21.5.2014
could not find the clockswitch off
heard the cat sealed out in the hall,
found the clock, switched it off-
Awakening misery. bathroom rituals, why bother?
No cat food, pet the animal, seems happy.
Shuts up.
No great functions today, go to work anyhow.
The day is beautiful, dear, the church spire glowing in the orange tight at the now-risen run.
Yellow bags, plastic waste. Packaging, yoghurt to expanded foam. Tuesday every two weeks. No, Wednesday. Yesterday was the day of the remaining rubbish, or, Restmüll, as they officially name it here. The bakery vans are all unloading. Every day, truckloads of frozen rolls, pretzels, loaves of bread, cakes, Danishes, Amercans,. you name it they move it, all frozen ready to be freshened in the hot air ovens.
Pigeons today, 'in their hundreds. All picking edibles from the cracks in the cobblestones, and cooing at each other. Bus stop, guter morgen. A large crow loads on the sign, shaking it.
Commences cawing.
The bus, the driver, gets his money, gives his ticket. Good morning to the pony-tailed smoker, that rebellious old man.
The train is none minutes late, yormas is lacking
in lustre, people discussing the unpunctuality of trains movements.
Admire and wonder at the precision of the some womens mornings cosmetics, wonder as to whether their is any remote connection to war paint. Care, precision, and practice, produce an image of the wearers desires for all the world to see.
Over the steamy landscapes the condensation trails of aircraft cross the sky, from way point to way point, past the Munich airport, built on a bog.
Moos Burg is long behind now, nearly five minutes;
the recorded message speaks of Freis ivy. Says that the passengers are to leave on the tight hard ride relative to the motion of the train..
Done, downstairs,. upstairs.
The streets are not empty here, and no- one watches.
The train is full of eyes looking elsewhere. Contact is to be avoided.
The thought of an empty street observing its passers by is lovely and picturesque, the daily truth is that full streets ignore you.
The only ones idling are the pigeons, the. beggars and the buskers. They want the accrued crumbs that you drop for their livelihood. In the morning, the swallow- like falcons around Saint Martins church spire seem to be sleeping. They go about their business in the evening, feeding off your crumbs,
Indirectly.
They eat other birds, those crumb fattened pigeons.
This train is now approaching Neufahon. At this station it will be fused, or coupled, to the train from the airport, patiently wating for the act of joiring, protracted and slow..
Trains are heavy things, and fast impact does damage.
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