de Sathairn, no work today

Two magpies in the tree on the other side of the road, courting.
The traffic, slighter this morning, kit is a day of less work. Bad broken sleep,  slept in,
Up at eight, fine day, find a towel, go for the shower. Good good good.
Back to room, pack the sleeping clothes away and head for breakfast.
Same standard breakfast,  leave the sweet spreads be this time. They are all sugar.

"St James Hospital has a `flu epidemic to deal with. They are not allowing visitors, that is why the B&B is so quiet."
So said, back to bed room.
Unpack the computer.
Start this.
It is the 555 post.
From house number 555
South Circular Road
Dublin.
Two magpies in the tree on the other side of the road, courting.

Friday, last workday Dublin

The south circular road roar, it is late. Early to bed and late to rise...
the old has gone, that is the main thing.

Breakfast, there is another tenant there, young woman, very quiet.
Cereal and orange juice, sausages and rahers, an egg and a tomato.
Same as yesterday.
Girl leaves, speaks a slow English to Mairead, needs to find a post office
goes.

Mairead chats, the girl turned up last night, her original bed and breakfast had defaulted. She would not normally let them in, she says, but she was so wet and cold in the snow.

Girl returns, pays her dues, leaves.

Upstairs to the shower and

This here

Irish Thursday

woken again by the increasing traffic on the South Circular. First in ones and then in groups, cars rushing by, loud tyre noise in the wet.
Grey day, rest a few minutes more.
No way, it was eight when I woke.
get dressed, no shoes on, down to breakfast, good morning Miread,
Eat up.
All Bran Cereal.
Toast and slices from a pigs belly, fried with an an egg and a tomatoe.
Full Irish Breakfast.
Finish up, nine.
Shower and teeth, nine oh 6.
Throwaway razors would make a mess of the wrinkled face if used in a hurry.
Unshaven look today.
Back to bedroom
Finish dressing
write blog
Find shoes
go

south circular road, wednesday

Jan 28
The traffic on the South Circular picking up again for the morning rush hour. The window open to let the mild Dublin air in, the bedsit b&b being so small that the impression prevails that a few deep breaths during sleep will use up all of the available oxygen and leave the guest choking.
On closing the window it becomes visible that it has been raining, the street is wet, people are already striding down the street into town, towards work or college or whatever.
Go down for early breakfast, in case that the landlady has decided to go early to the funeral, as had been spoken of during the last morning.
Visit the shared bathroom on the way.
The kitchen is empty and deserted, she has not got up early to go to the funeral. So back to the room, tidy up the bed and write this.
There is a storm rising outside now.
Irish weather at its very best, snow is due later in the day.
But then, perhaps the sun will break out and there will be sunshine.

Dublin tuesday

the traffic on the South Circular quietens at night, picks up again at six. A constant row of cars empty but for their drivers, choking up the road, same as in cities all over the world. The room is tiny, no wardrobe, just bed and breakfast.

Three magpies flying about in the trees in front of the house, people walking down the street clutching their telephones, allowing them to illuminate their faces.

All the cars on the left hand side of the road.

Make the bed, a bit, not too perfect. The bed making tradition is different here, lots of sheets and blankets. Duvets are simpler.

Tinnitus competes with the traffic rumble outside, younger people striding down the street to work.

toodaloo, wash the teeth. Same here as at home.

There are now four magpies outside in the trees, going about their business

flyday monday

Ireland today!
Alarm for the son, the sons alarm to send him schoolwards.
get up, make coffee find clothing.
say bye bye to son, will be gone for a week in all.

Pack those clothes in the suitcase, weigh the suitcase,
too heavy.

Airline online, upgrade baggage.

It worked, all complete.

off to the car

writing this in the evening, South Circular Road, Kilmainham, Dublin.
a long way from Landshut

Sun_25_

awake bright, mask off, sleeptime eight hours

A digital display informs, 

toodaloo.

find clothes, make the coffee, hug son-

done coffee, sonturn the heat off, bring cup,

into bedroom, for wife.

Sunday, after a night of completed dreams

No memory of loose ends there anymore,

no memory at all any more.

Bells ring, it is Sunday, day of

christian worship

twenty five spam, all deleted,

people trying to sell what can only be given,

or stolen.

go to the bakers,

see a young woman on the same mission,

still in her pyjamas.

It is frosty out

so she has a woolly hat and a padded jacket on over them.

Getting breakfast  on Sunday

Saat home, let it grow

wake gurgle pipe snort and snuffle breath, think is it working isit not?
open the mouth? Gargle- Frargle
shut
cheeks full of air, blow it out.
Breath.

Liquid in the tubes.
turn it off, led says one event per hour, better than the thirty that were

stand up
toodaloo
get clothes on
Son up, computering.
tell him to
"at least clear his books of the sitting room floor"
close door.
make coffee.

Think of James Brown song
da da doo-
yayayayayyada googoogu

aw fee goo

no memories of dreams this morning
Dreams are complete.

No undone night business
all done

Wifi broken
Wife awake

Sleeper hospital two

Sleeper hospital one

sleep studies,day one

turn off the clock at five, hear sonnyboy getting ready for school at seven. In the meantime sometime a rude airless awakening, choking panic, gasping for air. This is what they want to analyse. Dreams ending in fear, fear of strangling, panic and fettered inability to move, watching destruction arrive. With problems like that, who needs digital video games?
get up, make coffee, bathroom and tablets. Slice of bread, butter and salami.
Watch a rubbish skip fly past outside the window like something out of Star Wars. This effect is made possible by the crane belonging to the building site down the road. Still, it is unreal.

Unreal.
The time is nine in the morning. Hospital at eleven, then two nights wired up, sleep.
Probably sleep like a baby, not a care in the world, no problems, psycho.

day two week twenty seven two thousand and fifteen

"Beeping break for a dream, a dream of fraud and default. The Swedish bedside lamp on, and gawp at the cieling awhile.

Bathroom shower on, water down the dran iwaiting for it to heat up, to fill the pipes between the boiler and the bathroom.

Wash and go, the watch has a broken strap,  Find the socks, in a hurry.

Set the hall dock again, Deut she Präzisionspendeluhr, by T&N,, older, loses five minutes per week.  Must get a new suspension for the pendulum. Then down the stairs and out of the house, up the frosty church lane. Delivery trucks driving raw bread for the local bakeries to finish baking, things of poor taste and short life. Iside a day they are uneatable, hard, dry, almost stale.

        Dolores is at her bus stop, he is to be seen from a distance. She stands up, walks uncertainly in a circle, and sits down again.. A tour bus passes, that is why she got up. A mistake

        good Morning in German.

        It is frosty -today, for a guess about six celsius below. The bus driver gets his money.

        Cheek  the tickets, for the train, and for the bus. They are fine.

 Into hospital tomorrow., three days, snore away.

        Pigtailed smoker, good morning. He gives news of the pub, it will be open in a weeks time again. smoker outside the square for smokers, Wildo inside. Trespass!

        Anastasia has the coffee ready, fast friendly efficient. Hedgehog-and Moustache, talking, joined by trio of women, now a noisy crowds.

        Clime the stairs to the railway platform. Be the last on board today, there is no hurry. Boarding faster will not hurry up the train; trains-are stress-resistant, stolid.

        Write This, listen to the do it yourself Melody of the train, the clatter, the flutter of the wind, the rumble of the wheels,

All noises of use and intent, following a steady rythm, despite the welded tracks

day one week twenty seven two thousand and fifteen

alarm failure, and brain failure too.
awaken at six and back to bed.
lie down and nurture the head.
up at eight
shower.
take car.
to work.

at nine

greylightdarkgrey sunday

get up too late living into the day at weekends, let time go by as if there was an unfathomable amount of it to draw on.
there is not. Those fathoms are counted


two voices to remember, ear hiss, Dreams gone by, into oblivion.
Reality stays.

The house is silent, peaceful.

For five minutes.
Then the son is up, cuddles with his father,
then he starts to work on his machines.
No breakfast yet,
These impressions are disorientated,

Things always get better before they get worse, a short flickering of concentration, and they are gone.
Sunday bells start ringing over the town, calling the worshippers to church.

Second Elemenst Saturday

at six, nature calls, an hour later than on weekdays. Cold and dark.
rest a while more, listen to the whistle.
Get up at eight, clean up some of the mess in the kitchen.
Son? Mine. Crafty minecrafty.
Make coffee, find a cup.
Milk for the wifes  morning cup.
Son finds the saccharin.

Coffee in bed on a saturday.
Postman.
Two packages for her,
Packages in bed on Saturday

day five week twenty six two thousand and fifteen

alarm, after sleep, or during sleep, lie awake.

Lie awake, getup.

Leg cramp,

pain.

get up, rub calf of leg.

go to the bath.-bathroom.

Brush teeth wash face,

cream and pills, get dressed.

go.

thirty five past.

Run. See bus waiting

Run,,

Tap an bus window

Door opens-

Pant like a dog:

catch breath-

pay.

and get a ticket in return.

Pant, pulse rate way up.

'Calm down.

station.

Anastasia makes coffee.

take it to cafe.

start coughing.

Feel the ages.

Leave for platform.

The cough will not go away

day four week twenty six two thousand and fifteen

the wakener wakes. It is dark, really dark today. 'Tablets first today the big pill and the little one too.. The shower, the toilet, it all works today. 

Leaving the house Five Thirty, and sees that there is plastering to be done at the entrance, on the inside. Oh well, there is no rest for the wicked..

The church is visible, the bulders crane and the filth from the building site too.

Dolores is at the bus step, she appears to be ruminating. As the bus rolls in she drags herself away from the shelter to the stop, dressed in herknitted hat and leopard-shin patterned handbag. Short and fat.

At the station, nearly overlook the pigtailed man smoking in the dark, because the sudden noise of a

Mercedes hitting the kerbstones hard .

Good morning.

Anastasia, the adrette, unsmiling strict today. little discount card is full, the coffee is free.

Italian joe, the hedgehog, are both there today. The television runs without sound, high upon the wall. all enjoying a quick break, maybe even a short chat, before they have to leave for the platform.

The man walking ahead through the Tunnel passes wind. Thus proceed in a near noxious cloud that reeks of intestinal putrefaction.

all things pass, and the train arrives.

The pills and the coffee start to work in the train, head swimming in an area of hissing noises, voices of the smoker  with the pigtail talking to his companion, the man in the seat opposite smells of some unsubtle aftershave which- would knock out a large ruminant fifty yards against the wind.

Tomorrow is Friday, the end of the week...

        - 

day three week twenty six two thousand and fifteen

cieling is black, the lights of the town reflected in the sky show as a dim glow in the window. Up at just past five, as always, as everyday, almost every year. The bathroom, the loo, the shower, all there.

When dressed, search for money for the bus. There is no small change in the house.

The tweets are empty, boring. The newer bicycle stands are in the way, even without bicycles. Dolores is at the bus stop again today,

The his driver give change for the twenty without any trouble. Thankfully, he is tired. The bus is very filled  with people, more than usual today, they all leave again at the Hof anger weg.

Pigtailed smoker landing on the smoker's squire's border, good morning.the Trendy elderly teenager, has her grey hair out close now, and is wearing a coat worthy of the little prince .

Anastasia is full of smiles and laughter today, has the coffee ready before you asks for it. Impressive, as usual,. Physically a small person, but that makes no difference really..

Moustachio and Hedgehog are in a new look today. Both with haircuts and fresh clothing. Hedgehog in varying shades of green, Moustache in brown and orange...

'It is the middle of the week.

In two minutes we will be in Mossburg. 

day two week twenty six two thousand and fifteen

Found sleep ended. The clock, 'morning sound, of to the bathroom, short shower, hot water. Who wants to kill themselves with an ice- cold shower on a cold day. Take the pills, an antibiotic too many by mustake. Dear Jude, how are you? The correct clothes are not to be found. Rush around.

        starlight and lamplight in church lane today, it is a clear day, bright stars shining over the church A white truck backs about avoiding bicycle stands, roaring motor, early morning delivery.

        Dolores is to be seen at the bus stop, from easily one hundred metres, sitting there, maybe dozing. The moon is over Martins church now, a crescent moon.

The Isar river in loud, it is full, not overflowing, but full. Search for change for the bus driver, four bronze coins.

in the bus it becomes is to be seen that Dolores has a black cloth coat on today. The furry feline imitation is unfavoured today.

Nobody knows why a bus is standing diagonally in front of the station. They do not usually do that. Pigtailed smoker is there, outside his square, a quick cigarette before the train is in.

Anastasia has her first day at yormas again today, slightly confused. How unusual...

The grey Italion eating a croissant, Moustachio, the Hedgehog and the mosaic maker. all these on this tuesday early in 2075.

Space is available in the train, opposite to a youg woman resting her fair haired head against

two pink and orange cushions, a pinkknitted pullover with an army green jacket too. The jacket has glittery decorations. 

day one week twenty six two thousand and fifteen

 chained waking fits, chained to each other, chain gang of waking fits, prisoners imprisoning -finalized by to the alarm clock, the sound signaling the day´s fit,the one lasting all day.Get up and shower. The newly fitted shower head is a demonstration of how simple luxury can be. Back in the bedroom, find the clothes and the bag, put on the shoes and the glasses, check that all is there.

        The lane is spattered with freezing rain, leaving dark spots on the cobbles. It is black, fully dark but for the post-Dickensian street lamps.

        at the bus stop, the rain is joined by the wind. Dolores arrives, sits down. In five minutes the bus is there. On board the brightly-lit bus it becomes visible that Dolores coat is not black. It is mock jaguar fur. Maybe she likes cats.

        And outside the station the maker with the pig-tail is under the station porch. In his short-sleeved shirt, despite the cold and the wind. Coffee at Yormas, and start this blogpost. It is the same, the people changing slowly, sometimes new ones, but the old ones always there. The same as last year.

Hedgehog, Mustachio. The Italian with his croissant. The mosaic maker. She had a late night last night, apparently. People from the Trades Union are pre handing out leaflets,which they take from red bags. Cloth bags.

The train is late today.

And full.

The first Monday after the christeners holidays. 

Sunday

Quiet. Hush.
Drip sound.
water dops.
rain
four forty six.

up at six
still raining
Drips on the skylight.
On the window ledges
hiss in the ears
tick of the clock

sunday morning all are asleep
deeply asleeply

write by the light
 from a laptop

BlackdaySaturday

Sleep gone,Sleep returns
short gasp,sudden fear.

Sleep gone, bright light in the window
Late now, resolutions nullified, sky blue,
Blue sky bad day today- Why?

Returned presents by the bedside.

son up, homework done, mine craft computer games.

Bialetti, pills, what is to be done?

day five week twenty five two thousand and fifteen

sleep, black, dreams at Dublin mansions. Turn the clock off, the small wakener. Bathroom, shower- all the usual. Pills and tablets, no water. Horrible, quick to find a water tap, wash the dry hard nasty-tasting things down.

Church lane is the same as every day, with its tiny shops. All lit with lamps made after the style of early twentieth century century gas lamps.

Dolores at the bus stopis picked up by a man in a Mercedes today. He runs around the car to open the door for her. Some service! Bus driver, big and told, looks at the proffered fifty cent piece suspiciously, it has seen better days. It is in order, though, and he gives a ticket for the short journey. Outside the vehicle the shop and office people pass on their way into town, into work. The bus drive is forgotten as it happens, an important thing of no consequence. It is secure, it is the same as all of the other times that it has been used... 

Friday railway station, in the morning traffic of the second week of the year...

The big blonde girl serves coffee today, she is slower, but there are few customers, so so what. "Moustachio, and the Italian man wearing a wooden cap with a pommel on top, are at their tables. There are others there too, but they are of less definite character, less fun to watch.

        The train is delayed today, why? nobody will say, nobody knows nothing.

  But in the end, it is a matter of eight minutes. This is not too tad, not too serious. It can be dealt with..

        Sleeping commuters  in the train. Relaxed faces going into the day, some with earphones, all with eyes closed. Young woman with a face framed by the fur of her black parka, her blonde bright straight hair strands hanging after her chest, doll-like smooth soft looking face, rouged cheek bones. Angelic.

        The Train's delay means that the connection to the local S- Bahn fails, this will mean that all the further connections

- will fail.

        go to the freising Yorma, get an extra coffee there, and continue with this blog, the morning notes in the train that arrived in the meantime.

Two young men conversing, talking incoherently, unable to knit their words together, but talking all the time. a young  man of maybe Arab descent, (going by his accent) and another with a beard,  both talking broken German.

day four week twenty five two thousand and fifteen

8 Jan 2015
Fears of sleep, choking, not awakening, of awakening too late. It all happens as every day – bathroom pills and tablets. And a face cream. Anti-Rudi-
Gater the clothing for the day, put it on , comb the hair. Find the glasses and the pen. Sit down and wait.
Five thirty, two bells, leave house, empty lane.

Dolores at the bus stop, a heavy black coat against the winter wrapped around her. the bus driver, big and bald,  gives out his tickets for the very short ride.

Activity everywhere in and around the station, there are hundreds of bicycles parked outside, resting on the towns stands, standing on their own ones, or just lying about.
That brightly dressed woman with the short white hair  is there in the square, smoking in the slushy rain., Alone with her cigarette on the dimly-lit station plaza.
Yong man working at Yorma's café. These early mornings are making him suffer visibly. He takes the money, makes a stamp, puts on the coffee and, as it is making, deals with the next customer.
In the café there are two old faces, the hedgehog and the Italian. A group of orange -clad street cleaners there too, probably on account of the predicted snow.
The train is in already. Board last, sit down, there are fewer people than usual traveling, and many spaces are free today. This one is well lit, with a table, and young woman opposite listening to music on her mobile 'phone, grinning to herself whilst staring at the passing lights in the blackness outside.
Now, past the equinox, thedays are getting longer again, it will be bright again at this hour in two months, or thereabouts. This constant darkness will lighten for the summertime.

The people boarding the train in Moosburg are carrying newspapers with lead articles on the massacre of the journalists in the french satirical magazine, those mad murderers doing what their religion forbids, doing their murders in their religions name.

A repressive, non functioning worls, a world of dark horizons,  close and threatening. 

day three week twenty five two thousand and fifteen

7.1.15

Alarmsound, the first time this year. Shower, wash hair and brush the teeth. Dry and wonder at the early morning.. In the bedroom take the pills, find the socks in the sock drawer, the drawers in theirs, the trousers in theirs and tee shirt in its. The shirt from the rack and the shoes from the floor.

All isin order, find that book and leave the house.

Walk down the lane, to the street, and see a truck approaching, a very large fast truck with a trailer in tow.

Cross the street anyway, hear the roar of it pass behind. The deserted bus stop is the same. as last year the same groups of people early to their shops or offices pass as in the years before. The bus driver recieves his money and gives his ticket. The station is filled with activity, all make the impression of being very tired indeed. Coffee is produced by the incompetent and the slow today, but the atmosphere is so tired, so needy, that it does not matter. The  hedgehog. is there, as is Moustuchio,  a return to everyday working routine. The tables have been rearranged, there appears to be one missing. A man with a bald head, older, stands in the centre of the room staring at the television high up on the wall. He is wearing a strained expression, and unusual green coloured leather shoes, *a neat practical working outfitt. He is new here, seen for the first time.

The Train arrives, the co-travellers- jostle. On board last, enjoy the peace and quiet to 'take off the anorak,-and select a seat in peace.... Maesbury station is filled with people all standing on its platform waiting, they all find a seat.

It is half-way through the first week of the year, there are fewer people at work yet.

After Maesbury there is a strange woman in the open space in the carriage between the entrance doors, preening, readjusting her clothes, smilling to herself, She strarts to rythmically rub her face, bobbing up and down on her flexing knees, wearing an ever -widening grin... Some hind of stretching exercise, leaning forward now on one bended knee, the other leg stretched out behind her. She is ignored by all. 

12 days hence. Epiphany

light out blue sky eight in the morning.
no case for panic, today is the day of caspar melchior and balthasar, those three kings of orient.
take all the tablets, see the face in the mirror and run the electric shaver over it. Still puffed.
Wash it cold, maybe it will shrink a bit. Spread the doctors cream on the now not so red nose.
Goodbye Rudolph.

Take the small container of biological waste to the balcony, fill the bialetti and put it on the heat. Turn on the wrong flame.
Correct the mistake.
Get the computer, read the papers and write.

mon,day before Twelfth Night

bleary head and sore throat,
ear is whistling, vegetable mind,
news of changes last night
it is so late today.
the last day of last years overtime
all gone


to take the tablets
to take a shower,
to do my jobs

resolve

Sumday

the end of the week, two days to Epiphany and the end of the holidays. Up at six for no real reason, there is no need for staying in bed.
Dark, it is early. In a blaze of orange beacons a small tractor run by the town council passes by, spreading salt on the wet street.
The snow has almost all melted now, it still snowed heavily yesterday. But the driver of the little tractor spreads salt anyhow, he had been paid to do this, so he does it. Snow or no snow, ice or none.
A slice of bread and an apple.
Early mornings are lovely, memorable. Being there at the onset of the day, being around before the day has become a conscious mass of people going about some business.
It is a good time for sleep, too.  The luxury inherent in change, different situations, different times.

Return to bed, for fear of waking others.

Saturday , first of the year

rest after restless, restless rest of holiday remainders, wait for the package delivery service, must test the doorbell. Things to do nobody to do them nobody does them, where is it leading to?
get up put on home clothing, make coffee morning hug for my son, all at once. Take pills, bring the wife her coffee, test the doorbell
¡works!
prepare my head, change the user on the computer, wait for online status.

tidy up, clean think, read mail, only spam spun.

Waiting for parcels that do not come.

blog
drink
think
thunk

January two two thousand and fifteen

roll over to the side, breath through the nose. The panic and pain of asphyxiation relax and fade.

it is six

Relax, see the dim light from the window and wonder, ponder, clock shows seven.

Sleep and clock shows eight.

relax one moment

the clock shows nine.

Time waster, get up, take pills, coffee make get dressed go to bathroom,  son turns the gas off, put coffee together with saccharin and milk for the wife.

Slow computer, head in a haze, a daze, hatred of laze, laziness is horrible.

clean up the mess, last evenings cooking.

no discipline

creativity without discipline compares to 

acceleration without friction

no fun

physically impossible

doursday, first of january two thousand and fifteen.

fireworks night, martial displays, throwing of firecrackers, bursts of flame
nothing else
in bed, calculating property division.

Fractions
Whistling head.
Fractions are like counting sheep, vanish into the distance.
The error thirty years ago discovered:
to our advantage
one twentyeighth each.


what a way to start the year.
bursts of illness, tiredness.

This year will be strange.
all are still abed at seven past seven this morning.
America is still celebrating