10pm. Slow stop. A different physical kind of exhaustion. Piano through headphones, before the stars move by and evening completely fades. A late Sunday dinner still taking place across the street, huge candles on a huge table and the flickering of the shadows grows into stories and movies of its own. Spending a few odd moments lip syncing random lines of imaginary conversations. And then turning away, in a sudden feeling of guilt and shame, as if being an uninvited guest in an intimate environment. Retreat. Rinsing away the hours. Embracing sleep again. Have a calm night wherever you are.
Current mode of operation be like: Playing the piano until sleep sets in. Composing mental letters that remain unwritten. Reshaping records of the week, cultivating taking notes on paper, accepting ones own shortcomings in taking hand-drawn sketches. It's not getting any better, but there are a few moments in between dusk and dawn for this to not feel as ridiculous and mediocre as it actually is.
Closing in on 10pm, once more. Marks on a daily ruler, the comfort in familiarity and the somewhat weird thought of even unconsciously falling for these time frames, of ending in a similar mood and setting at a similar hour every evening anew. No burning of midnight oil tonight. Though, there's still music in between the states of being, in between these walls, in between these houses and neighbourhoods. Silent and distanced, but still audible enough to be noticed. Also: Notes on the sidelines. Clumsy philosophical insights, or failures to gain these. At least in this state of mind it's easy to apologize these with the simple lack focus and clarity, just so close to dreamlike lucidity again. Have a quiet night wherever you are.
Schließlich werden die Maschinen wieder zur Ruhe gebracht. Beobachtung von Punkten, die Verläufe auf einen blassen Untergrund zeichnen. Noch nicht gänzlich zufrieden mit dem Gesehenen, aber mehr als vorher. Hinter dem Bildschirm rührt großstädtischer Nachthimmel an die Firste der Dächer, gegenüber hängt man Wäsche auf einen Ständer hinter der Balkontür, der junge Mann eine Etage weiter unten trinkt am Küchenfenster und vollführt hin und wieder Handbewegungen, die als Winken durchgehen könnten, aber es ist weit und breit kein Adressat auszumachen. Halbschlaf schreibt eigene Filme in die Dunkelheit über den Höfen. Have a soft night wherever you are.
10pm and on again. A deep breath a deep sigh and quietly noticing moon's still above the roofs, on her solitary path, slow and distanced. Opening windows out of an impulse. Immediately feeling a push of cold air, the scent of winter, of frost and snow and coal fires like in these years that still bear childhood memories. Trying to stay clear of sinking into past depths, flirting with the stars instead. No answers, either. But at least a random twinkle, then and now, and maybe that's about as good as it gets. Have a peaceful night wherever you are.
📷 a-different-void