10pm and a few more steps. As always. Somewhere in between calm and stirred up. Also as always. Changing music, randomly, to finally opt for whichever silence a city has to offer. No new storm yet. But a pedestrian whistling on his way home, the sound of bottles on stone near the pub, the sound of a messenger ringing doorbells carrying a bulky bag of food, and the subliminal noise of all the breaths and sighs and turning pages of books and removing clothes for sleep and water of showers flowing down old rusty pipes combined. Ambiance, dissonant. In between different tales of today. (Have a calm night wherever you are!)
Closing in on 10pm, not much further. At least talking intentions. Usual flow: Well prepared, less well prepared, unsorted. Anxious. Focussing on breath, on the sounds emanating from weather and city and backyards, on that small silent void some inches above ones own head that sometimes feels almost like a hideout from oneself. Fans running louder again. Neighbours lose each other in what feels like a fight same as pointless as passionate, and maybe there's rest once this energy has been burnt. (Have a peaceful night wherever you are!)
10pm and on. Shutting down. Watching machines and thoughts slowing into a halting state. Feeling both tired and empty at this point. The moment of trying to grab the right words but realizing ones reach is too short. The moment of trying to find melodies in between scales with dissonance sneaking into every chord until patience wears off. The moment of moving through pictures until they blur in front of every eye and leave one dizzy and dazed. The moment to know when to give in to the late hours and succumb oneself to sleep. Have a soothing night wherever you are.
Zweiter Tag des Jahres, an der Grenze zur Nacht, noch im Schwung, bereits halb in Träumen. Schon wieder zu viele offene Tabs, in jedem relevanten Bereich. Die Stille dieser Zeit hat die umliegenden Wohnungen seit dem Morgen nicht verlassen, nur hinter einer Wand erzählt eine ruhige Stimme ruhige Geschichten ohne Wendungen, ein Kleinkind kichert verschlafen. Selbst noch für einige Augenblicke suchen, nach der Melodie, dem Text, der Folge loser Bilder, die das aktuelle Gefühl widerhallen lassen. Und regelmäßig um diesselben Fixpunkte kreisen, dabei über Gravitation und elliptische Bahnen sinnieren und nach und nach den gedanklichen Faden verlieren, während sich neue Wolken behutsam zwischen alte Dächer und alte Sterne schieben. Have a calm night wherever you are.
(Reglose Straßen, soweit die Augen blicken können. Ein Bus in der Haltestelle, Motor verstummt. Anachronistischer Fahrer blättert umständlich durch eine große Zeitung, während über leeren Sitzen die Lichter flackern. Geschlossene Türen. Schwarz, gelb. Heute kommt niemand mehr an, heute will niemand mehr weg hier.)