A Thousand Plateaus

A BAND! A BAND! MY KINGDOM FOR A BAND!

shivers and gasping when i read paula's entry today : Above us is heaven's underbelly. I want to take a hunting knife to it, slash it viciously until my father falls out.

today on repeat: emiliana torrini's "lifesaver". and just to show you how beautifully all this is orchestrated : after the very first s.-song that i mentioned yesterday (morcheeba), today the very last s.-song : we broke up two days after the torrini concert.

when it's getting light outside i wake up. i look at the clock, it's not even six and i realize that i only had four hours of sleep - only half the time i usually need. but falling asleep again seems impossible, too much is going on in my mind, there are fragments of sentences from the introduction and conclusion that don't seem right yet and they're whirling around in my head and i know that if i'll spend as many time on the revision of the remaining 200 pages it will take me until easter next year. but once the vortex has me, i'm drawn in deeper and deeper, kind-of-justifiable-angst all around me, giving me a stale taste in the mouth.

so i get up, lumber to the bathroom to brush my teeth. as every morning the image in the mirror frightens me : dark rings under the eyes, receding hairline, gray skin, pimple beside my nose and suzanne's "bound" comes to my mind The way of the world Has taken its toll Ravaged my body And bitten my soul I am ruined by rain Weathered by wind I've been invaded Without and within. i spit out the artificially flavored foam, stick my tongue out at myself and lumber back to bed.

when i lift the blanket, you wake up and turn around and you look at me and there's this inexplicable smile on your face. you're looking at this ruin of a face and i swear i don't understand why you don't gather your clothes and run as fast as you can. i would! what could possibly make you smile like this? surely not the would-be musician, or the would-be writer, or the tryer-to-understand-philosophy or the constant worrier, because you don't know all these people. so i'm putting my old body next to yours and i'm crumbled and confused and still you lean over and kiss me and this is the moment i wanted, this was all i wanted to achieve in whatever-this-is : a moment of unconditionality. it happened again! happiness spreads like a second blanket shortly and i know that even if you leave the house today and never return it'll be all right.

sitting @ the café, rewriting introduction and conclusion, "protection" playing on repeat, the beat making me tap my foot, my fingers, rock my head, move my shoulders unconsciously, my lips forming the words of the chorus without even noticing it. songssongssongssongssongssongssongs. when i was working out on the cross-trainer yesterday noon i felt worn out and out of energy after fifteen minutes already. the machine was working against me, and the levers became heavy and with every movement my body seemed to lean against its limits. somehow i went on, and then, after 55 minutes, the live version of paul simon's "cool, cool river" came on, and a remarkable change took place : suddenly every limb was suffused by warmth, and i felt like i was running without any resistance, every step an automatic movement that didn't require any energy but, in contrast, seemed to even produce energy and feed it back into the movements. and then, when the coda to the song started, i was running so fast and so forcefully, that the machine started to moan and to creak, and *it* became the limit because it couldn't keep up with the fluency and force of the music. songssongssongssongssongssongssongs

and now you've called and i'm surprised. i didn't know that we were *that* far already : the short-notice pop-in!

and then you're calling me the next day just to tell me how you are and to ask when we will met again. and so this thing reaches the next level of alluring uncanniness. when you were already asleep the other night, the machine chose - randomly from the pool of songs - morcheeba's "fear and love" to play, and i remembered that it was the first song that s. had ever taped me years back. very weird.

not much else to report : work, meeting jamie, getting sad news, checking mails, getting more sad news, then my mother called:
"i thought i come visit cologne next friday - and you can show me where you're working..." it's always good to know that life can get more exhausting after all. got to keep working now.

http://www.thebestpageintheuniverse.net/c.cgi?u=iphone

and now i'm rolling on the floor laughing.

it's the first time that you're at my place, and i'm unreasonably nervous. you ring, i open, and we're hugging awkwardly.
"come in" i'm saying and you step into the room and see all there is to see because my apartment's so small.
"oh - very nice!" you say politely.
"do you want to drink anything?" and while i'm searching in the fridge i hear you saying
"that's a nice poster..." and you point to the framed 'ice maiden' that's hanging behind my desk.
"...and all these images of saints! i didn't know that you're religious."
"no, i'm not, actually. it's connected to my work. you know, the author i'm writing about is using all these religious images and mixes them with popular culture and..." but you're not really following. it must sound stupid and boring to you anyway. and then i'm starting to cook and you're telling me how your day has been and then you're coming up with more unbelievable semi-celebritiy stories and when and why you've been on tv. we're eating and then start watching the simpsons movie. you snuggle up close and halfway through the movie i realize that you're not even looking: your head is resting on my chest with closed eyes. when the movie's over you stir slightly, raise your head and apologize softly:
"i'm sorry, just had such a tiresome week..."
"that's okay" i'm smiling, i stand in front of you i take the force of the blow, my fingers caught in your hair. the media-player switches from film to music and you bury your face deep into the crescent of my neck, and with your legs you're clasping mine and you hold on to me like bare life you're a girl and i'm a boy and then you whisper:
"gell we ring utiful..."
"what?"
"tell me something beautiful..."
and i don't know what to say.
if you were somebody else i'd whisper t.s. eliot to you. if you were somebody else i'd come up with an absurd story about thomas or anne-marie. if you were somebody else i'd tell you about that magic moment three weeks ago when suzanne looked at me. if you were somebody else i'd say i stand in front of you i take the force of the blow. but i don't know what to say, and so i'm silent and the music plays and your breathing becomes more and more regular. i'm a girl and you're a boy. and then your body signals that you're asleep when your arms twitch sharply and you moan softly. and then i look up : the flickering light from the few remaining candles is splashing onto the ceiling, painting dancing circles, and it looks as if the room was covered by a lake's surface. you're a girl and i'm a boy. and your warm skin presses onto mine for protection or tenderness or love or togetherness. that's just part of the deal, that's the way i feel, i put my arms around you. after hours you turn around, open your eyes and catch me looking in bewilderment at your face. and slighty embarrassed i'm saying:
"honey, i have to turn off the light or else i will keep staring at you until dawn..." so i get up, blow out the candles and switch off the computer. the sudden stopping of its fan makes the silence even deeper. you're a boy and i'm a girl and half in dreams you take off your shirt and i'll crawl back to bed and again you clasp me like ishmael the floating coffin.
"you have to wake me in the morning" is the last thing you mumble in-between kisses. then the full weight of your unconscious body rests onto mine and how am i supposed to run away like that? and in the silence of the room i can hear the ice maiden snickering, her two companions pawing in the snow, knowing they won't be hungry for much longer.

in the morning you can hardly separate your body from mine. heavy with sleep you put on your clothes and at the door you're saying "we'll be in touch." and this unspecific farewell pierces my heart coldly. when you're gone i stumble into the bathroom, switch on the light and see my self in the mirror: i'm old. who'll stand in front of me to take the force of the blow? and then i shower and pack my things for work and head off to the university to kill another day of my stupid, pointless life.

just a short entry because you're coming over tonight and we'll cook. here's another accordion song the title of which pretty much describes the state i'm in. on the crosstrainer - when i was totally dehydrated because the noon sun was shining through the gym's glass roof onto my head and i started to head towards delirium - i had this great idea for a rock opera like the one waits and burroughs and reed have done with wilson: a scenic and musical presentation of deleuze's key concepts. well, maybe the world isn't ready for it yet.

sigh. i don't know. why can't i just be more relaxed about the whole situation, instead of getting all tense and wound up again? [checking phone] callnocallcallnocall. no, i've *got* to have the proof that i'm the most important thing on your mind. i'll fuck it up. spent the morning picking up my apartment, doing the laundry, cleaning the kitchen : could i please put a little *more* pressure on me and you. and then there are these moments when i think: 'i'm glad this is going to end at the start because, really, where would it lead to?' i want to be swept away by a season, a wind, a time of the day. [checking phone]
and then the gasping starts: So we are saying a simple thing: desire concerns speeds and slownesses between particles (longitude), affects, intensities and haecceities in degrees of power (latitude). [...] Do you realize how simple desire is? Sleeping is a desire. Walking is a desire. Listening to music, or making music, or writing, are desires. A spring, a winter, are desires. Old age also is desire. Even death. Desire never needs interpreting, it is it which experiments. [...] desire only exists when assembled or machined. [...] It is constructivist not at all spontaneist (ECC 95-96). [checking phone]

short night, which i basically spent talking with someone very very far away. then gym, then cleaning the house. she sent a song this afternoon which expresses pretty much the gist of what our conversation was about. i must be careful now in my steps – what sublime backing vocals! listening to it makes me realize again how much i would love to have a band again. really. i mean really really. but it's expensive (rent for a rehearsal room is as much as for my apartment!) and time-consuming. and you need to find the right people. what would have been if you hadn't died? can't really think about this now, got to work. sometimes i wanna go home and stay out of sight for a long time. for a very long time.

I must be careful now in my steps
Years of calculations and the stress
My science is waiting, nearly complete
One glass will last for nearly a week

Let me not get down from walking with no-one
and if I stumble from exhaustion
These buckets are heavy, I fill them with water
I could ask these people, but I shouldn't bother

Oh no, I've stumbled, was I going too fast?
Some get angry, some of them laugh
They told me I wouldn't, but I found an answer
I'm Van Occupanther, I'm Van occupanther!

Let me not be too consumed with this world
Sometimes I want to go home
and stay out of sight for a long time