from the inside get sharper and clearer, as if you had used a high-end photoshop enhancement effect on a grainy photo which suddenly pixels on the screen with an unexpected, crystal clear sharpness. i realize that i'm rambling along so i don't have to deal with that ugly thought that is still lurking in the back of my head. truth is: i know that i've already lost to it.

since there's no use to fight it, i turn it into a veritable plan. having a plan is a pretty uncommon thing for me. most of the time i don't have any – "which explains quite a few things", to quote laurie anderson. so i'm not really making a plan, but rehearsing making a plan. the result is the same disaster, though: it is a detailed, cunning two-step plan. phase one: wait for a moment when sebastian is casually leaning against the bar, typing text messages into his cellular phone. phase two: calling him over and talking to him. i'm leaning back, pleased with myself. sounds like a pretty good plan to me, considering that i'm a beginner. it has a beautiful balance between simplicity and complexity. by that time it doesn't really trouble me that i don't have a plan b. perfect plans don't require a plan b. like perfect lovers don't require a lover b. or have you ever heard of saskib? and just when i'm thinking to myself: 'you're getting carried away' i see how sebastian is leaning against the bar like in a calvin klein commercial, searching the counter with his eyes for his cell phone. for whatever reason he raises his look, realizes that i'm watching him and smiles at me.

i lean my head on my palm and the elbow on the table, miss the tabletop by an inch and almost slip off the high chair. there goes my composure, i'm blushing and have to realize that the idea that i couldn't get any hotter had obviously been a misconception. i sit up straight again, take a deep breath and try to say with as firm a voice as possible:

"sebastian?" and saying his name feels unfamiliar but comfortable. like singing along to a new suzanne vega song that you've just learned the chorus of.
"yep?"
"can i talk to you for a minute?"
"sure..." he's walking over to my table. and as if on cue the guests stop ordering and the guests stop discussing, clearing the necessary space and time for the dialog.
"listen, i think we've got to talk..."
"what do you mean?"
"well, this is a little awkward..."
and i realize that i'm already way beyond phase two of my plan. so i have to improvise. i'm producing the letter he had written to me from my bag. i'm handing it to him, trying to find something like a smile or a sparkle of recognition in his face. he's puzzled, takes the pages as if he'd see them for the first time.
"do i have to understand this?"
"well, please read it..."
my mind's distracted and diffused. he's reading through it slowly, his mouth itching at some paragraphs. something's dawning on me. how could i've ever been SO stupid?
"well, this surely IS beautiful..." he finally says, turning the last sheet of paper around as if there would be a postscript that would explain the whole thing. my thoughts are many miles away. i'm afraid to look into his face. i'm so bloody afraid to look into his face. instead i'm staring at his "wonderwoman" t-shirt in disbelief. a kiss a. tapping on my roof and walls. haecceities are always singularities and they're alway temporal.
"YOU wrote this, didn't you?" he says with a sudden, sobering certainty. "you put these words into my mouth?"
"hm, yes"
"what kind of a freak are you!?" and the emotions in his eyes change approximately 24 times a second, eventually stopping on annoyance.
"it's a long and complicated story. and it involves metalevels..." i know that i am like the rain.
"don't give me your douchebag-terminology. why did you invent this letter? what's the bloody point?"
"i don't know" and i'm sounding more impatient than i intend to. "i don't know." i'm repeating as if iteration would double the semantic content of an utterance that has always already been empty in the first place. "i guess i have just wished very badly to get such a letter. once." and i think this is the first honest statement this night. there but for the grace of you go i.
"have you showed this to anybody?" he is asking very seriously.
"hell, no!" i exclaim. i lie to you when you're asleep. and kiss you when you start your day. "hell, no!" i mumble under my breath again, not daring to look at him.
"i don't know what to think of this!" he is taken aback.
"there's more..." i'm saying shyly.
"whatdoyamean? 'more'?"
"the letter's not the only thing i invented. maybe you better sit down."
he takes a chair, touches my leg while sitting down. warm. the drizzle of the rain. fuck. hell. fuck. my breath stumbles. i as kas.
"i invented you, too."
silence.
"i'm sorry." the second honest sentence this night. and i add, because he still isn't saying anything:
"can i buy you a drink?" probably the most idiotic thing to say.
he jumps off, knocks over the chair. people are turning their heads. he's shouting at me:
"buy me a drink? what the fucking hell are you talking about? what do you mean, you invented me? are you totally crazy or what? boy, we've surely had a lot of drunken mad people here but you really top 'em all!"
"no, sebastian, listen to me. this is not like you think. i'm neither drunk nor mad. well, maybe i'm drunk, but i'm not mad or crazy."
"why are you saying all these crazy things then? i don't get it."
"listen, sit down, i am trying to explain it to you. it's not easy, though."
he's calmer now, sits down again, mumbles "you frighten me..."
"i'm sorry. listen now. i know this sounds crazy, but i invented you. quite literally..."
"quite literally?"
"yes. you are a fictional character..."
"but i'm real. i exist!"
"no, you don't."
"but i am. i'm sitting here. i'm talking to you!!"
"oh come on, sebastian. don't you realize how much you sound like myself? come on! do you really thing you sound like an autonomous, real world character talking?" and i'm slowly getting angry with him.
"boy, are you fucking stoned or something?"
"no, i'm not. i wish i was. listen, i can prove it to you..."
"the hell you can."
"say: i love james blunt."
"i surely won't!"
"say it."
"no i won't. i love james blunt."
more silence.
"i love james blunt. jesus christ!" his open hand over his mouth and a shocked expression on his face. give me more line.
"i'm sorry to put you into this nightmare."
"but...what..why?"
"well, i realized that i really enjoy writing dialog, so i..." the thought that this is neither a very good excuse nor any kind of comfort makes me stop in midsentence. and i tell him the real reason:
"you know, i've been imvolved in so much abstract terminology lately. it was all about affects and intensities and charm and haecceities. and i needed something or someone that would bring it all together, make it less abstract, embody it so that i had something 'real', something corporeal that would explain it to me. and for some reason i came up with you. maybe because a girl would have been to close to s.. i know it's not an easy thing to accept, and i know it will probably ruin your day..."
"ruin my day? that's quite an understatement! you just told me that i don't exist!"
"well, yes... technically you don't"
"don't give me that bullshit!"
"listen, there's no reason to get rude!"
"so! stop me! if you are the great inventor, than stop me! make me stop! make it stop! make my swearing and the bloody fucking memories stop. make the longing stop. make the fucking beauty of the world stop! make the crying stop! make the beauty of the music stop! make the hurting stop! make the hurting stop! if you're the fucking magician, then why don't you just DO something!"
he's towering above me, redfaced, out of breath and my heart is beating in clear, powerful strokes in my neck. everybody is staring at him. there's a total silence in the room. not just any ordinary silence. a total, finite silence. the music has stopped. the traffic has stopped. the clouds have stopped. the grinding of the stars has stopped.
"i can't..." i whisper.
"i knew it!" he says triumphantly. "i knew it!"
"because you're so beautiful. don't you know how long i've been searching for something as beautiful. i can't make you stop now. you're the only thing that..., you're the only one who... you know, with your wonder-woman t-shirt, with the soft voice, with all that is missing, with all that is overflowing, fuck, i'm too drunk, why do you make me do this? why do you ... i can't, i mean: i couldn't i just couldn't go on. i'm so tired, sebastian, i'm so fucking tired: blond hair and her smell everywhere. i thought YOU could make it stop! i thought YOU could make it stop! and now you're asking ME? you're asking ME to make it stop? fuck! you have no idea what you've..."
"stop whining! stop whining!" his hand on my shoulder, pressing me down on the chair. "you're so drunk it's dis-grace-ful!"
and as i watch the drops of rain, weave their weary paths and die. i know that i am like the rain. there but for the grace of you go i. we're both staring ahead. and suddenly the traces of a troubling idea wave across his face.
"maybe you're invented, too?! maybe you're also just a convenient excuse for someone to write dialog or prose or poems or some crappy online journal! ever considered THAT???"
"i can't remember making you so existential!" i reply "besides, of course i do exist! there is a photo of me on the website..."

there you go: lamb's "gabriel" for the third time today. and each time it hurts a little less. at least that's what i'm telling myself. 'i can fly, but i want your wings. i can shine even in the darkness but i crave the light that you bring'. but i guess i've told myself more than enough already recently. i don't get it. why does this happen. maybe someone had a plan for my life that was as crappy as the one i made up earlier this night. and no plan b. because it seemed perfect. a new song starts that brings me back to the conversation with sebastian.

"so, what are we gonna do now?" he's asking me, and his eyes signal that this is not a rhetorical question.
"uhm, guess this has been a bad idea. i shouldn't have told you in the first place. maybe we should just go on as if this hadn't happened."
"you mean pretend as if i didn't know?"
"yes. maybe, if i can make you say things i can also make you forget the last ten minutes? i mean, what's the alternative?"
"hm, guess you're right? what's the alternative?"

"do you want another beer?" sebastian asked, suddenly standing next to me out of nowhere. i was stunned, closing the ibook in a hurry so he wouldn't read what i've been just writing.
he smiled at me flirtatiously: "this one's on the house... "

and while he was walking back to the counter and wonder-woman turned away from me the indigo girls were singing:

touch me, i'm so beautiful
rub your hands across my head just like this
come with me
it's not worth it if you don't

jump, jump, jump so high
watch me let you down
if i stumble i will stumble
if i fall i will fall
i'm trying to hold it
like rain in a river
everything is getting
B I G G E R
better this won't last
forever

touch

me

fall

random supplement: blane and connie sent around a mail today because they wanted to meet next week by the banks of the rhine and have a little "summer jam" as they called it. here is what i answered (sorry that it's in german):

tach zusammen,

ich weiss noch nicht genau, ob ich am dienstag kann, aber wenn ich da kein date mit einem gorgeous unterwäschemodel haben sollte, dann bin ich natürlich dabei!!

war allerdings etwas erstaunt über die subject line, wo sich wohl jemand vertippt haben muss. es muss natürlich heissen: "Summer Jan" und soll sich wohl auf die geschichte meines freundes jan beziehen.

also, mein freund jan wachte eines morgens auf, als ihm die sonne in der nase kitzelte. "scheisse" dachte er, denn er hatte eigentlich frei und wollte ausschlafen. aber da er jetzt schonmal wach war, drehte er sich auf die andere seite und schlief noch ne stunde.
na ja, so gegen halb zehn ist er dann doch aufgestanden, denn selbst im bett wird's einem halbwags intelligenten menschen manchmal einfach zu langweilig. und halbwags intelligent war mein freund jan schon, dass kann man sagen. wenn man das aus dem weiteren verlauf seines tages auch nicht unbedingt hätte schliessen können. aber eins nach dem anderen.
jan machte sich also einen kaffee und sah sich das vormittagsprogramm auf sat 1 an. aber das wurde ihm bald auch zu doof, also ging er auf den balkon hinaus, während das frühstücksfernsehn dem leeren wohnzimmer erklärte, wie man am besten eisflecken aus unterhemden kriegt und warum "hey, süße, darf ich dir nen eis ausgeben" kein idealer beginn für einen sommerflirt ist.
als er auf dem balkon stand, blickte er in den himmel. keine wolke. kein flugzeug. keine vögel. nur eine sonne. jan seufzte. die ganze woche hatte er sich schon echt beschissen gefühlt (er hatte mir auch ein paar mal auf den ab gequatscht, aber da ich an seiner stimme schon erkennen konnte, dass das gespräch anstrengend selbstmitleidig werden würde, hab ich gar nicht erst abgenommen). na ja, jan blickte also vor sich hin und dachte über sein leben nach. der kaffee war alle, über seinen rechten nackten fuss lief eine ameise, er hatte in den letzten wochen vier kilo zugenommen und hinter ihm bettelten kinderstimmen: "bringst du uns was mit? was zum naschen und zum spielen? und was spanneneds" kurz gesagt: jan war nicht wirklich zufrieden mit seinem leben.
"ich brauche einen sinn" sagte er sich (und mir später, als er mir erklärte, wie das ganze spektakel zustande gekommen war). "ich muss mit meinem leben irgendwas anfangen. etwas sinnvolles. wovon ich was habe, und die menschen auch. mein leben ist zu abstrakt" (jan war steuerfachgehilfe, ein beruf der auf der oben offenen ich-hab-das-gemacht-was-meine-eltern-wollten-und-jetzt-bin-ich-gearscht-skala wohl nur noch von hochseilartist übertroffen wird). er überlegte den ganzen morgen, während die ameise dann noch seinen linken fuss entdeckte und mutig überquerte und die sonne sich langsam aus seinem gesichtsfeld entfernte. als die oliver geissen show anfing, hatte er einen entschluss gefasst.
er schmierte sich ein paar brote (oder 'stullen' wie er sie nennt - aber ich lehne dieses wort aus vokabelästhetischen gründen ab), zog sich ein paar schuhe an, schloss seine wohnung sorgfältig ab und lief das treppenhaus hinunter. vor der haustür angelangt blieb er stehen und betrachtete sie zufrieden. sie war alt, hatte aber einen gewissen 50er jahre charme: eingerahmt von einer messingfassung lies das grüne glass in der mitte etwas tageslicht in den flur scheinen. durch die tönung des glases wirkte der flur, als würde er unter wasser liegen: jetzt, wo die sonne direkt über dem haus stand, war das treppenhaus mit weichem, grünen licht geflutet und jan sah die staubkörner schwerelos wie fische vor sich schweben.
er legte seinen proviant auf die erste stufe und stellte sich hinter die tür. dort muss er mindestens eine oder zwei stunden gestanden haben, bis jemand vorbeikam. es war frau brinkmann aus dem ersten stock, die ihre tochter vom kindergarten abgeholt hatte. als sie vor der tür stand und gerade ihren schlüssel rausholen wollte wunderte sie sich wohl nicht schlecht, als ihr jan von innen plötzlich öffnete. "oh, das ist ja nett" sagte sie und schob ihre tochter die treppen hoch. sorgfältig schloss jan die tür hinter den beiden und sah wieder den staubkörnern zu. dann kam frau scholz. die war einkaufen gewesen. und auch sie freute sich, als jan ihr die tür aufmachte. "das ist ja nett, junger mann." jan nickte nur freundlich.
ich erfuhr von der ganzen sache, als meine freundin miri mich anrief und mir ins ohr brüllte, ich sollte SOFORT zu jan kommen, er wäre jetzt völlig beyond everything. miri wollte jan an diesem tag besuchen. schliesslich war es sein freier tag und beide wollten in die stadt und klamotten kaufen. auch ihr öffnete er die tür.
"hey jan!" sagte sie.
"tach miri!"
"wartest du hier schon auf mich oder was?"
"nich wirklich"
"aha"
"ich glaube, ich kann nicht mitkommen"
"wieso? geht's dir nicht gut?"
"doch, aber ich muss noch arbeiten"
"wie arbeiten? dachte, du hättest deinen freien tag"
"ich mache jetzt was anderes"
"wie, was anderes"
"ich habe jetzt einen neuen beruf"
"seit wann DAS denn?"
"seite heute morgen..."
"und was machst du? stehst rum und machst leuten die tür auf???"
als sie den verletzten ausdruck in jans gesicht sah (nicht, dass miri seine beste freundin gewesen wäre, aber verletzen wollte sie ihn natürlich auch nicht) merkte sie, dass sie etwas falsches gesagt hatte.
"ja. ich halte das für eine sehr lohnenswerte aufgabe."
"sag mal, spinnst du?"
"der summer der tür ist schon seit einer woche kaputt. und die feder, die sie automatisch zugehen lässt schon so lange wie ich hier wohne. und da habe ich mir gedacht: ich werde einfach summer. wenn jemand raus oder rein will, mache ich einfach die tür auf! geh mal ein stück zur seite, miri!" forderte er sie auf und öffnete herrn klausmann die tür, der gerade mit zwei vollen einkaufstaschen nach hause kam.
na ja. miri rief mich an, nachdem sie ungefähr eine stunde auf jan eingeredet hatte und sich durch ihre hitzige diskussion schon eine traube von nachbarn vor der haustür eingefunden hatte. irgendjemand hat dann sogar die polizei gerufen. die kamen direkt und sagten, wenn jan ein summer sein wollte gäbe es kein gesetz in diesem land, das ihm das verbieten könnte. selbst ich konnte jan nicht umstimmen. er schaute mich nur kauend an, während ich versuchte ihm zu erkären, dass die am mittag gefällte entscheidung sein leben ja nun nicht unbedingt positiv verbessert hätte. "das verstehst du nicht" murmelte er durch sein leberwurstbrot "willste auch nen bissen?"
lange rede, kurzer sinn: jan steht immer noch an der tür, macht sie auf und zu, schaut den staubkörnern zu und ist glücklich. inzwischen kommt es sogar vor, dass einige seiner nachbarn mit dem kopf vor die grüne glasscheibe laufen, weil sich die tür unerwarteterweise nicht wie von selbst öffnet. dann hängt am treppengeländer ein zettel auf dem steht:
"Liebe Nachbarn. Ich bin bald wieder für Sie da. Schmiere mir nur gerade ein paar Stullen. Ihr Summer-Jan."


die story gibt's übrigens auch auf englisch. da heisst sie "buzzer-bob"

beste grüße,
philipp
(bei der hitze ETWAS verrückt geworden)

"s." wrote: sorry to have caused such torrents of wrath, mr.cohen. no, it wasn't even a joke and it wasn't intended to hurt you. was about the way i've been feeling all along, admittedly somewhat intensified by having read what you'd written. sorry. won't bother you with minutiae, though... peace out, p., take me out with the fader...

the quotation wasn't even meant to express any feelings of wrath. more a notion of "a beautiful knowledge of unity" that i can merely quote and fail to understand and produce myself. guess there's not much point in explaining, but, you know, i do have this habit of scribbling more or less arbitrary things on my beer coaster, and - just to add a little real world evidence to an otherwise way too abstract story - here's what i wrote last night while i was slowly getting drunk with princess superstar:

"s." commented: the magic's gone, the bond broken...

two things:

1. if this is a joke it's probably less funny than intended :-(

2. "Old friend, you may kneel as you read this, for now I come to the sweet burden of my argument. I did not know what I had to tell you, but now I know. I did not know what I wanted to proclaim, but now I am sure. All my speeches were prefaces to this, all my excercises but a clearing of my throat. I confess I tortured you but only to draw your attention to this. I confess I betrayed you but only to tap your shoulder. In our kisses and sucks, this, ancient darling, I meant to whisper: God is alive. Magic is afoot. God is alive. Magic is afoot. God is afoot. Magic is alive. Alive is afoot. Magic never died. God never sickened. Many poor men lied. Many sick men lied. Magic never weakened. Magic never hid. Magic always ruled. But Magic is no instrument. Magic is the end. Many men drove Magic but Magic stayed behind. Many strong men lied. They only passed through Magic and out the other side. This I mean to whisper to my mind. This I mean to laugh with in my mind. This I mean my mind to serve till service is but Magic coursing through the flesh, and flesh itself is Magic dancing on a clock, and time itself the Magic Length of God."

 so much for magic, bonds, breakages and break lines, ancient darling.