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this is location 0000
i like the wind which whispers through the branches, it makes me fall asleep quite quickly.
sipping coffee in silence comes as luxury, because today i don't feel like I have to go anywhere. because i can.
new concrete glares colder than torn facades which
touching the cold surface the tower block proved notorious concrete made from ancient cities.
the fields of germany, spend a night in each one and wake up with a smile.
yes storms are a-brewing like that strong cup of tea that
was left sat for an hour then reboiled on a stove in some drunken desperation.
in a tent a silent man with one hand
also saw a dog running free, a stag, a bat, an owl; strange
sometimes there is not a lot of choice. this is the full
they dig a lot of holes, abandoned railway tracks with dug out holes and slopes of earth, chimneys behind a villa though the mist.
it is a mere mirror, a reflection of what is in my respectively other people's memory. and a z, and another C then brandenburg recht flach und mit bäumen immer in der distanz.
lange strasse 28 in sachsen anhalt smells of a mixture
of oil and disinfectant. the wallpapers are all different, there's patterns
door squeeks and turns and inside smells like people sitting and smoking for four to five hours. more coffee follows. we're four in a room for five days feeling good. berlin just does.
a former nogozone offers space. next to an old hangar, birch trees stand whistling.
i can hear people talking walking on the street. it is the mumble of an old town, sometimes a place becomes more static and this is when i stop. not second-order nature, but primal nature for the twenty-first-century body. but it's our second nature that defeats us.
The incident presented takes place in a small simple tent located in a rural area somewhere Sweden, rather secluded and isolated. the given context represents a general human condition (solitude).
da ist oft nichts außer flaches grünes land. thousands it feeds, another slope deeper than the sea.
bergen is quite a nice town with some beat ups at night. in the centre of an ex-socialist plattenbau area. it looks like being in the stomach of something.
an exclamation mark on a flag on the volksbühne states OST. Then I'm watching the cows on a wall. alphabetically.
There is a pile of plastic containers.
somehow the shape of history appears between straight lines
of a crumbling eastern dream. the consequences are sprayed on a wall,
a rune, the measure to understand these places somewhere in a distant
late at night i was under the protective cover of darkness
this one here is getting static, no moving landscapes and no passer-by. there is not static, i go where the world moves somewhere else.
just trying to find one destination: home.
nordic forests and lakes in the distance, here and there
a house or two, some broken cars in the fields, mossy forests. for the
best part i was being a slave of myself:
leaves are falling like rain, the forest have a clean carpet of brown dry leaves. that's where colourful mushrooms grow.
this IS the north. time streaming towards a break, a mechanism
has got me under its spell. grid of vectors, equipped with motion sensors
that respond to my neighbours in this town.
I walk the streets up and down for days and I noticed that
I build a map because I am a stranger here, they see and feel it as theirs, extending out in all directions. It is a home, not my home, the nonspaces of simulation, to run, if desired, I can be/can be removed no vanishing point and no horizon where the sea meets the sky in a blur that can not be/can not be removed no vanishing point and no horizon.
my replacement of their visions does not offer me escape,
the power to destroy structures is a culture which threatens to absorb
the space where it takes place.
inside a cold old situation, when people with packages
tomorrow I'll be somewhere else with anew identity once
but now I am heading towards the sea and what is now will be diluted in my memories.