a reality and love

I should be going. I should be getting up from this table, pack up my bag and make for the door. Only after putting on my winter gear of course. Strictly only after that. Stepping outside now, in a jumper wearing no extra protective kit it would be suicide. By the time they would drag me in the door I would probably be long dead. Naturally. Anyone stepping outside in this storm would be knocked down instantly into the cold snow and wearing only a jumper would start freezing instantly. My organs would start shutting down within about 4 seconds. That’s a very short time so even if someone wants to come and help me, drag me back to the building by the time they put on their super winter clothes I would be frozen solid. And if they came without it they would be joining me quickly. There is no point to that now is there? Trying to save that sorry bastard out there or for me, risking those precious lives. I should just start getting dressed.

Dad! Oh that annoyance in her voice.

What is it?

I’m ready. Will you get dressed please?!

Sure just give me a minute. I dosed away staring into the fire thinking of those dreadful clothes again.

If you really so don’t like it here why don’t you just go home? Nobody forced you to come over.

That’s not true! Have you not heard of parental love?

Ah, get lost! But really, are you coming?

Sure, just go ahead. I will come in a minute.

I will never understand what brought her here. This far north to this place. I could never live here. Not even in the summer. A desert of ice and although it is a gross overstatement saying one would last only 4 seconds outside in a storm, it certainly feels like that. Certainly does feel. Unlike in dreams about an easy life, sailing south every spring when the ice breaks. Navigating the Atlantic all the way south to Patagonia and back. Stopping at ports on the coasts of America and Africa reaching back home a year after, settling in for another long winter before heading out again.
Those dreams were crushed once I found out the ice breaks at Qaanaaq only for 2 months a year. They were crushed when I set foot in this town for the first time and they received a final blow when I heard my daughter is planning to spend some years here. I think only then I realized I would never make it here. Only then I realized the difference between a cushioned dream and a reality only them adventurers will set out to endure. And locals who will not find life in constant subzero odd.

Starting From the Library on the Humanities Campus

So there we go or we don’t go
I don’t know what we do, Are we going or not? Maybe we aren’t going anywhere at all just hang out here in the Library and that’s all. Why not? Better then not being anywhere now isn’t it?
I don’t know. You aren’t making any sense, you know that?
Sure I do.
So what are we gonna do? Or you just want to debate here over nothing? Or something that is pretty gibberish? I think I’m gonna take off instead.
Hey! Wait, I will come up with something in a minute
Ok.
I’m waiting...
So am I.
And what are you waiting for?
I am waiting for some understanding, some hatred to be understood. All the stuff that happens, what people do is so senseless! People hurt one and other and I don’t like that. I don’t see any meaning to it.
Well, yeah. On the one hand it’s claimed human life is sacred on the other it isn’t. It’s not showing sense to me. There are people who think less of others whose sexual orientation is different. It goes to a degree that they will not want to know how to interact with such people professionally. How to interact with their kids professionally? As a teacher. So there is a sacred human life, a child who is being told by her teacher she is less than her classmates, a non-proper human being because of something that she has nothing to do with.
Sick! It’s like telling my German friend that she is responsible for what has happened in the 30s and 40s in Europe. In the Universe. 40 years before she was born. Sick. But why are you so moody? Did you just read newspapers again?
Yup.
I thought so. What was it?
I don’t want to talk about it.
Fine. Let’s talk about something else. Do you wanna get out of here?
Maybe. We could go shopping. How about getting something to eat?
What do you have in mind?
Marzipan.
Sounds good. Let’s go.
Where to?
Shops I guess, once there we should pick up some bread and some milk.
Ok. Is it far?
Of course it is. Everything is far here but at least we can talk about something.
I still don’t want to talk much, If not the news than the guy we saw outside occupies my mind.
What with him?
He was weired. His mind was so full of thoughts that were just somehow... inappropriate. Or so it seemed for someone around a university.
I think I remember that guy. He was deeply in thoughts. Something about the Humanities department wasn’t it?
Yes, ‘It’s here, all this fancy and fluff. They are such a waste of space and so proud oh they so proud. They give the president! The president studied here, in this department. I hate coming here. Sociologist, linguists and crap like that what use are they? None. I say none. We should just get rid of them all. All this fake science. The world would be better off with engineers in charge. ‘
Yup, some serious thoughts.
Do you know any engineers?
Briefly. Not so much. Somehow all the guys I know seem to gravitate around the humanities.
I had some really cool teachers, long time ago, programming teachers. They were really cool. I quite liked them. But I guess they had something, the teacher quality that made them cool. Like me. Without that... Well I don’t know. I don’t know people from the science department.
Neither do It. How come that the science department is called the science department. Isn’t that degrading on the humanities? Isn’t teaching a science?
Sure it is but are you sure the rest of the house of knowledge, that is not the humanities dept called science dept?
Oh, I am not sure. Is it not?
I don’t know. It may well be but I guess I am so ignorant towards it I haven’t a clue.
Well if it is I am right, there is something not right then. Humanities are squashed. But If I am wrong then I am just squashing the other stuff that is not humanities. I am so full of prejudicies.
Aren’t we all? What kind of bread do you want to get?
Donno. Maybe something sort of dark

Somewhere up norht

This might comes to a surprise to you but you are alive. Look around this room, there is fire crackling although I don’t seem to hear it or smell it. Maybe it’s temporarily. There is that big man in that large chair working on that tiny laptop. Where did I see that machine before?
You are awake at last. He murmurs when he turns around. Can I get you anything? His eyebrows rise a bit. What a curiosity it must be. I might want something.
Am I dad?
Of course not. You are safe. We found you just outside the town three days ago.
I slept for three days or, I wonder worst. What if they have done something to me, some experiments? What would a town be out here for anyway if not for experimenting. That fact that he was fidgeting with my laptop, I can see from the desktop picture it is mine, sets me suspicious even more so.
You were drifting in and out of consciousness remaining delirious. One of my associates cared for you. I have been busy and not much good at taking care of people myself.
What are you doing with my stuff? I try to sit up in order to look a bit menacing with a hint of authority although my attempt I feel futile in his presence in the small room.
This? Pointing at the machine, You only had this on you, inside your coat, you must have left the rest of the bag somewhere, I was trying to figure out who are you so we can contact someone, relatives. That’s why I dropped.
Todd. I am Todd Cameron but I don’t think you will find anything on that.
Hello Todd. He offers his hand, I am Nic. Pleased to meet you.
So can I get anything for you. Another blanket, perhaps a cup of tea before you eat something?
That would be nice. With two sugar please and well, thanks for saving my life.
Not at all, not at all but we don’t have any sugar, I’m sorry.
Really? No bother. Where are we by the way?
He pours my tea and hands the cup over with a broad but somehow smirky smile. He looks into the fire, probably thinking the answer for my question reigniting my suspicion this is some secret research centre. I am curious however what he may answer and give him time, following his eyes looking at the fire while mentally examining my body. Is it all intact? Is there anything missing, does anything feels damaged beyond repair but I cannot sense such apart from the shivering that seems to be coming from the inside of my bones and the burning aches that I allocate to frost bites. Will they let me go?
Why do you have a fake fire? He only got out a syllable of his answer when I interrupt him with my discovery. That broad smile again.
If you look behind the bed you can see we have central heating around here.
So you do. I always imagined up north people would be out chopping wood, feeding their fires winter long.
It gets boring you know and we don’t always have time for it. In fact we are too busy for such daily inconveniences most of the time.
The door flings open and a fairly short man bursts in the room.
Nic! Nic you must come and see the – he bites the rest of the sentence and takes a couple of steps back eyes fixed on me.
So you are awake then? What were you doing out there? Alone? With that?
I glance at the laptop then Nic gathering myself to answer but I don’t get to speak
What was it Edmond? If it can wait come back in half an hour otherwise we should go. By the way, this is Todd
It cannot wait. Erg, Pleased to meet you Todd. I am, he said already, Edmond. Will you excuse us and I will take the boss for a few minutes.
That’s all right. I will drink my tea.
They leave and I am left wondering, resting. How did this happen? I left the camp using the directions they gave me. I should have hit the road and from there a settlement soon enough. You idiot, after six months in the woods you still get lost using a simple map and a compass. But why is this place here? How far did I wonder before getting here? Or have they found me out there? Am I kidnapped? I get out of bed and wrapping the blanket around my shoulder I walk to the window where I slowly move the curtain to the side.
I gasp.
Breathless I see a metropolis. There is no snow. My eyes are caught by a flickering neon light about 15 stories down on the tower block across the street. I recognise some Chinese characters on it.
Would you care to take a seat?
Where am I? What is this place? I won’t move an inch till you tell me what’s going on.
Sit down! Please.
I sit and look back at the window only to see light snow falling gently on the roofs of two story wooden buildings. I stand up and walk to the window again.
What’s going on here? Is this some sort of joke?
I wait, we wait. I breathe normally again after a couple of minutes staring at the falling snow and obscurely short people rushing around outside. I glance at the man, Nic quickly and a terrible suspicion explodes in me but my eyes are back on the window. Still the same view.
Will you sit now please? Now there you go. Another cup of tea?
Are you...
I am. And you so far the only man on earth who managed to walk into this village, who could find it.
But what was that outside the window? That wasn’t here. It looked like, I hesitate, it looked like –
Shanghai.
Shanghai?!
I have my office building also in shanghai occupying the top 2 stories of an office tower. Of course I do. What did you expect? We make all those toys out here? And what would those fine European environmentalists say to that? How about EU regulations and international acts on the rights of indigenous people?
Shanghai? I cannot digest the information. Are you Chinese?
No I am not. Although I may well be but as far as I am aware I am German and pretty old. How did you find us? You are an anthropologist. We found a couple of articles about a missing researcher. Are you here to find us?
No. I was with the nomads for about 6 months and got lost on my way back to civilization. But how did we get to Shanghai?
It’s not important now. I request a small favour from you...
I am afraid to answer. At least it isn’t a secret Russian research centre. Part of me is screaming it is far worst though. Santatown. I grow suspicious again, this may well be an experiment or some stupid practical joke but there isn’t anything I can do to gain control of the situation. So what the hack? Go with it. Ok I am listening.
Our way of living, the elves way of life is disappearing altogether. Santatown since I moved production has been on rapid economic decline. Alcoholism and agaric mushroom abuse is on all time high. The elves are selling off their properties to rich Chinese secret agents as holiday resorts. The shanty town in the outskirts is growing every day. I need someone to record our culture before it is completely wiped out by the increasing demand for us and maybe, only maybe, if you up for such task I need help reinventing Santatown.
I’m in, I say and don’t really know why I am saying this. The guy is nuts for sure or he really is Santa. Maybe we are being recorded and I will be watched for fun or showed at universities on psychology. But hey, I’m alive. Or maybe I am about to die but at least I go down believing I am the saviour. I smile nodding and Nic visibly feeling more relaxed returns the smile.
I’m definitely up for the job

Corn

This is some interesting time! The most interesting time there has ever been. To be precise, this is the time that gives meaning to our institution, that justifies our existence-' He noticed his attention was not on the letter and his eyes started wondering. The cracking noise from the microwave has slipped into the room. It was obvious now that the popcorn snack was a noisy business, he acknowledged this while walking out to the kitchen. The bursts of sound appeared to have been playing the music for the particles of dust dancing outside in the sunset. There was no water out there, there was no rain and there wasn’t going to be any time soon he noted while watching the drops falling at regular internals from the tap. It has been doing that for weeks now but he couldn’t bring himself fixing it. Putting a bucket under collecting water for cooking, plants and washing dishes the problem was sorted. He played with trying to catch a glimpse as the drops fell always looking away to the dust outside till the next one. It was a difficult game with the corn in the microwave, more difficult than anticipated as the infrequent bursts made it impossible to measure time properly.
He put down the letter, it can wait till tomorrow and got out a bowl just before the machine signalled it was time. While emptying the contents of the paper bag he tried to decide on a form of entertainment suitable for the snack. He sat down facing the window with the tap slightly to his right about a metre and a half still easy to catch from the corner of his eyes.
Written 12:47
Typed 13:25
Edited 05:13

Extract from Conrad's Story, The Exodus

Conrad used to be a reliable, joyful and mostly trustworthy guy. All his childhood, his so called teenage years and so on till he finally reached cultural adulthood he worked very hard to achieve this perception of him in others. Now, at 53 for the first time ever he has not only come to disappoint his father but their conflict has made both appearing not only vicious and violent but heated with anger. He didn’t like this state of mind but these were turbulent times, the corners of the universe seemed to be turned out of their solid places reshaping everything in an entirely different manner. And only if things were that simple, he thought. Has the universe had corners to begin with, things would be far simpler to contemplate at present.

He was still angry pacing up and down in the lobby casting frequent looks at the door. Since it all began, when things started to change ever so rapidly, he discovered in his new state of mind characteristics that were alien to him before. Many disturbing, others not. 'Leadership' his father pronounced one, trying to convince him that he would have to stand representing them all. This concept however freaked Conrad. He grew up in an Anarcho-Federalist collective and he could not accept the idea of the new order. His point of view differed greatly from his father's and his cronies' as they have grown to be dubbed. Since their conflict erupted in the open, since he became so vicious and tunefully violent a great many has stood behind his words. He supposed that was what fuelled him, that made him go on and debate vehemently in all platforms. Beside, he was a federalist to the core and unlike his father he was, he could not be loyal.

Written 14:05.26
Typed 11:10.33
Edited 05:31.82

confession

Tired. This concert going lifestyle of theirs is terribly exhausting for me. Somehow. I don’t know why, I don’t know how but it is. An empty head I am full with right now, only the music. It is somehow great yet. Fantastic somehow. I don’t think I can find a way out of this. I’m just gonna have to take it as it is. Go wherever they go, go whenever they go, perform wherever and whenever.

Be there, support them all trough whatever it takes. However exhausting it may gets. Till the very last breath I will, I will have to. Maybe I am, I hope that after all their most devoted fan, their most enthusiastic supporter. For the last 17 months I haven’t missed a single concert, a single appearance. I was there on every gig.

I want to believe now that they couldn’t make it without me. That I am part of the band and I will always be. I am tired. I don’t believe that I have ever been so tired. I don’t think this is possible to be this tired. Maybe I feel that final day coming, just around the corner. Maybe the day we part is approaching sooner than I thought. Maybe… I fear but I know I shall not. I should take comfort in knowing that the show, the band will live on. He will continue without me. They will, he will feel I’m gone and he may write songs remembering.

Jazz is my life. This will always tie us stronger than any knot on a tie ever can. I am tired. It’s been a long week, a long summer; little town festivals, single gigs here and there and it is a large country. A very large country. Long roads. But I’m always there. Never miss. We’re always together and always will be as long as the thread, the silk in my body keeps in together and allows me in person to be there, I will. I will be there and I will be his favourite tie long as I will.

Tod

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked with a tone of innocence in her voice, like a veil on a wedding dress: ready, anticipating. ‘Just hangin’’ he said with boredom, a bit coy. He was used to this kind of chance encounters, always with someone else, always with a hint of innocence, always a pale, shadowless white. ‘I guess I’m just waiting’ he added putting on a bit friendlier tone. She had to leave for a moment but she was back in no time and started thinking of ways to turn this chance meeting into a fruitful conversation. ‘What are you waiting for?’ she asked then and the smile she received before the answer made her heart melt, told her she was on the right track. ‘Something to happen, someone to call’ and his answer she didn’t like much at all. She didn’t want to know who might call so she turned the conversation to be about the two of them there in the moment. But first she had to go away for a brief moment again. When returning she asked ‘Isn’t something happening now?’ trying to hide the flicker of hope in her voice. He smiled again, that wonderful smile before he replied ‘I guess you are right-’ he paused before continuing ‘I’m Tod’ he said at last introducing himself to the lady. This thing between them however never stood a chance. I was never going to put my phone in a cup of coffee.

misundertadning

The little cupboard on the wall above the serving table is wide open. Normally it isn’t, in fact it is the norm for it to stay shut and nobody ever takes anything out of it. It may be too scary people think for some stupid reason so they sort their drinking vessel problems in a way that opening those doors or one of them can be avoided while they help themselves to lunch. Now the two doors are open hanging like spread wings in the air ready to flap but unwilling still. They are only doors after all while for the first time I am sitting here witnessing how they reveal the contents I have never laid my eyes on before.

Funny how such difference a small event like this can create in one’s perception. For the first time ever I look to see the shelves behind the glass doors noticing and appreciating them. They aren’t the usual boring shelves, if carried away I would suggest they are a feast of engineering but as I said that would be getting carried away so I must settle with saying that they are not the usual shelves you get from a flat pack.

I am watching how they are being ripped of their holdings. A young lady whom is a member of the hard working and faithful staff at my usual café is taking the glasses onto a tray and then carries them of to the kitchen with them only to reappear a little while later with the same but empty tray. At first I wasn’t sure why she is doing this but the mystery slowly reveals itself in my mind. A simple one for that as I guess it is just time to make sure there is no dust gathering in any of them.

My regular glimpses toward my subject, the cupboard with the open, wanting to flap doors have not gone on unnoticed. The young lady maybe thinking she is the one who enjoys my undivided attention instead of the subjects of hers and looks over to my table. This creates an impulse in me to look at her shifting my focus slightly trying to avoid scrutinising her just the same way as I have done with the object before. I look at her face and we make eye contact for a split second before she turns away leaving me precious little time to pay her a polite smile. I look at my watch to learn that eleven minutes and seventeen seconds have gone by since I picked up the pencil. It is time to gather my things, grab my coffee and smoke a cigarette on the terrace enjoying the simultaneous taste of the dark liquid, the smoke, the sun and the wind in my face before getting on for home.

Free writing to the core

I am looking out the window, feeling a bit disappointed for I left all my writing kit at home and I had to borrow from the cafe. I like the pen, how it slides on the paper, I like the paper because it's blank but I don't like how thin the pen is. It makes me try or actually not try but grip it harder then I should like it. And my wrist is already hurting.

But yes. I am sitting here and looking out. At a wet day. Or some say so. But I don't say
so and that is so because with my West Scotland standards what standards? Weather standards this weather is just another day

I am concerned I would run out of paper before 10 minutes finished. That would be shame and it would be

I can never find linking words god I don't even know what the name of linking words is I just call tham that
This is what we call them in P3 or P2 or somewhere around that. Goodness! I meant to say P2/P3 in Glasgow And that is what the 'Goodness!' is for. As a matter of fact. You should try slowing down. No competition it is now. 4 minutes left and scarcely more than half a page. Glasgow was it and my thought came back to me!

Hurray!. So far I mentioned good old Scotland twice in this last 7 minutes. How weired it that. This is a bit like a letter of Nostalgia. It is funny though 'cause I, who is not a born Scotsman desperately try to hang on to my 'Scottishnes', like the stuff about the weather. Jen just called today a wet day. And I argued with her that this is not a wet day, well not quite argued but I already explained this I think. It is just a day. Tipical 2000 miles west from here. Maybe wet here but my heart is a bit confused here.

Time is up and my hand is about to fall o
f fdffgf
written 10m 11s
typed 10m 21s

Bar and Cafe

The door was open. The store was open. In fact, somehow everything in the town was open but the streets were empty and there wasn't anyone to enter, not a soul to share the gloomy sunlight on the terrace. Nobody came. Many shop assistants, bar and café staff stayed home too but it didn't matter anyway.

Half a dozen pigeons were fooling about at the fountain on the middle of the square. It was theirs now. Normally, they, the birds wouldn't have chance to get close to it, too many people around, children playing with the water. Today it was theirs; Only Birds Day. Birds and other wildlife were moving outside only.

A bravehearted pigeon wondered into the bar, flying carefully, checking around then eventually setting on the bar right in front of me. 'What can I get you sir?' I asked him although I could not have told its gender. It did not answer but started walking up and down with its head swinging back and forth at every step. He, I firmly decided it was a he even though my observations did not clarify it, so he was checking, measuring the place inspecting everything, turning his head to all directions. He was probably interested in the things he could get there.

I gave George some water, I decided his name was George, just a hunch. George didn't appreciate the water; he gave me a stern look. I guessed maybe beer would go down better. Soon dozens of birds were having an afternoon at my bar. By the evening the place was crowded with animals of all sorts from around the city. The event turned out to be one of the greatest parties my bar has ever held…

This happened some five years back and since then every year for one day they come, take over my bar when the country comes to a halt to watch the president's birthday banquet on telly.

Written 11m 35s

Typed 15m 20s (try to do anything when a 4 years old is around)

Edited 04m 23s

Wings

They were standing dangerously close to the edge of the cliff, they behavior seemed to make no sense at all. A strong wind, a sudden change and they all would have fallen, taken to flying like autumn leaves do when letting go of the branch after deciding the high breeze is safe to fall into.

But the wind hasn't changed and the figures remained, waiting. Waiting and anticipating the arrival of the wind because they were not going to fall. One would think that surly, the wind will rip them off the cliff and drop them into the abyss below to crash on sharp rocks and weekend campers' left behind tins. They knew it would not.

They were not going to fall because they had wings. Magnificent, bright, sparkling sails that they now freed from underneath their cloaks, unfolding them into the bright morning sun never to hide them again. All five were standing angle like, resting their eyes on the world below. And suddenly the wind they were waiting on came and off they went. They began their lifelong journey in the skies never to touch the ground with their feet, never to hide their wings beneath dusty cloaks, never to return to the place where they were born.

Written 10m 08s

Typed 08m 42s

Edited 05m 03s

Strwberry dream

Stefan opened his eyes and the room slowly came to focus around him. He was sitting in the armchair in the corner. There was a bed, a small table with a chair, large amounts of paper and notes on the table. There was a great wardrobe and a shabby rag on the floor. It seemed this was a bedroom as he led his attention slowly around the features. Then he realized, this was his own bedroom. A book was lying on the floor, he dropped it when he fell asleep reading. It was hard to remember now what was it about, that was before the dream and everything before the dream was blurry, everything seemed insignificant.

It felt as if this dream was more than just a dream, in fact, more than a vision or a 'seeing' dream. He became someone else while his consciousness left the world and he was aware that a part of him remained there. Wherever there was. Should he close his eyes, would he be there again? Standing in the queue, chattering to her friends, ordering a strawberry ice-cream? 'What on earth a strawberry is?' he wondered to himself. He could not have imagined the taste before.

He wanted to go back, see what would happen next, so he leaned back comfortably and closed his eyes... Nothing happened. Nothing at all except that he realized his hunger, in his own body, in his own room in his own reality. He stood up and walked downstairs to the kitchen looking for something that at least would remind him to the wonderful taste of strawberry ice-cream.

written 10m 22s

typed 10m 27s

edited 03m 37s