(Closing in on 11pm. Algorithmic misbehaviour again. Some tweaking, poor results, postponing. Tired too much, too late and partially awake. Finally feeling the light of moon on skin and soul, but still unable to fully see her. The grey of night feels softer than the grey of day.)
Von der Kunst, versteckte Katzen zu finden. Heute: Das Ansinnen, spät noch einmal die Wohnung verlassen zu wollen. Düstere Ecken, Klauen, Zähne, leidenschaftliches Fauchen. Grenzen ziehen. Unten umhüllt warme Nacht die Kreuzung. Zwiesprache mit Mond in den Straßenbäumen, wortlos und ehrfürchtig angesichts ihres weichen Scheins, ihrer stillen Distanz. Unbeeindruckt davon feiert das Eckhaus Tag und Leben entlang des Bürgersteigs vor der Tür, man stößt miteinander aufeinander an, singt laut zu alten Liedern, schief und falsch, aber irgendwie froh dabei. Der Kneipenwirt sitzt nebenan in seinem schon leeren Gastraum und wischt gedankenverloren über sein Mobilgerät. An der Bar flackert eine Lampe, immer wieder, unstet, aber verlässlich seit so vielen Jahren. (Zurückkehren in den Schutz des Treppenhauses. Sich das Dunkel überstreifen, für heute, und in den Stunden zurücklassen, was es in den Träumen nicht braucht. Have a pleasant night everyone wherever you are.)
Way beyond 10pm again. Weaving fabric out of all the threads that ran through the day. Not sure what to do with the outcome, but at least it helps leaving things somehow in place just before dusk fades, reduces a bit the risk of getting entangled in loops and ends while navigating dreams to come. Have a quiet night alls, wherever you are.
11pm and on. Still the skies are silent, a lonely moon seems far from the few stars this early night has to offer. The late hours. Scarcely lit by images floating across a few of the neighbourhoods TV sets, logos and colours vaguely resembling past familiarities yet the faces are strangers. Slowly the systems are entering standby, including oneself. Night mode. Do machines dream of anything in standby?
10pm and on. Digging through the visible, just to discover yet another intermediate layer. Or: The joys of hiding even virtual realities in abstractions. At some point, one just gets lost between indirections and references. (And meanwhile, moon managed to pierce through the clouds for a few moments, and even knowing better, it still feels as if its light left an echo between the dozing houses...)