some nights just seem to begin like so -
the young couple from across the street
(she living with her mum and 2nd or third
companion, he living with his future
mum in law - fingers crossed) take
to the city for a night out...
please: don't remind me -
the mental acrobatics of bending a banana
back into an arrow -
dinner date at a decent edinburgh
seafood restaurant on rose lane...
two skint students -
the unwillingness of me to pay
for the whole damn thing...
did i look like a sugar daddy
back then?
to later learn her family
own a good portion of siberia -
two flats in the center of st. petersburg...
money kills romance...
sooner or later romance has to become
habitual - something replaced with
the fear of old age just prior to what becomes
a fear of loneliness and of death -
or that fear when people realise:
that they didn't transcend in life for those
two miracles of: when death is the priest -
a married couple dying weeks apart from
each other... a bit like the gemini scenario...
back in my town of birth...
one of the twins: addicted to drugs...
the whole shabang of an early exit...
commited herself to come across death
like it was her master...
sooner rather than later -
her twin sister had her shit messed up...
or that famous: he died in his sleep...
that must be either rather excellent...
or... a warped reality...
to not be conscious of the last moments
of consciousness - to have your consciousness
extinguished in the unconscious -
i'm starting to think this sounds
like the most excruciating death -
since... you miss the most crucial moment...
of what this, whatever this is, has to offer -
no man can conceive his consciousness from
either sperm, foetus or a newborn baby...
sure... you're conscious - in automatic mode...
until your brain is liberated from pure consciousness
and memory begins to form...
the construction of memory predates the insurgence
of imagination... after all:
you can't exactly play a game children play...
if you can't remember playing it...
no wonder... tapping into the collective unconscious
we settled the accusation that we would
copycat our predecesors by playing hide & seek...
you can associate consciousness with your
first memory - when consciousness starts
to copy itself: onto itself in-itself...
so that's how an evening can start...
you do the holy trinity on the throne of thrones...
the no. 1, the no. 2 and the no. 3...
then you jump into the shower...
wash everything away (skip a day... and on a humid
day like this... a shower is more like a baptism)...
entertain parts of your body:
hands, neck, face, groin, feet with queen elisabeth's
cocoa butter made in côte d'ivoire,
apply some deodrant, get dressed...
and take a short walk to the convenience store...
i might have cut down on the drinking
so the brewery and sulphur stench might have
weakened its grip...
nonetheless... as the saying goes:
it doesn't matter... whether in rags,
tattered or torn or even dirty...
as long as the man wearing those
clothes has washed himself...
and there's just, just something in the air...
it's neither electric nor anything that could
come from a memorable movie quote...
it's like: you anticipating something - but at the same time:
you're not even curious - you're not overloaded
with a barrage of over-stimulated sense -
more... subdued by them -
also of noteworthiness: you're not really
thinking... about anything - and not even
contemplating nothing -
in situ: ad hoc -
just like the sun and the moon - in situ: ad hoc...
just like the earth and the clouds - in situ: ad hoc...
evidently i have bored myself endlessly trying
to milk Descartes... something else had to already
has come to posit... or perhaps even avoid...
to reiterate...
it's like you're waiting for something spectacular
to happen... but... akin to that famous
phrase: problem is, the terrible has already
happened... i guess horror and all manner
of spectacularity share the same point for man to realize...
the problem being: both the terrible and the spectacular
has already happened...
and sure: if the terrible occupies the realm
of time - what is there to learn from history
and what worth is hindsight - we re- re- repeat it?
then the spectacular has to occupy
the spatial - in the hier sein:
with no point to get away with Heidegger's escapism
of dasein... no no... it's hier sein:
here and now... as if to say:
trapped in a mirror prism...
perhaps i should make this sensation more concise...
so instead of contemplating whatever comes
prior with whatever comes after on the pivot
of ergo...
i would say... put in situ:ad hoc
in a ratio - and if etymology...
is supposed to be the alt. study of history / base for
history... well... ratio:
reckoning, account, with its base in reri:
to judge, think...
and away falls the cartesian daydreaming
curtain of how much of the consequential
ergo-ergonomics is but a waste of time...
how much of thinking doesn't become being,
how many times i might have dreamed of
being a rugby player...
at least without any ergo stemming
from cogito into a hit / miss sum...
well... beside thinking:
sum hoc -
who wrote... this.

p.s. and the wind, the wind truly helped,
bless those windy days -
what was once custard jelly brain only a day prior,
turns into a cognitive zephyr that does
what Disney's Fantasia did: it cleans the cobwebs
from your... constipated 'ed!