10pm and on. But just a bit. Effects of overstimulation again, and the cluelessness of browsing media libraries to essentially just shuffle and skip between sequences of visual and acoustic pieces and feeling confused and guilty for the lack of respect manifested in lack of focus. And wondering which kind of remix could grow out of eclectic shuffle mode. Music styles merging into each other, genres fading, moods like ebb and flow and somehow evening turns softer and filled by calmer kind of dark. Sleep well everyone wherever you are.
10pm and not much further. Filing the weekend, storing pictures of forest and meadows and rivers, for whichever later moment might care. Calls and conversations echoing in an inner realm still veiled by both ones own conflicts and worries and pondering the global insignificance of both. Watching the candles burn bright, watching other rooms across the street go dark one by one. Just hours from tomorrow. Have a calm night wherever you are.
📷 lost-in-moments
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.