October.

October already, again. Year’s moving on fast. Looking through my history, there are few years that have seen as little activity on this blog as this one. Maybe it’s a a mix of being active in some prominent social networks as well (which ends up being a dump for a load of day-to-day snippets, links random thoughts) all along with lacking really a load of things to write about.

Read more “October.”

Souls at zero

Tage am Meer… Auf dem Weg zum Strand im schweren, staubigen Kombi. Kofferraum vollgepackt mit Zeugs, kreuz und quer durcheinander. Eine Kiste Bier, einige Flaschen besseren Weins. Dinge, die man so braucht. Packenweise Schokolade, ein paar Stangen Zigaretten, Bücher, Papier. Decken. Windlichter. Musik, so viel Musik. Das Auto geparkt irgendwo im Gras, unter den Bäumen gleich hinter den Dünen, und dann los. Decken in den Sand, Musik an, Welt verschwindet hinter dem Wind, der Dämmerung. Wir trinken, lesen, rauchen, lieben. Schokolade und Wein im Abendrot. Wir sind angeheitert, wild, trunken von Lebenslust, Sonne, Sand. Wir tanzen, schreien, zeichnen, schreiben, im ausgehenden Licht des Tages, Worte wie der Nachthimmel: Tiefschwarz, tausendfach glitzernd, groß, schwer und ohne Ende. Werfen unsere Worte in Flaschen weit ins Meer, bedeutungsschwangere Botschaften für irgendjemanden, irgendwann, nur nicht für uns… bevor wir selbst folgen, nackt und lachend unter dem weiten Sternenhimmel, nicht einmal abgeschreckt durch die Kälte der See, die rauhe Berührung der Wellen. Liegen im Sand, danach, genießend den Rest der Wärme des Tages, des ganzen Sommers, dahinträumend im Rauschen der Brandung….

Dann hat sich mit dem Namen der Nacht
langsam die Stille besternt.
Da waren wir wie aus allen erwacht
und weit voneinander entfernt:
haben die Sehnsucht, die traurig macht,
wie ein Lied gelernt…
(Rainer Maria Rilke)

Am Morgen danach hat der Wind die letzten Kerzen gelöscht, Papier und Haare zerzaust, uns und alles von uns mit einer feinen Sandschicht überzogen. Wir verbergen uns hinter den Dünen im Schutz von Büschen und Hecken. Unisex-Outdoorkleidung in Erdtönen, Frösteln im frühen Wetter. Mentaler Nullpunkt.

Wir frühstücken karg, kauen an vegan belegten Vollkornbroten und nippen an stillem Mineralwasser. Selbstvorwürfe. Schuldgefühle. Angst. Schokolade? Alkohol? Ungesund und lebensverkürzend all das, keine Frage. Von Zigaretten ganz zu schweigen. Die Bücher der Nacht sind irgendwo verschollen. Besser so – launische Ideen von sprunghaften Biographien, die es nie geschafft haben, sich irgendwie in der Welt zu finden, oder die nie ‘grown-up’ genug waren, um das Ergebnis dieser Findung zu akzeptieren und zu leben, ohne permanent aufzubrechen, zu hinterfragen, zu irritieren. Unbeherrschte, enthemmte Charaktere ohne jegliche Selbstkontrolle. Wir sind dort weiter. Irgendwie. Zum Glück. Unsere Smartphones laden am Zigarettenanzünder, piepsen dann und wann, bringen uns eine merkwürdige Sicht auf eine Welt im Chaos, eine Welt aus den Fugen überklebt mit dringenden Mails, Terminen für morgen, und Wagenladungen an Belanglosigkeiten. Shallowness meets despair. Futter für unsere Angst. Gleichsam Heilmittel gegen die absolute Hilflosigkeit inmitten all dieses unbegreiflichen Treibens.

Können wir überhaupt irgendwie anders? Wollen wir anders? Gestern vielleicht noch. Heute … Heute packen wir die Reste der Nacht obenauf auf die vollen Container mit dem Abfall und Treibgut, das die Touristen des Sommers am Strand zurückgelassen haben, und hoffen darauf, unser Fahrzeug wieder in Gang zu bekommen, das Parken abseits befestigter Fläche nicht gar so sehr zu bereuen. Und irgendwann sind wir auf der Autobahn nach Süden. Fahren stur geradeaus. 120 km/h, der Himmel ist grau, die Straße leer. Das Meer liegt hinter uns, irgendwo, weit weit weg.

All unsere Flaschen-Nachrichten sind im Wind des Morgens zurückgekommen, am Ufer zerbrochen. Das Papier ist aufgeweicht, die Worte und Zeichnungen sind ausgewaschen und unlesbar…

Streams

11:24pm. 27°C. System offline, all communication endpoints detached. Not a recipient anymore for tonight.
Eyes closed, looking inward, trying to filter out and ignore the noise of the city.

Rain would be really nice right now. Rain to wash away the dust and the heat of a glowing day. Rain to cool down the system a bit. Somewhere in there, circuits are running idle now, temperature just slowly going down. Side effects of processing a vast flood, a massive and constant influx of data. Challenge #1 being filtering – as early as possible sorting out that load of pointless, irrelevant data, noise keeping the signal polluted. Challenge #2 being processing what’s left then – extracting actual information from a by far smaller volume of data, mostly unstructured, filled with inconsistencies, contradictions, omissions.

Noise is the most impertinent of all forms of interruption. It is not only an interruption, but is also a disruption of thought.
– Arthur Schopenhauer

Systems repeatedly stuck in near-infinite loops while trying to resolve conflicts and making sense of this unreliable input, only sure thing being that this data doesn’t really provide sufficient information to overcome uncertainties. Other systems trying to compensate for the fact that uncertainty actually becomes bigger the more data is being processed. Self-regulation failed. Control structures gradually losing control of itself, generating nonsense instead of viable output. A needle of a compass lost in a magnetic field continuously changing its direction.

Eyes closed, still looking inward. What do complex systems see when in deep dreams? What’s a computer system running in idle state – meditating, simply leaving input come, be around for a while, float by?

Possibly not. At times it’s not too bad to retreat from being a recipient, just for a while. Let input calm down. See thoughs calming down, too. Will the noise fade away, too, with day slowly turning to night? Maybe. Eyes opened. It’s dark. Few lights out there. Few sounds.
And a scent of rain.

Places of old

From the Book Of Travels, Vol. 2, Chapter 5: “[..]Time travels? They say there’s no such thing… I disagree. Though, it might be different than people would expect. This is not your old, clichy trip through years forth and back, causing confusing by seeing things unseen so far, or making your own life difficult by travelling back just to stumble across your grandmother in her 20s. It won’t just work like this. Maybe it doesn’t work for everyone, after all. It’s just … different.

Maybe it’s just a matter of places, a matter of a certain mental state, of a certain kind of life to live. But it’s possible, and, same as space and time are continuous, it moves you through time by travelling through space. Essentially, it’s about going back to places of old, to places you’ve used to spend a long time in, until you eventually had or wanted to move on for whichever reasons.

Maybe it will not get you to the future, but it will certainly get you to the past. Take a step back, breathe deep, and see them around… maybe by then you’re about to catch a glimpse of your childhood self, running around in meadows chasing butterflies and grasshoppers under a bright blue sky in what seemed endless summer holidays, school and most of the things to worry about being as far away as the few thin white clouds crossing the horizon. Not yet very much thinking about time slowly moving forth, at the speed of one day per day, on a steady course, carring you with it, ready or not. Wrestling imaginary dragons between skies of blue and fields of green. Chances are it’s a just a vague pictures, schemes from a memory, like old fading prints, but maybe it feels closer, more real in a quiet evening.

Maybe you’ll, by then, also spot your late teenage self. Summer again, but later in any possible way. Proud as can be, most of the schools so far just left behind, including driving school. Cold streetlights. Blue nights. Long past midnight. Unreal perception of suddenly being behind the wheel of a car. Long distance driving, or what you by then used to see as ‘long’. Strange teenage Romeos dressed in leather jackets, jeans, sneakers, searching for both willing Julias and a style of their own while cruising the dark hours of summer. Long nights, early mornings, strange hours of getting to know oneself. Glorious days at least while looking back at them, knowing that a load of things tend to look more glorious in a moment of flashback. For sure it’s a trip back free of sadness or melancholy, free of regret or looking for time spent on nothing all along the way. It’s a trip back being at least content, or even better grateful for things as they were and as they are.

Maybe, yet, there is that crucial moment back then, back there, when that childhood self, that teenage self of yours become aware of your presence for a moment, stop chasing clouds or nighttime birds for a moment, and glance, stare at you, and be it just for a short moment, making you shiver a bit until you see it’s you looking at your current self through their eyes… What would you see? What would they see? How would they see their common later self, at this point in time? Would they be happy, pleased, proud, surprised, glad with how things went? Would they recognize, run for you, embrace you? How much if so?

Maybe it’s no time trip at all. It’s a reflection. A strange trip, or even more just the idea of a trip, flashing through your mind for an infinitely short moment on a sunny afternoon while visiting places of old.”

That’s where the passage ends. So does the flashback, short and intense as it was. He closes the book, and, slowly moving it back to its shelf, gazes out of the window where clouds race by through a stormy day of Spring…