A Thousand Plateaus

bernd’s birthday party was kindof surreal, partly because i was texting back & forth with alice who was in atlanta to see and interview glen hansard. in the middle of the night she wrote that martha wainwright was opening for glen! and then, later, she wrote: ‘um, i just met martha wainwright!’ this life. i tell you.

there was a girl at the party who was standing with a friend of hers in the corridor and who, when i first passed her, smiled at me attentively. she did so when i passed her again a couple of minutes later. and then again. and then again. then i heard them whisper something. ‘we’ll ask him…’ later, when we were dancing to east-european brass polka music, her friend danced up to me and asked me:
“what cologne are you wearing?”
i told her.
“hm, it smells very well on you!”
well, you know that i’m famous for my witty and charming answers so i replied:
“thanks!”

shortly after, i left the room to get a new beer and stepped out on the balcony (which was adjacent to the bedroom) where the booze was stored. i closed the door behind me, and the music and the shouting was muted, and i looked up - it was a cloudless night - and all the stars had different colors : from cold blue over yellow and orange to red. i was standing there in the bitter cold for about two minutes, looking up, my head filled with sorrows and images of various people, my breath was forming clouds and i could sense the two polar bars patrolling down in the garden silently. then i heard the door open in my back, the music got louder, then was muted again and the girl’s voice said:
“are you taking a smoke?”
i turned around and could only see her silhouette against the warm light of the bedroom behind the french windows.
“no, just getting some air” i said.
“hm, mind if i keep you company?”
as mentioned above i’m famous for my charming and witty replies so i answered:
“no.”

she walked up to me and leaned against the banister, her face now in the light and we started to small-talk about our jobs and where we knew bernd from and so on. and all the time her large, brown eyes were looking at me with a weird mixture of curiosity and benevolence that made me feel funny in my stomach.

and i wondered how she would react if i said right away what was really on my mind and i scolded myself for not being drunk enough to have the guts to just blurt out what i was thinking and it was such a strange situation all over again because i knew i would not see her again except probably next year at bernd’s birthday because she’s living in a different city, and i said to myself : come one, whatdoyouhave to lose? just go ahead and ask: “if i kissed you know, would you hit the right or the left side of my face… just so that i’m prepared” and then give her a kiss. no big deal, really. and just when i breathed in and wanted to start, the door opened in our back and the rest of the party stormed onto the balcony, looking for us.

“hey phil” sebastian said “we’re driving back to cologne now, get your coat!” i was there with a group of people who gave me a lift so i couldn’t really stay and finish what i had set out to do. maybe it’s for the better. when i said good-bye to bernd he hugged me (he was in a very  sweet ‘i love the whole world’ mood) and while he was pressing me so hard that i could barely breathe he screamed into my ear:
“i really, really like you. you know that, don’t you, i really really like you!” and when i had managed to escape i said:
“i like you too, bernd!” and he took a step back and pointed at the girl and said to her and to me simultaneously:
“and you like each other, too, don’t you!” and it looked as if she blushed and she glanced at her shoes in a girlish kindof way for a second and then said:
“well, then i have to hug him good-bye, too…” which she did. and I only am escaped alone to tell thee.

i’m off to bernd’s birthday party now. not much to report anyway.

There’s a club, if you’d like to go
You could meet somebody who really loves you
So you go, and you stand on your own
And you leave on your own
And you go home, and you cry
And you want to die

a very good friend of mine once remarked rather wittingly that whenever she’s steering her car through stormy, heavy traffic she’d put on radiohead’s “airbag” because she thinks it will protect her from an accident. “i’m safe because the irony of crashing while this song is playing would surpass the allowable!” yes, i think she, like me, has the slight suspicion that her life is a staged event following unwritten dramatic rules.

driving home on the subway, suzanne was singing “anniversary.” and just when the line Put away the drafts of all your eulogies / Clear the way for all your possibilities / ‘Cause they live upon each corner / Live on every street started, the doors opened and, among other people, s. got on the train. i turned away, looking into the opposite direction. had to get off the next stop anyway. the ‘good’ thing : i realized that it would have fucked me up much more if you had come in.

yeah! bernd kicked ass today!

came home this evening from work with a headache. still got a cold and every nerve and sinew feels infected. then i had a brilliant idea!
“why don’t you” i said to myself “take your bike, drive through the cold and pouring rain to the gym, run for 15.26km and then drive back home through the cold and pouring rain? isn’t that much better than staying home, drinking a hot tea and work on the author-thesis or prepare your seminar or finish that new song? i bet when you return home worn out and  wet and cold there will be someone waiting for you. or at least you will have received a call or a message!”

now it’s nine at night. neither call nor message nor someone waiting for me. only the stale feeling of not having done the things i’m supposed to do. but i know that i needed to work off that extra nervousness and restlessness. not that it’s gone completely, but it’s weaker and maybe will allow for some sleep tonight. tomorrow is an important day for bernd who is, as i’ve been informed, one of the most lovable characters of this journal. he will have to give a talk in front of all the professors of the humanities department who will then eat him alive like hungry sharks. it’s a degrading spectacle that is part of his ‘habilitation’, an archaic academic ritual that is nowhere else practiced but in germany. it’s required to become a professor.

listening to old nerve bible songs. missing rob and the energy of the band. here’s a clip of daniel and rob giving me advice on writing lyrics.

grrrrrreat! just when i had repressed most thoughts about you into a pocket of mock-indifference i got news concerning you via a third party, and i feel the heat&cold rise simultaneously and my heart stumbling. fuck.

listened to a radioplay version of büchner’s lenz while working out yesterday.

Nur manchmal, wenn der Sturm das Gewölk in die Täler warf und es den Wald herauf dampfte, und die Stimmen an den Felsen wach wurden, bald wie fern verhallende Donner und dann gewaltig heranbrausten, in Tönen, als wollten sie in ihrem wilden Jubel die Erde besinnen, und die Wolken wie wilde, wiehernde Rosse heransprengten, und der Sonnenschein dazwischen durchging und kam und sein blitzendes Schwert an den Schneeflächen zog, so daß ein helles, blendendes Licht über die Gipfel in die Täler schnitt; oder wenn der Sturm das Gewölk abwärts trieb und einen lichtblauen See hineinriß und dann der Wind verhallte und tief unten aus den Schluchten, aus den Wipfeln der Tannen wie ein Wiegenlied und Glockengeläute heraufsummte, und am tiefen Blau ein leises Rot hinaufklomm und kleine Wölkchen auf silbernen Flügeln durchzogen, und alle Berggipfel, scharf und fest, weit über das Land hin glänzten und blitzten riß es ihm in der Brust, er stand, keuchend, den Leib vorwärts gebogen, Augen und Mund weit offen, er meinte, er müsse den Sturm in sich ziehen, alles in sich fassen, er dehnte sich aus und lag über der Erde, er wühlte sich in das All hinein, es war eine Lust, die ihm wehe tat; oder er stand still und legte das Haupt ins Moos und schloß die Augen halb, und dann zog es weit von ihm, die Erde wich unter ihm, sie wurde klein wie ein wandelnder Stern und tauchte sich in einen brausenden Strom, der seine klare Flut unter ihm zog. Aber es waren nur Augenblicke; und dann erhob er sich nüchtern, fest, ruhig, als wäre ein Schattenspiel vor ihm vorübergezogen - er wußte von nichts mehr.

then for the gym today i unearthed some blumfeld songs that i haven’t listened to in a long time. they brought me right back into the rehearsing room. and i remembered that night when we (rob, daniel and i) had been driving to a nearby city to hear them play. we were waiting in front of the closed doors while the sound check was still going on. and suddenly a very familiar chord pattern started and jochen distelmeyer was singing: “my name is luka…”

irgendwie geht’s dann doch raus aus den vier wänden
und draussen geht es dann zu jemand völlig anderm hin
so bin ich dann in dessen guten händen
und glücklich, dass ich mit wem zusammen glücklich bin
am nächsten morgen habe ich das alte stechen
und neben mir liegt wer der sich bald leblos an mich schmiegt
wie’s dazu kam hab ich danach vergessen
statt dessen bin ich längst wieder am werk…

went to see prof. agamben giving a guest lecture today. then home. aspirin. supermarket. now i have to sit down and rewrite the hypertext-thesis. then write the authorship thesis. tomorrow noon i’ll meet bernd who will do a technical rehearsal of his habilitation talk. still ill, coughing and swollen nose. especially at night. could hardly sleep. alice called it a ‘man cold’ which the urban dictionary defines as follows:

The name ‘man cold’ disguises the true terrible, debilitating disease that is the man cold. Nearly all men will die from man colds unless they are administered immediately with large amounts of mindless TV such as daytime TV, or children’s cartoons. It is essential that they not move from bed or a comfy sofa to allow for rehabilitation, and must have tissues and man cold medicine (such as chocolate biscuits, McDonalds, or a nice cup of tea) brought to them constantly by a nearby female.

just talked to my sister on the phone. her b-friend had surgery yesterday - for over four hours. but apparently everything went well. how weird, the silly thing i did last month keeps contacting me. who would have guessed!

still ill. when i got up this morning i felt as if someone had put me in a sack last night and hit down hard on it with a wooden club. don’t really feel like anything, besides i have to work on the third thesis anyway. yesterday night i chatted with alice, and here’s part of the conversation (for context : we were discussing the pros and cons of associating a face with music. she said it would help the music to be exposed, i said that i shouldn’t matter what an artist looks like):
 
alice says:
If I was one of my friends and looking at my last.fm and I saw that pic on the screen, I would want to see what your music sounded like. we’re fucking shallow that way. A pretty picture motivates us.
alice says:
every time!
Gilles Plateaus says:
but that’s wrong
alice says:
no, it’s not.
alice says:
It’s called marketing.
Gilles Plateaus says:
the music should stand on its own
alice says:
fuck that.
Gilles Plateaus says:
lol!
alice says:
zach condon.
Gilles Plateaus says:
you are refreshingly pragmatic about that!
alice says:
I am a businesswoman at heart.
alice says:
there are lots of people these days who are just one person and stand “behind” a band name
alice says:
Sea Wolf, Beirut, if I sit here a minute I can think of ten others.
Gilles Plateaus says:
but - and now i will strike you with your own weapons - if it is all about marketing
Gilles Plateaus says:
i should pick the pic of a *really* handsome guy.
Gilles Plateaus says:
i mean unearthly beautiful.
Gilles Plateaus says:
like a model.
Gilles Plateaus says:
i would go with that.
alice says:
*eyes roll out of head*
alice says:
listen, you are not getting it.
alice says:
when I look at that pic of you, I get the same feeling I get when I listen to that great part in cold smoke
alice says:
there’s a connection between the person who made the music and the image.
Gilles Plateaus says:
no there isn’t.
alice says:
yes, maybe it’s just me. however, to go back to Beirut, he’s not a model.  But he has something about him that adds another piece to his music that deepens it.
Gilles Plateaus says:
that’s an imaginary connection.
alice says:
nope.  I disagree.
alice says:
When you put the image of yourself out there and associate it with the music, a connection gets made.
Gilles Plateaus says:
exactly!
Gilles Plateaus says:
but that connection is a belated, arbitrary construction.
Gilles Plateaus says:
it could be the image of *anybody* as long as the viewer assumes that he is the singer.
alice says:
it might be belated, but not arbitrary.
Gilles Plateaus says:
two words:
alice says:
*I* just wrote “two words”!
Gilles Plateaus says:
millie vanillie
alice says:
two words: Milli Vanilli
alice says:
OH
alice says:
MY
alice says:
GOD
Gilles Plateaus says:
no!!!!
alice says:
LOL
Gilles Plateaus says:
get out!!!
alice says:
holy fucking hell!!!
alice says:
gtfo!
Gilles Plateaus says:
i am scared now!
Gilles Plateaus says:
are you me?