A Thousand Plateaus

listened to massive's mezzanine all day long. "teardrop" is such a marvelous song. had the idea for a melody using a sample from this very song this afternoon. maybe this will become another new track. yeah, right! *another*.

got to go to the dentist tomorrow morning :-(. in the afternoon i have a date with an insurance broker. the other day i received an informational note from the social security office that - in case i'm holding my current job and continue paying taxes without interruption [which is highly unlikely] - my pension will be 287.16 € a month when i'm 65 .
 
so i thought that it's high time to get a private pension police. hm, have to see how much money i can scrape together. obviously that depends on how much the cost for the dental work will turn out to be. plus i put together a proposal for a talk at this year's american studies conference, and if they accept it, i'll have to see how to finance the hotel and the train ticket. so, just like in the 5 years before : no holidays this year or moving out of this social housing dump.

my parents called tonight, which was another setback to my mood. i didn't really feel like talking to them, but instead of letting the machine answer i picked up, and sure enough after 30 seconds it was bad conscience galore. "your mother wants to know whether you will come visit us over easter? i don't know! why don't you know? i can't tell yet, got things to do. what kind of things do you possibly have to do? learn latin. also thomas will be back from the states for two weeks and i just don't know what kind of work will have piled up till then..." and then, when i mentioned that the semester has ended two weeks ago the inevitable commentary: "what? you have semester holidays *again*? so what are you doing all day long then??!?" *sigh*  

"teardrop" is really hypnotic. it's perfectly still outside, even though it's only half past nine. i'm tired from the gym. this simply isn't my day. pushed over the desk lamp tonight and its green glass shade scattered into a thousand pieces on the floor. i think i just better get straight to bed, continue reading my edith wharton novel and cry myself to sleep silently. missing princess superstar. mood-o-metter : 3.1.

i know you won't believe this, but it's true. i was on my way to the office hours of one of the latin professors. the department for ancient languages is situated on the fith floor (we're on the first) so i thought: "better take the lift, otherwise you'll be all out of breath and you *do* want to make a good impression..." so i pressed the buttom and after a couple of seconds a bell rang and the doors of the lift opened. and who was standing in the lift, wearing a long black coat and a leather bag? right, one of the dubini brothers. i was literally speechless, could only smile helplessly, and he got out on the next floor before i could even start a conversation.

i *did* go to a desert place last night. and of course i did not go to bed 'relatively early' as i had planned. i made a compilation cd with tracks by laurie anderson yesterday night, mostly very calm and quiet pieces on which she is speaking more than singing. "tightrope", "love among the sailors", "same time tomorrow", "world without end"... you get the picture. while the cd was being burned i brushed my teeth, washed my face and changed into my pjs. even though it was past midnight i knew that i wouldn't be able to sleep for another hour at least. so i opened the window - it was mild outside but raining. and the fresh, wet air filled the room. then i switched off all the lights, lay on my bed, put on the headphones and listened to the compilation.

and with the first sounds my room fell away completely. i was standing in a wide, flat land. a desert, a steppe, a field of ice. my own desert places. i felt so alone, suddenly. but i wasn't afraid. i was simply ... alone. and then "strange angels" started, and i was standing in the eye of a hurricane : a sandstorm, an icestorm was twirling around me in slow motion, a giant, towering whirlwind rising up into the dark. but where i was standing, the air was completely still and quiet, and i could stretch out my arm, and my hand would disappear in the chaos, but i wouldn't feel a thing, i'd reach right through the storm.

and then, after she had told a story of how she had spent some time with  a mayan tribe in mexico, laurie suddenly started to recite ariel's song from the tempest, mixing it with melville. and that moment the storm took a hold of me and something like a shock wave went through me, you know, like this grainy 50s black and white military film-footage of houses and trees being pulverized by a silent burst of energy. every structural integrity was blasted into a dance of molecules, as if i would just disintegrate in a nonviolent explosion, flying off in all directions. and when i was falling back into place, i thought : 'no, no, no, let me stay scattered and dispersed'. like a near-death experience that you do not want to return from.

Full fathom five
thy father lies
Of his bones
are coral made
Those are pearls
that were his eyes
Nothing of him
that doth fade
But that suffers
a sea change
Into something rich
and strange
And I alone am left
to tell the tale
Call me Ishmael

well, just a couple of small things : actually i wanted to make up today for all the things i had neglected during the week (such as writing mails) but then i started to revise the article for the deleuze proceedings and i just finished it like twenty minutes ago. so the plan is to go to bed relatively early tonight and do all these things tomorrow.

you know, i *did* give bob frost the link to the journal yesterday, but i would never have thought that he actually would check it out. but he did, and he even posted a comment - and what a great one:

Written by: Bob
Comment text:
They cannot scare me with their empty spaces
Between stars - on stars where no human race is.
I have it in me so much nearer home
To scare myself with my own desert places.

and then i checked leah's journal this morning and she had posted the following entry which made me gasp:

Montreal

Poet with no poems
Lover with no love
Driver with no drive
Invisible as you try to be
You leave footprints
wherever you go.

I sat in a cafe in Montreal
Half expecting you to come clink my glass
"To Cohen," you'd say
"To Dylan," I'd say
and both cringe at the cliches
our lives had become.

Instead, I drank alone
and had red wine epiphanies
I forgot my journal
so the wisdom was lost
I flirted with the waiter
who preferred young men.

and then i stumbled over this image by edmund dulac on the net when i was searching for something totally different and i stopped and stared and thought : where do i know her from where do i know her from where do i know her from??? and while i was still wondering how a 1930s painter could have anticipated your face so very perfectly i left the house to buy a loaf of bread and who disappeared quickly behind the corner when i opened the door? one of the dubini-brothers! it's strange. they always appear when you are on my mind, like there was some kind of invisible connection.

so, you won't believe whom i met in the gym tonight!! there is no way you can even guess it! i went down to the gym because, well, quite frankly because i was pissed off. a couple of months ago bernd had asked me whether i wanted to contribute an article to a collection of papers he is about to publish on 'intermediality' - he has found a very renowned american publishing house for the project.
"hey phil" he said while we were sitting in the office, both of us munching a snickers bar "didn't you go to that hypertext conference in heidelberg some years ago? you gave a lecture there, didn't you? maybe you can just brush it up a little and your contribution to the volume is ready!"
naturally i felt very flattered and without much thinking i said:
"sure! that would be great!"

so, this was six months ago. unfortunately the deadline for submission is coming closer and closer, and today i took another look at the paper i had composed back then. and it is *terrible*. i can't hand that in! how could i ever have come up with such crap? it made me go 'eakwehikks!' and i felt ashamed for what i had written. but what is worse is that i will now have to produce an article on intermediality (a topic i do not know a single thing about) as soon as possible. considering the fact that my latin course will start march 5th (five times a week from eight to one) the timing couldn't be worse :-(

so i was frustrated and angry with myself and felt all wound up and tense - and with these feelings i went onto the crosstrainer, put the headphones in my ears and mark knopfler's "silvertown blues" started to play. so. now it's out. now you know it. yes, i confess : i am listening to mark knopfler. but that's only because i'm desperate and frustrated and bitter! and i only listen to him on the stepper. and only one or two songs. and you must admit : they're produced quite beautifully.

so anyway, i was running along, and the sweat was starting to run as well, and as usual i had closed my eyes and was totally immersed in the music when all of a sudden someone was tugging at my shirt. i was so startled that i almost slipped off the cross-trainer.
"excuse me" a voice said and when my eyes had gotten used to the bright gym lights again a blurry figure was slowly gaining shape in front of me. the figure became a man in black sport clothes, about 40 years old and he looked rather lost and helpless.
"i'm from out of town and the gym at my hotel is closed so they sent me here. but how do these things work?" and he made a comic gesture, pointing at the blinking buttons of the cross-trainer's panel.
"uh, you press here, and here, and then here. and here you can set the time..."

so i assisted in getting the thing started for him. and while doing this  i realized that i had seen his face somewhere before. i tried to take a closer look at him without seeming impolite, but i just couldn't remember where i knew him from. eventually he said:
"well, thanks a lot,...?"
"phil!" i helped out.
"thanks phil!"
"piece of cake,...?"
"robert." he answered. and suddenly i remembered and i shouted out rather inappropriately:
"of course! robert! robert frost!"
"the same" he said smilingly.
"wow! that is so... that is just so... un-be-lie-vable! what are you doing here?"
"well, there's a german translation of my collected poems being published next week. and i've jetted over to do some pr."

it goes without saying that i switched off mark knopfler immediately, and for the next hour i was working out next to robert frost! figure *that*! and he was quite a nice guy, too. first he talked a little about the release of the book and all the problems he and the translator had to struggle with to transfer the poems from english to german.
"you know" he said "i'm not ginsberg! rhyme and meter *are* important for my verses..."

so we chatted along while we were running on the spot. and without really realizing it the conversation had shifted to me and my life and before i knew it i was into telling very private and emotional things. robert listened patiently and with an expression of genuine interest on his face. but it might also only have been the labor from working out.

anyway, we had been talking for almost an hour, and the conversation was just coming to a halt when he suddenly said:
"you know, phil, i think your problem is that you don't know which road to take. you're standing at a forking path, and you don't know which way to choose. one is the thesis and the next thesis and an insecure job at the university. one is the 400 lurkers..."
"200" i corrected him.
"right, 200 lurkers. one is your wish to write prose. and yet another is  finding a totally different but secure job and settling down for good.  and you're standing there, and from what i understand you've been standing there a while, and you're simply unable to make a decision and continue traveling."
"hm... i think you're right, robert."
"call me bob. the thing is : standing there frozen in catatonia doesn't get you anywhere, either. if you keep standing too long you might not get out of the wood by daylight safely..."
"hm..."
"on the other hand, whichever road you'll take, you will be endlessly melancholic for the ones you have not chosen. and you will spend most of your time and energy trying to articulate this melancholia. so either way you're screwed."
and while he way saying that, the panel of his cross-trainer started to beep, announcing that the training was over. he stopped slowly and wiped the sweat out of his face with a towel that had "hilton" embroidered in gold letters.
"listen, phil, you must think it queer that i'm rushing off like this, but - goddamn it, how do you stop that beep? - i've got promises to keep. gonna meet with the suits from the book-store in half an hour! here, i'll write down my email-address for you..." and he took a work-out schedule and a pen from the trainer's table near-by "... and if you're ever in the boston area, let me know and we can have a beer, okay?"

and off he went.

bob frost. quite a nice chap!

busy day at work. after we had taken care of all the items on our 'to-do' list, elaine and i went to an indian restaurant (not the 'dream café, though :-)) and had a well deserved, long dinner. we started to talk about work-related stuff, you know, like who is doing which seminar next semester and what we still have to organize for the publication of the deleuze proceedings and when our office hours will be during the holidays. but soon the conversation focused on a single topic, and we talked about that for an hour at least : my novel.

elaine was just neatly arranging a pile of rice and some chicken tandoori on her fork, and was in the process of balancing that fragile construction to her mouth safely. while she was lifting her arm slowly, fixing the fork with an austere look, i mentioned  - not quite seriously - that i always wanted to write a novel. elaine closed her mouth, stopped her arm in midair and her eyes wandered from the rice to meet mine:
"you know what? i think this is a super idea!" she said while the food dropped back onto the plate. i was surprised, because i didn't really expect an answer, it was simply a thought that rocketed through my mind and that i articulated without thinking about it too much.
"you think so?"
"sure!"
"you're kidding?"
"no! why should i be kidding? want more bread?"
"no, thanks. you think i should write a novel?"
"listen, phil..." and she took a sip from her coke before she continued, then wiped her lips with the napkin.
"...let's look at the facts: you obviously enjoy writing, don't you?" she didn't wait for me to answer this rhetorical question "at least that's what i gathered from reading your journal..." [elaine used to sporadically check the 'old' journal] "...there you more than once stressed how important the act of writing had been for you. and you know..." and she leaned over the table conspiratorially "... i still don't believe you that you did *not* continue it at some secret other site on the web! one of these days i will find it!"
"no, well, i mean, i..."
"anyway, so you really enjoy writing. and another fact is that your writing is actually not *that* bad. i'm not really the one to judge it, but let's just say: i've read published authors who write much worse than you do. and judging from the feedback you received, there seem to be a couple of people who felt bemused, entertained or even affected by what you had written. considering all these points, it might not be a bad idea at all to write a novel."

i was pretty stunned. hadn't thought about all this before.
"but..." i replied "...what about the job? what about the dissertation?"
"tja. hm. maybe it would be wise to first finish the thesis. and then you start to write *seriously*. i mean, what other options do you have, anyway? do you really see your future in academia? now, don't get me wrong: it's not that think that you're not smart enough. but i just don't see you giving up all your other loves and focus on your academic career exclusively. you know that you would have to write *another*, even longer thesis right after you have finished this one. is this really what you want. *that* is what you have got to ask yourself. and is this really what you think you can do best?"
"but is this really the question? is the question really what i *want* to do and what i think i'm *best* at? isn't the question rather what i can earn my living with?"

elaine agreed that this was a valid point and we talked some more about possible ways to work and write at the same time.
"it would be great to have a kind of one year grant. i think i *could* actually come up with a book in one year. but then the other problem is: would i write in german or in english?"
"why not switch?"
"what you mean two languages in one book?"
"sure! why not? make it part of the structure and plot of the book."
"hm, maybe you're right..."

and so we talked on for a while. and then when we left the restaurant we passed a shoe shop and i tried on some sneakers, but we both agreed that they were too big and then we went home. so, another story without a point. and they keep coming!

grmph. tired. my eyes ache. it just *can't* be healthy to sit in front of the pc all day long, blinking and squinting at the small letters that start dancing around by five in the afternoon. i'm such a bonehead, i mean really : when i got home from the gym tonight i had an attack of reason and i went straight into the kitchen (or what i like to call the 'kitchen' which is in fact only a small tunnel that is 2.5 x 1 meter), took the big bag of m&ms that i had bought yesterday and poured them all into the trash. the colorful rain of chocolate coated peanuts made loud clinging noises as they burst at the bottom of the large, metal bin.

this morning i took the ibook and sat at a café (not *the* café though, but one that is - incidentally - called "the kitchen") where i was supposed to meet catherine, an acquaintance who has moved away from cologne and is now thinking of moving back. i sat there, switching on the laptop, and without really noticing it i had chosen the place opposite the table where s. and i had our first, well, 'date'. i remember that afternoon very distinctly because everything that had happened surprised me so much.

i had met s. at princess superstars' twenty-third birthday party (well, it wasn't really her twenty-third, but she certianly looked that fresh and young. she does still, in fact), and she started to talk to me for a rather long time. which confused me because a) her boyfriend was sitting next to her and b) because i simply wasn't playing in her league. i'm not used to getting approached by models at parties. so i thought : this is weird...

even stranger hings should follow : we somehow started to send each other mails. i'm not quite sure how it began, but suddenly we were sending them back and forth. until we came at a point when she mentioned something like that she couldn't really continue this. and i thought: "okay, i saw *this* coming!" and wasn't even disappointed or sad because it had never really occurred to me that she might really be *interested* in me. so i said: "okay" with a shrug of the shoulder. and i went my way.

days later she contacted m out of he blue and asked me if i wanted to have a coffee with her. and i thought: "wait a minute? what the hell is going on here? first she doesn't want to write anymore and now she wants to have a coffee..." and i cautiously agreed. and we met at "the kitchen", sitting opposite from where i was sitting today. and i remember that i was rather reluctant and little affectionate when she turned up. i didn't want to get hurt, so i kept up my shield of politeness that i'm carrying around most of the time and did not expect anything from the meeting.

and then, suddenly, she started to talk like crazy. she kept talking and talking for three hours. about her childhood, about her family, about her job and her studies, about her apartment and her friends. i hardly spoke at all, i think, and i was wondering what kind of drugs that woman was on! she was nervous, fingering a package of cigarettes while i was sitting there, leaned back, arms crossed in front of me. and suddenly it dawned on me that all this was really somehow *important* to her. that she was nervous because of me. that she kept talking because of me. i had an unfamiliar feeling of superiority. of power. and it made me feel very uncomfortable.

well, there's not really a point to this story. that was our first 'date' and maybe i'll tell you about the second one some other night. it's not even very interesting or exciting. i just remembered all this today when i was waiting for catherine.

in the afternoon princess superstar called from montreal and we talked for an hour. and *that* was strange, too. because she sounded so near. there wasn't even a delay in the conversation. it sounded as if she would call from the apartment next door, even though we were an ocean and half a day away. my sunset is her sunrise.

let's see, what else was on my mind today : exchanged a couple of mails with the mysterious 'woman from south florida,' you know, the friend of rebecca who, for some reason, had stumbled upon the old journal and remembered the 200 lurkers when rebecca mentioned the band's name in a mail. so that woman, let's call her alice (carroll's book is lying on my desk because i have to take it to the office tomorrow), turns out to be a music journalist working for a pretty good online music magazine : junkmedia.org! and in one of her mails she mentioned that she really liked the 200 lurkers song "the last guest". which is not only remarkable because, well, somebody who doesn't risk losing my friendship is making a favorable comment about the lurkers, but also because the other week at the university, there was a group of colleagues and also students gathering on the corridor and we were all talking and joking around, and for some reason somebody mentioned the last concert and one of the students (i didn't really know her, only remembered her face from meeting her on the corridor a couple of times) said : "i was there, and i waited all the time that you would play 'the last guest'." and as usual in those situations i felt truly awkward and didn't know what to say and just answered with an imbecile smile and some kind of grunted "oh really?" and she added something like : "yes, it has been my soundtrack during the past months..."

this world.
i tell you!

today the 'veedels zoch' passed by my house. that's the carnival's parade of our quarter. when i had to get from point a to point b this afternoon i crossed its path and i had to fight my way through rows of carnival revelers who were practicing their obtrusive humor-fascism, waving at me, and screaming "alaaf!!" into my face with more alcohol than oxygen in their breath. i'm sooo glad it's all over tomorrow.

so, anyway, i met d. again today. this time : emotionally disengaged sex without a preceding coffee. fair enough. afterwards, d. fell asleep, with the arms still wrapped around me, face close to mine, breath brushing my skin regularly. and i was looking into the sleeping face, the unfamiliar dark skin (mind you : s.'s appearance was as nordic as you can get), the voluptuous lips (i know it sounds like a cliché but that's what they are...), the long, filigree eyelashes.

suddenly d. awoke and answered my explorative gaze with an unexpected tenderness that caught me off-guard. and d.'s kisses were almost disquietingly alert, unstrained and well, intimate. it's one thing to screw but a totally different thing to be kissed like that. yet it was a kind of tenderness that felt ... hm ... hollow. because, well, even in those situations i'm still remembering s.. and there was a clipboard on the wall filled with photos that showed d. with other girls and boys - friends and colleagues probably -  and in the right hand upper corner there was a girl with long blond hair and for a moment i thought she was smiling from the wall mockingly.

on my way back home i made a great discovery : a "penny market" just around the corner! they have great stuff and are much cheaper than the place where i'm usually shopping. bought myself a liter of ice cream and had that for dinner. plus cookies for desert.

i think i used my shopping excess to compensate for the feeling of discomfort that accompanied me through the day since i opened thomas' mail in which he told me what he thought about the beautiful losers discussion of the thesis which i had given him shortly before he flew off to l.a.. he wrote that i could easily cut it by 30% because i was using too many quotations and hadn't established enough of an argument of my own. "the accumulation of quotations has to be turned into a narration" he wrote. *sigh*

Written by: libertine
Comment text: well, given the outfit he's wearing under the hot lights I was all set to declare it to be perspiration...but at the end he surprised me. It's definitely a single tear. What a graceful performance. *sends you virtual fun food*

i, too, think it's a tear. i've never seen anybody cry so soberly. by the way, i think i have actualized the virtual fun food that you have sent today :-)

and it's weird how one listens to a song for years without *really* understanding what it is about. i mean i almost knew the lyrics to cohen's "master song" by heart, but only the other night i suddenly realized what they are about, that this is one bitter parting song which i would just *love* to shout right into your face one of these days.

I believe that you heard your master sing
when I was sick in bed.
I suppose that he told you everything
that I keep locked away in my head.
Your master took you traveling,
well at least that's what you said.
And now do you come back to bring
your prisoner wine and bread?

You met him at some temple, where
they take your clothes at the door.
He was just a numberless man in a chair
who'd just come back from the war.
And you wrap up his tired face in your hair
and he hands you the apple core.
Then he touches your lips now so suddenly bare
of all the kisses we put on some time before.

And he gave you a German Shepherd to walk
with a collar of leather and nails,
and he never once made you explain or talk
about all of the little details,
such as who had a word and who had a rock,
and who had you through the mails.
Now your love is a secret all over the block,
and it never stops not even when your master fails.

And he took you up in his aeroplane,
which he flew without any hands,
and you cruised above the ribbons of rain
that drove the crowd from the stands.
Then he killed the lights in a lonely Lane
and, an ape with angel glands,
erased the final wisps of pain
with the music of rubber bands.

And now I hear your master sing,
you kneel for him to come.
His body is a golden string
that your body is hanging from.
His body is a golden string,
my body has grown numb.
Oh now you hear your master sing,
your shirt is all undone.

And will you kneel beside this bed
that we polished so long ago,
before your master chose instead
to make my bed of snow?
Your eyes are wild and your knuckles are red
and you're speaking far too low.
No I can't make out what your master said
before he made you go.

Then I think you're playing far too rough
for a lady who's been to the moon;
I've lain by this window long enough
to get used to an empty room.
And your love is some dust in an old man's cough
who is tapping his foot to a tune,
and your thighs are a ruin, you want too much,
let's say you came back some time too soon.

I loved your master perfectly
I taught him all that he knew.
He was starving in some deep mystery
like a man who is sure what is true.
And I sent you to him with my guarantee
I could teach him something new,
and I taught him how you would long for me
no matter what he said no matter what you'd do.

I believe that you heard your master sing
while I was sick in bed,
I'm sure that he told you everything
I must keep locked away in my head.
Your master took you traveling,
well at least that's what you said,
And now do you come back to bring
your prisoner wine and bread?

hm, realized that i haven't talked to anybody in almost four days. on friday marla had pinned a sponge bob valentine's card to bernd's & my office door, which was nice. there's not more to report : read more cohen secondary literature. gym. another yummy instant soup. answering mails.

thought i'd share this with you : http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fQ7PMG8c2gI

now, i don't mind getting spam. as long as it doesn't turn into an over-boarding flood of junk mail i can deal with it. but the *kind* i get recently really pisses me off because it offends my intellect. i mean get real! does *any*body seriously think this is an irresistible come on that charms you into forgetting that one should never click any links you get from people you do not know?:

From: Gabyhase@someobscureeasteuropeanprovider.com
Subject: Ein Teddybär zum kuscheln

Was ich suche ist ein Teddybär zum kuscheln, anlehnen blödeln, ins Kino gehen, gegenseitigem verwöhnen, plaudern, Party machen, gemeinsam Musik hören und vielleicht dazu tanzen und für einander dasein, gemeinsam viel unternehmen.
Mein Teddybär soll kein Gerippe sein, sondern auf denselbigen schon etwas Fleisch haben, viel Geduld und Humor haben Kinder- und Tierlieb sein und offen sein für spontane Einfälle und Aktivitäten. Wenn du glaubst, das richtige Brummen drauf zu haben, dann hau bald möglichst in die Tasten und nimm kontakt mit mir auf.Erzähl mir mehr von dir. Frag mich was du willst.
http://gabyhase.at.gs/
Grüsse von vieleicht bald deiner teddybärdame

well, sunday's almost over. didn't leave the confines of my cozy little apartment/singleroom/cage/oxygenfreeandwaterfloodedtank. tomorrow's 'rosenmontag' (carnival monday), the holiest holiday in colgone. if you leave the house without a costume you get beaten senseless on the street. all the shops have closed, which is bad news because i have scarfed away most of my supply of cookies, chocolate, chips or just any food that tastes like fun. right now i would kill for a big bowl of ice-cream!

anyway, i thought that it might be a good idea to use the interactive potentialities of the medium to conduct a little survey:
is it a drop of sweat or a tear that is running down leonard's cheek at 4 minutes 50 seconds? http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RLq7Aqd_H7g use the 'comment' function of the journal to let us know *your* opinion and win page 192 of my thesis manuscript.

i got my 20$ moleskine-sigur-ros-edition notebook lying beside me in bed every night but i never take down anything. it's lying where a second pillow used to lie, either covered by the messy tungsten tangle of your hair or waiting to be when you had returned from the night shift at 3 a.m.. those were the best nights : when i went to bed knowing that in the middle of the night the sound of your keys turning would wake me up and you'd sneak into the dark room exhausted and tired and i'd watch you undress with my eyes half open, pretending i was fast asleep. you'd scatter your clothes all over the floor, and you'd sneak under the blanket with your cold feet and cold neck. i'd lay my arm around you and fall asleep again being incomparably and inconceivably happy. a happiness that filled me completely. leaving no room for even the slightest worry or gloomy thought or sparkle of panic. just a moment of perfect peace and rest and warm quietness. yep, that was really ... something.

oh by the way : got an interesting mail today from a french critic who is writing her phd thesis on zappa and deleuze.

subject: zappa deleuze

I don't know if you read French, I don't know if you value Zappa's
aesthetics as much as you value Deleuze's philosophy .... here's my
contribution to the mingling of both
http://zcommezappa.free.fr
regards
nath