nonononono digital moan ens and ohs

unblocked nasal passageways allow the use of the mask again, allow sleep and ended, forgotten, dreams. The short circuits and long loops, endless passageways and bare unnavigable areas of the mind have now got a surface semblance of order, and all painted a dreary grey. A static hiss in the background. the head hums. It is all unfair
The wifes alarm clock, seven in the morning.
Get up, get the clothes on. make the coffee for the day. Listen to the noise of early morning as the son is sent of to school
The cat jumps about chasing an empty plastic ink cartridge rolling on the floor.

The son goes to school and the wife back to bed to read her newspapers. All are driven by their desires, no real plans for the day.
and leave the mess for tomorrows shouting match

The collapsable ironing board stands uncollapsed in the sitting room serving as a storage space for the sons schoolbooks.
The argument is:"it will be needed again, so let it stand"
Stacks of old, never to be read newspapers, The intention is there to read them, so that they are not to be thrown away.
Every upper surface slowly going grey with dust.
And there is no way visible to break this .
None at all.
Clear away the ironing board.
There is no space planned for anything, but there is enough there.

Is flight a solution?
or just to move on, clean up the mess again leaving space free for other people to fill again regardless

items, and mess, and school

it is late, the raucous sounds from the wife's clock once then five minutes later. Get up,  get dressed, find some clothing, a fresh t-shirt pants and hoodie

Yesterdays trousers will do today,oK, No need to be showy, to whom? Why?

The black dog is wagging its tail again, and hear the wife complain that the cat is locked into the sitting room. Things are abstract today. The son is up. he needs to go to school.

Clear the disgusting mess from the surface of the kitchen workspace, left over from yesterday like everyday, bits and pieces lying around, no fixed space for anything, Gather the parts needed to make a pot of coffee, dig the grinder out from behind a butter dish's lid seperated from its lower part now used as a chance receptable for empty packages.

Trash the packages, clean the lid, put it back on the butter

Horrido.

The cat is playing with its marble again, feline sort of football, no rules, sometimes pounce with great excitement, at other times, crouch and watch.

Son eats a sandwich.

And leaves for shool. His schoolbag is really heavy, big textbooks, many excercise books. Fifteen pounds, or so.

A lot of books, a lot of learning.

and now alone with an empty coffee cup and a grey apple.

Refill the coffee cup from the tangled mess.
It could be any day of the week.

the cat and the cactus

Eyes focus in the dark where there is so little to focus on, the ceiling, the window. The window has light from the window outside, reflects the dim ruddy colour of the sky in its turn reflecting the glow of the lamps from the town. Street lights.
And the utter silence of the day at ten to five.
And so to the bathroom, no urgent need really, but as well now as later, Look at the time on the Victorinox watch,  and see that it is ten to five.  And  so brush the strange taste of the night from the teeth.  The cat rubs its back on bare legs, and purrs for attention, or out of satisfaction, or maybe in anticipation.
Close the glass hall door in the dark, and squeeze the cat between the door and its frame. Cat umbrage, an angry howl, and then the world is in order again, back to a steady purr.

And take the computer from the bedroom, and go along the hallway with it's two loose tiles and into the soundless sitting room.
Sit down  to write "Eyes focus in" and so forth, and the cat, enraged at being ignored, knocks a cactus off the window ledge, the clay pot breaking on the wooden floor.
So get up to return the now broken pot and the prickly, self defensive cactus to the  window sill, and observe that the cat has now become interested in the cactus. Perhaps it has understood that it will get the most reaction from its owner if it knocks the cactus down, and is considering a re-enactment.
But after a while she loses interest and commences playing with glass marbles, throwing them into inaccessible corners only to retrieve them, and to kick them about the floor again.

This is a private time early in the morning, silence but for ticking clocks and the playing cat.
There will be no work today,  a fit of coughs from deep down in the lungs, an illicit tickle on the diaphragm  makes sure of that.
and another coughing fit, ending in the bathroom.
This is not good.
The cat is at the cactus again.

brick head

get up, lie down, bad cold.
Brick head.
Cat wants to play, to eat, needs amusement.
Give it food.
Son is at a friends house.
Nose drips, throat sore.
And now the cat starts to play with glass marbles, kicking them around with its paws and giving chase,
She wants attention, but is startled by human coughs.
Marbles instead of mice.

Sunday, this cold seems here to stay, pain in the neck.
Literally.

Aye Aye.


Doctor tomorrow.

early early

this is not a Saturday, The head feels as if it is shaped like a seeding dandelion, with all of the little parachutes extended, ready to spread its seeds there were the wind will take them. It is an ugly feeling and the whistle in the right ear does not make things any better. It is silent in the sitting room, reading for hours because sleep will not come.
Insomnia.
Read a book, an easy book.
And a sore throat.
The cold has struck, The nose is dripping like an old tap, a faucet.
And horribly awake, listening to the Brillie clock send a signal for it's non existent children.
Every thirty seconds.
+ and then -
30 sec
- and then +
It has been running for a year now.
And it will go on until the C cell battery looses its charge.
It was the timekeeper for a french factory once, and now it is decoratively, accurately telling time in  a kitchen in Germany. No children clocks, no slaves. No real work. A pensioner.

This will no longer proceed  in this manner.
It is a Saturday, but it is not one of those Saturdays to be dreamt of, one of those that childhood memories are made of.
People pass by on the streets outside, talking. Male voices. Homegoers, most likely.
Otherwise dead silence.
Even saint martins clock sleeps at this time

An analog bit, more than two years now,

awake, snorting the air from that compressor, agape.
It is seven in the morning, the decision to remain ill fell yesterday.
The head feels like a sandbag balanced on a pole, every movement hurts.
whistling sounds in the ear to my right hand, a steady his, white-ish noise, like an untuned radio.
static.
Sons alarm sounds, from his little apple telephone
Get up, make coffee, grinder,empty out the old grounds, son feeds the cat, spill ground coffee on the floor.
Back of the throat sore, temples ache, psychic pressure aids the virus's. or the bacterias´work.
A complete lack of personal and interpersonal coordination in kitchen matters here.
At the end of it , the coffee is made and the cat fed.
The wife is still in bed, sorting her head.

son up wife awake. Interesting to see what they do on a workday morning, an observer. Watch the collection of the items for school, discussion over latin or no latin. They both start shouting.
Extra classes, son wants to avoid stress. Secure his exit strategy with a paternal humm, Then all is quiet again, all mollified.


The cat is full of frisks, then it crawls under a small table, a card-players table, and gets sick. "It ate too fast this morning" is the opinion.
And at five to eight the son is under way. A short walk to the school, luxury

And all this hanging about in night clothing must stop: now!

And now sinusititis-like pains.

And the wife has gone back to bed, comfort and luxury.
The son is gone now, and the sun remains behind clouds,
the good doctor has his day off, says the charming voice on the telephone.

2.165639973yrs

24 sept 2015,

and read the news on the computer, the laptop. There is no alarm yet, it is early.

No news. The pope is in America.

Shower and wash and brush, get fresh clothing. The cat is disorientated, and runs into the kitchen. It still thinks that it is going to be fed, but no choice.

The street is dry today, there is a police car prowling in the main street. Waiting, observing. Who knows why?.Whilst approaching the gothic arch of the town gate a girl in a white jacket and her white shoes approaches. She has probably just lit her cigarette under the arch, and is now marching into town.

a creature of habit.

At the bus stop itself the two döner women approach, and pass, muttering to each other.

A young woman in incredibly tight trousers arrives at the bus stop, just as the bus arrives. The care and attention with which he has chosen her clothing is really visible.

No change for the bus driver today, but he is a friendly man, and quickly tells out the change on the proffered ten Euro note.

The railway station is busier than usual, and the new girl at Yormas is having difficulties serving many people at once. She calls for Anastasia, and suddenly, all the people are nerved.

Magical Anastasia.

There is a man drinking beer at Hedgehogs usual place in the café, a grey haired, wizened young man of about fifty with a large glass of beer in front of him.. Normally a sight to be seen in the evening, and not at five to six in the morning. Each to his own.

No thoughts will gather Today, the right ear receives a whistling noise, constant. It is a sound from the inside of the head, and it is in its third year now. Never really stopped. Wildo will scream with rage at someone one day, and nobody will understand why.

The train is on time. Avoid the stress of pushing and shoving to obtain the best seat. Stroll down to the end at the train, get on board and sit down in a free space.

Stay calm, avoid stress, keep the rage down. 

2.16290212 yrs

23 Sept 2015

It has become colder outside, and the windows are shut. This makes the air stuffy, no longer fresh and pleasant so, get up in the night end to the balcony enjoy the fresh air with the cat. She jumps on the balcony rail, purring in her mechanical way.

and return to bed with a lungful of clean air.

At five, on the usual signal, get up, take off the clothing of the night and take the mornings shower.  Brush the teeth, brush the hair, but leave shaving for later.

Outside the bathroom there is the little cat, hoping up it's rock-heady purring. Purring for petting, purring for food. Find the clothes laid out the night before, the trousers, the fresh socks, the pants. get a shirt from the wardrobe. All done. - There is no food open for the little cat, but it will he fed anyway as the remainder of the family gets up.

In two hours.

checks all the pockets and leave for the rain damp street. Passing the church there is the tinkle of a distant hell. and, almost immediately afterward, the tolling sound of the big bells of Saint Martin's..

Passing Grimms shop there is a near collision with a cyclist taking a shortcut through the arcades.. walk down the middle of Theater Street, let any the cars go to the side. It is a pedestrian way.

An electrical car passes, small, silent, fast,  intent, eerie.They will become more common as time goes on.

 Bus driver of the bus No.1 gets his change, gives a Ticket and wishes good morning. And the next thing is, there is the smoker, pigtail on the back of the head, wishing' good morning', or' Mogen" as they say here

"There is a new girl serving in the cafe,. She is doing a good job, does not talk too much... The order in which she need's to nerve the people is unclear because they do not stand in line. But everyone is calm and polite, everyone gets their things. Everyone knows who had been there already.

Yormers has a long glass counter, with no efficient space behind it for more than one person. Under the glass counter there are ready made sandwiches and pastries. All these things look better than they tastes'

"But they seem to sell well.

Off for the tracks, leave the man moresely chewing his Buttered Brezn in the café.

The train has now stopped a long way down the platform. i

Something has changed in the way the railway people work.

Time will tell. 

2.160164271yrs

22 September 2015

.. and sleep was bad, stare at the dark cieling at four, and listen to all the bells until the alarm clock sounds at five, get up. Shower, wash the teeth with an electric brush, dress for the day. Check the contents of the bag and leave the house.

A tinkling from a distant church bell sounds, some seconds ahead of the deep tolling of martin's bells.

Pause to look at the side entrance to martins church, intricate stone work depicting saints and scholars.

On the theater street  a man speeding his car through the town gate into town. A big Mercedes cross country vehicle.

'A young woman runs across the space between the town gate and the bus stop, her knees flashing whiteley through the rips in her black tight trousers. She sees the notice announcing the  arrival of the busin five minutes, sits down and starts consulting her mobile 'phone.

The digitally controlled notices at the bus stops are a pleasant invention, quick and easy to read.

The bus arrives, and in the light inside the  knees are now a tanned to brown white. Could one run flashing brown knees?

        Good morning to the smoker, 'pigtailed, in front of the station. Alice of the White Spectacles is serving her coffee, she still has the habit of saying "Alles?" after each order. NOMEN EST OMEN

Anastasia walks into the counter area shouldering a basket of breakfast rolls which she deposits in their receptable on the counter. She casts a lepidopteran glance over the cafe, well, her eyelashes, black, fake, sooty, are like an autumnal butterfly's, tatterfly's wings.

Leaving the cafe a man approaches the waiting room doors from the just-arrived train or platform .H e is broad-shouldered and expects all to stand back out of his way. Wildo steps through the open door, paper cup of coffee to the fore. Man's eyes focus, widen, and

he steps aside.

        age before beauty. 

2.15742642 years

and did you sleep my darling? No, no, awake at three, at four, at four forty five.

No, take the alarm-dock to the bathroom, silence it when the shower is warm, nobody disturbed in their sleep The cat is attentive, purring almost ostentatiously. That cat!

Take time, there is plenty of it today. And then, a last look in the long white-framed mirror.

These fresh trousers are covered in spots. grease, or something that survived the washing machine.

#n And now hurry to get fresh ones, cannot go to the job, not like this.

And hurry, hurry, and the cat in a flurry.

And yet all things are together on time.

The bells round twice at saint Martin's, it is now half past, and the sound from more distant bells is to be heard seconds later. Three hundred and thirty metres in the record, therefore if all bells sound simultaneously the nearest one is heard first.

Waste bins over-flowing, each bin surrounded by a corona of food wrappings, beverage containers, papers and discarded printed matter.

There are town employees in orange suits sweeping up the mess produced by yesterdays crowds, putting' it all on board a tiny orange truck with a red flashing beacon on its two person cab.

Pass the traffic barriers at the town gates, and there is the river., and Dolores waddling aloofly towards the bus stop

stop-say good morning, two tired faces, White hair and brown. That silver car curves in to the bus stop, almost swoops 'm, and sounds its horn. Dolores' pick- up, she climbs in, and the car rolls off. Her son or brother, neighbour maybe.

Those two ladies who work in the Turkish fast food place pass, on their way to a day of hot fat and spices. They are talking constantly, yap yip yüp, turky chatter.

The bus arrives, on time today, and, yes, before a noticeable portion of time elapses, it is at the railway station.

Bye Bye driver thank you for a quiet five minutes.

Smoker is in his yellow bordered square, his pigtail suffering on account of a lack of hair.  Androgetnetic Alopecia, maybe, most likely. The end of pilial glory.

Alice of the white spectacles serves a' large coffee in a cup with" Tee" written on it. German for Tea. The large coffee mugs have run out, and so these, with a false message.

So what, the coffee is the same.

Alone in the café today, 

Keep catching the eye of that beautiful redhead, look down, look away, don`t stare, gawp rudely at such facial beauty, that which was in the mirror this morning precludes even the dream of there being an attraction here.

Train on time, and the carriage interior smells of used socks and unwashed clothes.

Monday.

failed rising

conscious, eyes closed.
leave them that way, it is Sunday.
A plan-free sun day.
Silent and dark.
Silent, listen to bells once, or another time.
Open the eyes after all, a glimmer of light from the window, filtered by the hops grown in pots in the yard. And stay awake, the hops and malt last night have taken over the system, will allow no sleep.

The cat purring like a machine, a moving foot causing excitement

The bathroom, and see that it is six in the morning, and that it is brighter outside now, and there is cloud. Get the machine, sit down in the silent sitting room, look at the blank area on the screen.
good news from a tree monster,

Suddenly, a sting off of the nerves from all over the chest, disorientated eyes unfocused, panic at the pain pinching consciousness to a single point in the upper body.
a kind of heartache.

Back to bed, and sleep well until ten in the morning.
A reward for a half night sleepless, silence in the mind.

Up at ten, a steady silence, cold coffee. all are awake, the son surreptitiously doing something on the computer in his room, behing closed doors. A twelve year old, learning his latin, and supporting his computer craze at the same time.
There is a sound of a crowd outside the window, a crowd passing on the way to church, or passing on the way to look at the jugglers and conjurors all over town playing their tricks, playing music, it is the international buskers festival day today, people everywhere, amplified sounds, amplified music.

And tinnitus`s hiss a noise like a dunce cap, over the head, an invisible invincible dunce cap.

A cat and a dog, a cat of no breeding and a saint Bernhard dog.
A picture, or maybe just twee kitsch for a coffee mug.

One Stomach Ruminations.

at a quarter to eight, bright blue light from the unclouded sky falling in through the window glass, sit up, turn of the small compressor,  that acute solution to a chronic problem. See the world, as a big flat in an old town, in an old town house, sixteenth century. The concept of democracy was a strange idea from ancient greece then. It is not the same now as it was then, the renaissance style arches ripped out and replaced by beams to make large boxy rooms for the baroque fancy, leaving the structure compromised for all of it's remaining time.
Enough ruminating, not an ox,not a bull, a sheep, a goat, a camel or a llama. get up, Stand up, go to the toilet,
Return, make the coffee in the usual way, and two slices of bread and cheese for breakfast.
And get this neat great grey machine to do the things it was meant for, to place the contents of my selfish mind in a place for everyone to see.
"an aversion towards getting up and listening to the days complaints, the things that should have been done and are subject of other people's claims never to have agreed to do. Take nothing for granted, and that on which praise and agreement was attained yesterday is a different matter today" And that a pithy recipe for destruction.
And so this entry deserves treatment as one of those deleted untitled entries, those that dealt with the untruths told to the one in the mirror, and that are then thrown out for the admiration of humanity, . Humanity is not that dumb, and breaks its sides in laughter, deriding the image maker, and ultimately itself. Dumb, after all. A recursive thing that is hard to explain, this is wildo's pale attempt, failéd.

Gack.

It is just a matter of waiting untill the numbers say three, the years are three, and of then working on.
untill they are four.

No.

Stop, it is nine fiftysix and the church bells are calling. Calling using a steady clanging, a ding dong, steady mechanical, untill it stops, with a final clang after a short break in the rythm.

And at ten, the sombre sound of Saint Martin´s bells, ten times tolling, it is time to

Stop

2.149212868 yrs

18 Sept'-015

at three in the morning the cat jumps on the bed, wee-ow am silence. It had been missing for a day, now it is back.

go back to deep, two hours later the clock makes its sounds. Get up, cat purrs loudly. This animals only aim in life appears to be food: Shower, shave, and get dressed for the day.

At five the alarm sounds again. It was not switched off correctly the first time.

Feed the cat, leave the house. Pass the neighbour's skip, the tent that the buskers set up in the middle of the road is still there, waiting for the weekends shows. It is fixed to plastic containers filled with water for weight, and to save the necessity of drilling holes in the pavement.

Fridays market is being set up, a noisy bustling with the contents of delivery vans filling the stalls that have already been set up, or even vans that are in themselves stalls.

Dolores is at the bus atop, she gets  collected by a friend in a big silver car, maybe he a son or a younger brother. An emergency doctor passes racing a white  BMW SUV with a flashing light on top. He drives so badly that he cannot stay on the correct side of the road and swerves into the oncoming traffic. An ambulance passes, all of its lights on and flashing, moving all over the road in its hurry. Emergency services being a safety problem.

        The traffic increases steadily, many people are on bicycles. First dawn in the east.

        The bus is delayed, the bus does not come. Too bad. The next bus arrives at five to six, barely in time for the train. 

No Yormas Café today, none of those characters who populate this part of the morning notes on the way to work.

The train is late, a good thing now, because the bus was cancelled.

This madness usually happens on Mondays.

2.146475017 yrs

Experimental sleep, no mask, noapparatus. And sleep with that mask is better, despite the noise and the hissing.No rest for the wicked, the morning's alarm puts an end to that. Sit up, take the night clothes off, and go on into the bathroom, turn the shower on.

        An awakening shower, it is pet not just a matter of hygiene. Find clothes to wear for the day in the nooks of the wardrobe. Check the bag, cannot find the wallet Search, and find it. Black wallet on a black box on the bedside 'dumb waiter.

        leave the house, another neighbour has started major construction work on his house. There is a skip on the pavement, and a long segmented tube for rubble from the top floor. In an old town renovation work never stops.

        The same car speeds through the pedestrian zone as an monday tuesday and wednesday, and the bus stop is deserted, but for empty cigarette pact- ages and fast food containers.

And the bas driver gets his money, gives his ticket.The short journey on the bus is uneventful, familiar faces on unknown people,

        At the railway station a man wandering about talking loudly to the pavement, a man with a haystack hairdo, matted, and slurred voice. He is staggering about between the bicycles, then he falls down.

'He has started his day badly.

        Anastasia makes a cup of coffee, after serving a breathless pushy woman who seems entirely full of her own hurry, her own self importance.  Here, in the waiting room, hedgehog with his newspapers.

The railway platform, dawn to the east, along the tracks, behind the bridge.- First early dawn, and a single bright star. Maybe that is Venus. Who knows.

There is the usual rush to board when the train comes in, it is like a children party game with chairs, all sit down when the music stops.

stand back, stay comfortable, let the others he first, let them have their fun..

The howl of the train, the hiss of the tinnitus, the rumble of the wheels. Sounds that should be described, not rust named.

The sky through the carriage window is now a pale pale blue in the east, a few-fluffy clouds as the train just grinds to a halt. What is a fluffed pillow?

The train's conductor makes an announcement, unintelligible over the loudspeakers. A computer would say 'system error'.

        The young woman opposite, sleeping. Opens her eyes wide, stares about in panic for a second, and -Then goes back to sleep again.

Bright Blue, her eyes, when they are open.

'Her jacket, a windbreaker, is magenta and her fingernails, faked, extended, deep red...

- A clash of colour.

And the small clouds up in the sky to the east have turned pink. A pleasant contrast to The pale blue sky. Colours like a childs nursery. 

2.143737166 years on

Awaken before the clock sounds, before the electronic signal knicknack that marks the beginning of every working day. And turn the turbine off, that hisses air into the nose, raising pressures,easing breathing.

Pull the knees up so that they are over the side of the bed, let the feet drop to the floor below, and using the elbow and the attached right arm push the body into the vertical sitting position, Sitting on the edge of the bed, stand up now. And take off the night clothes and head for the bathroom.

Whilst waiting for the water to warm the cat comes in, and silently rubs its back on the naked legs.

She starts to purr.

and when the door to the shower is opened, the cat runs away, fearing the loud hisses.

And then the shower ended, teeth brushed, return to the bedroom a to find clothing.

The cat, confidence regained, loudly a-purr, tail vertical, bristling like a bottle cleaner, clearly expects feeding. So give it a sturdy dollop on its plate, and, still purring, it commences to eat as if it's life depended on it, as if starvation had been imminent. Cat culture, cat manners, cat noises.

With all the items for work-packed together, leave for the street, and pass the bakery before realising all those grey pavements are left behind, board the early bus behind Dolores, she of the plastic leopard skin bag.

All in the dark, rush, cars,  motors roaring; trucks rumbling. Black teenager, beautiful skin, sports clothing in black and grey, and bright fluorescent shoelaces, and hoody bands, and earphone cables, and shoe laces. A mass of brigight lines. She must be only sixteen, but so early to school?. Far too early.

large coffee today, it lasts longer, the man with the shaven head friendly, doing his work.

Alice is there too, and Anastasia in the background making sure that everything runs properly.

Hedgehog has companions today, he must hold court. He cannot read his newspapers.

And the train is full of fugitives from Syria today, all the horrors of the journey from the middle to the east visible in their faces and their demeanour.

And they have been unable to shower for weeks.

and they are all going to Munich, which is reportedly overcrowded already.

working tuesday,roughly 2.140999316 yrs on

time is important, it is five, shower, teeth. Forget to shave. There is no cat today, I wonder where she is.
It is dark now , there is no light in the window except for the glow of reflected street lighting from the occluded sky.
Ruin a pair of socks. They have endured many cycles of wearing and washing, and are now done for, the shaft seperated from the sole on the left hand side.
Who would repair a sock?

Find the glasses and the wallet where they were left yesterday, put on a hoody, and leave the house. A bell rings, it is half past.
Passing Grimms kitchenware store, a man pushing a bicycle gives a greeting. And at the end of the theater street, at the bus stop, wait and watch the stream of headlights pass.,

Dolores approaches, waddling a bit, and sits on a park bench some distance away from the bus stop. A young woman approaches, celebrating all the beauty of her youthful figure in her clothing, cream leggings, pullover doubling as a very short skirt in grey, elegant shoulder handbag. Flat shoe sneakers.
A contrast to dolores, with her leopardskin print handbag, which becomes visible as she approaches the meanwhile arrivéd bus.
And let the ladies on first.

At the station, the pigtailed smoker still smoking his morning cigarette in the yellow square demarcating the area reserved for smokers, with an ashtray in its centre.
Alice at Yorma's station café, asks "Big or small?" Take the large coffee, it may last longer. Alice says"Alles?"

Hedgehog with flattened hair, reading his paper all alone.
And Alice is joined by Blondy, and both serve the meanwhile-accrued crowd of customers at the café's curved counter cum display cabinet.

Still, and all- This is what Wildo will see every weekday for the next while. Different casts same role different characters, always the same coffee.

And write it to the web for two years to recieve one (1) valid reply.
Thank you, Charles.

three score, ten left, today

14 Sept 2015

the beeping of the waking machine at five in the morning The first monday. Bathroom and shower, teeth and hair. Slow today, who´s waiting for or wanting to go to work?

Wildo can hardly see the world, not a lot has changed in the last sixty years...

The cat is insistent. It is a carnivorous beast, albeit small, and it has its two interests in life. Feeding and sleeping. As it gets older there will be other interests, but they are not there yet..

Tiredness will take its toll today, and so into the street. It is just another day, now that the sun is not up yet all the street lamps are on, and one driver speeding his car down the centre of the pedestrian zone. Illegal short cut in a fast car.

The bus is early, uncertainty. Get in, pay up,

sit down. Routine has it's way.

There are new faces in the bus, the routine has been broken. And at the railway stataion, dazed, big blondy  and Anastasia, one serves coffee, one retires to the back room.

And in the waiting room; The man with the cheery face, blue overall and hair like a blonde hedgehog is at his table reading his newspaper. He is alone.

and take out the notepad, check that the pen is working, and commence this account..

It is a routine, daily work, daily bread. The train is crowded beyond belief, and the toilet's supply tank is leaking all over the floor of the carriage.

It is definitely Monday.

sunday 13, eight words

awaken, pressure on the face. The window is open, the cool air of a temperate climate brushes over the face and fills the lungs, refreshing the nostrils on the way down. The breathing mask down, the apparatus the doctor ordered so that the dreams may be completed, closed, and placed in the distant filing cabinets of the mind.
Along with the troubles that bore them.
and even the cat is silent.

Get up, the blue tiled bathroom waits, the cat purrs to life, goes into follow mode, and comes along. A curious cat, looks over the edge of the ceramic bowl, fascinated by the swirling water.

The cat follows, and then leads the way to the kitchen. The human does not go into the kitchen, but into the bedroom. The cat exclaims, mee OW! and follows.
Turn about, follow the cat over the loose stone plate (needs fixin) into the kitchen. Food for the cat, cat happy,eats happy.
Grind the coffee beans and fill the percolatar. Small joys on sundays. Turn the gas on and let it work.

And turn on the machine to read the days news.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
Joy is in the heart of the listener.
Old quotes for new emotions.

The sound of hysterical laughter drifts down the street from outside, shattering the peace this morning.

Make a plan to get up and go to the bakers, to fetch fresh rolls for the morning.
It is late now.

play day

these saturdays is increasingly turning to days of rest as time passes and leaves its marks on the body. As time is measured in years and not weeks and months, and recollections span decades, a half century, and not only months ans years.
that is the run of the mill and it will keep on grinding some time yet.
Untill it stops,  grinding to a halt, will not go on forever. No poetic enty into the realms of darkness, or some such similar aphorism here, just a sudden games over without the option of extended credit.
There is no other option open.

A weekend at the end of summer, no real plans. Wake to the sound of the cat, the son, the light reflected of the grey clouds into the narrow courtyard, where the hops are growing for the second year now. A hoppy courtyard, bitter  hops hanging about for decor's sake. Sit, think, listen, and get up, and after all morning absolutions settle down to grind the coffee, prime the machine and start the gas.
First things first, get cups from the dishwasher, and when the machine is done, fill the two cups with coffee, milk and sweetener in one, the other black.
Coffee at the bedside for the wife, and get the laptop.
Check the mail,
write this blog.

Untill the mug is empty

eleven nine fifteen

and alarm, turn it off, there is no need today. Today is the day of the appointment at the accountant. Need to drive there, out of the way.
So get up lazy later and wash and find clothing. Put on a damaged shirt by mistake.
The cat purring all the while, keeping up a steady noise, like a furry sort of machine. It inspects the bathroom with curiosity, as is its nature.
Every nook and cranny.
Inspection, hiss as the shower is turned on, Retreat into a corner. Why do cats dislike hissing noises? Who knows?
Stop this inane writing to make a mug of coffee.
Bialetti is full, empty it into a glass. Cold coffee leftovers for some other purpose.
Feed the cat a little bit of food from the fridge, let it eat. It is not really hungry at all. It just licks the lumps of cat food, then eats a whole one , then licks a bit more at the next. Then it loses interest and goes off into the bedroom.
Noises of the wife getting up, we both need to go to the accountant,

And now there is the sound of the coffee in the Bialetti percolator percolating.
time to go.

VE DO THURS WORK

and the sound of the clock marks the end of  the sleep under the nasal mask.
Loud purring noises from the little cat are to be heard in the room. Get up, go to the bathroom. And the little cat follows, reaching around the door with its paw to open it fully. She is learning to use her paws to manipulate things, human things like doors, not just to push, but to pull.
Pet her head, purrs increase.
And turn on the shower, the hissing noise makes the cat retreat.
Shower and wash the head, wash the head free of the hissing noise. For a few minutes only.
In the bedroom put on the day clothes and then waste time searching for shoes.Not under the bed, not in the sitting room.
In the kitchen, exclamation mark, question mark.
Oh well,
feed the cat.
Just a little spot.
Find the hairbrush.

brush hair therewith.

Things are slow today.
So slow.
Take the car, not the train. That decision is made now.
Down church lane, around the corner, the sun is not up yet and all is lit with street lamps fixed to the walls of the houses,
They give a good light. Pass the house the selfimportant medieval pageant makers have their office in.
Blue car parked around the corner,
Blue car still covered in croatian dust.

back to work

alarm five, five in the morning.
after restless sleep remove the mask and regain consciousness slowly. Wife gets up, goes out comes back lies down again.
Get up, go to the bathroom, take a shower, and whilst drying off the water drops hear strange noises.
What can they be?
Cat.
Timid and shy, but demanding none the less.
Open the bathroom door.
Cat comes in, complains softly, commences purring.
Rubs its back on the bare legs.
Now give it a pat.

Go to bedroom, return to the den of nod.
put on the little light at the desk, socks and pants, trousers and shirt.
One after the next.

Look for hair brush,
cannot find, no hope.

Wander about, drink coffee, stroke cat, drink cold coffee from yesterday.

Find a brush,

Cat likes to have its head stroked too.

Leave the house, go to the car and become involved in the worst traffic jam of all time.

Next week, use the train again.

return home day

up very early say goodbye croatia, a dawn wednesday.
Alarm is a mobile telephone, it honks to itself,where is it to be switched off? Find the button lost in a menu. Awake now.

Son up, Wife up, all packed everything in order.
Keys returned, flat inspected, all is in order.
Start the car, and drove for eight hours.
Over the alps, under the alps, and then home.

home.

and tired from driving far and from a warm climate to a  different one.

morning balcony number seven

windy sound, sound of wind in the roof tiles, the monk and the nun tiles. Mediterranean tiles, almost half-tubes, interlocking laying technology laterally, overlapping at the top.
A heavy roof.
Take off the therapeutic mask, it has pressed on the sunburnt face all night.
The weather is colder today, it is late, it is eight. In the morning, get up to make a morning coffe, hot water and instant.
And brush the teeth and comb the hair, pour out the hot water on the instant, ready made coffee and go tho the balcony.

Black and white flash of a magpie passing, hurtling in the strong breeze, in the low angled light from the sun that rose not so long ago. A silent monday, but for the roar of the wind, the wind carrying the noise of the traffic away. Away, unheard.

A plastic waste bag rises above the bushes, inflated by the wind, caried by the wind, tossing and turning in the breezes, climbing to a good height , like some aerial jellyfish, and then down into the thorny bushes, invisible again, maybe impaled there, maybe to remain there untill a it is found by those that clean the thorny wastes of verdure.

The cats are prowling in the bushes, and back into the gardens before them, back to their homes with their human feeders. They prowl, mind their territories, attend their business. They may be the reason for the lack of small birds in the area, maybe there is another reason. Ask an ornithologist. Some time.

There are flying, swooping, flapping in the wind, hunting their prey.

This is the last day on the Croatian balcony in the morning, the still sleeping son and the sleeping wife in the holiday flat behind.

cumulus clouds on pale blue sky, and magpies search for bright things to steal

Cumulus clouds over the flat landscape of Istria, socialist flats looming largely over the countryside, an ugly imposition on a scene that would , in general, have kept its face since the time that the romans ruled the penninsula, grew their olives here, build their roads, trained their gladiators and slaughtered their captives in the arena for the sport of the masses.
Croatian dogs bark at every passing disturbance, it is half past eight in the morning and yesterdays wine holds its promise and saves the head from destructive hangovers. Let the society´s dogs howl, the sounds of industry and building are lost in the peace of sunday morning, there is hardly a sound, the background noises of an active town are absent, and the small local sounds of small birds and the wind rustling in trees are the only sounds about.
Untill the sound of a circular saw in the middle distance makes noises like firewood being cut to a suitable length for chopping. And then the sound of chopping, distant church bells.
And then silence.

The cumulus clouds have drawn to the horizon now, away from the higher-risen sun.
The coffee in the cup on the small glass- topped round table on the balcony is emptied, and is now resting beside this small silver machine. The son and the wife are sleepin.hin

And four magpies have returned, to rest in the landlords olive trees, and raucously converse. Looking for bright things to steal, maybe.

The reenactment of deadly games of long ago.

cocks crow early, earlier than the sun is up, They are all distant, and they all have different voices. Are they calling to each other, those Croation fowl? Or are they warning the other one to keep clear of its territory? Or are they just rousing their hen flock to the days work.
The first aircraft leave the airport, taking holiday makers home, back to their work and their office.
The traffic noise from the nearby road is getting louder, cars and trucks. It is ten past six in the e morning. There is just the dawning of the day visible, before sunrise, a black and white cat runs across the orchard in front of the balcony as another jet aircraft passes overhead.

and the cocks never stop crowing here, The shrill one, the slow one, apparently answering one another, loud animals.
These are holidays, gaining distance to everyday work and duties. And most of the people seem to be taking their everyday work on their vacations, and they cannot leave their behaviour behind either.

Gladiators for the tourists last night, reenacting the games from as in roman times in the ruins of the amphitheater in the middle of town.

The reenactment of deadly games of long ago.

mask on, wake early, cro cocks crow, cro dogs do bark.

air pressure held behind the masks, croatian cocks crowing in through the open window, traffic and dogs. Many of the cocks have high voices, they are all distant.
Take the mask off, turn the turbine off.
Many of the cocks have high voices, they are all distant.
 Some fainter than others, some with an echo. The early sound of a heavy motorbike, and another boy racer, the engine winding up to a gearless howl in the distance.

A John Cage background music, coming in through the empty window, the piano player has to be imagined.

At this early hour, just after dawn, there are many cocks crowing, and then suddenly not anymore.

A few nearby finches, unconvinced, creaking and chirping.

And the rush of traffic, running all the time, Croatians early to work.

And at just past seven, near silence. Shipyard workers, office workers, all at work.

Peace and sunrise over the croatian landscape.

Even the cocks are now silent, but the dogs still bark.

Well, there is still the odd cock crowing away to itself.

Make a cup of instant coffee, enjoy the peace of the morning, there are no desires of others imposing themselves on the mind, sit down, typewrite on the grey machine with the illuminated fruit, one bite gone, was it Eve or was it Adam? Maybe it was Steve, or else that other man.


one for sorrow
two for joy
three for a girl
and four for a boy
Five for silver
six for gold
and seven for a story that has never been told.

There are six magpies under a tree in the garden.
Hello to the morning porch.

Thursday pula holiday drain

head full of the concert experienced from the outside yesterday. Thousands of people in a roman amphitheater, gathered in a blaze of light there where the gladiators once died. Dizzying beats, wild excitement, dark corners filled with stinking urine.
A concept for concert halls, the hall is stage is visible from outside the hall, and everyone wants to get in anyhow.

A cool morning, air conditioned. The sun is up, and free of clouds, the roar of the towns traffic sounds from the centre. The building workers next door have started their work early, lifting barrow loads of ceramic blocks onto the third floor of the concrete skeleton of their house. Barrows with places for hooks installed, a clever system.

A single fly buzzing around, irritating, maddening. Stay calm, it will not bite. Domestic fly, not a high-pitched buzzing of mosquito bloodsucker fly, bane of the night.

Some light cloud, instant coffee. Wear sleeping clothes, then out to the balcony, give the workers a wave. They are working before the day gets hot, lifting blocks.
The attainment of roman building science, the arch, a structure held together by the stress placed thereon replaced by the brute force of reinforced concrete, holding everything in place by main strength.
The sound of the first boy racers tearing through Pula.
Time to take a shower and find clothing for the day.
The wife gets up and complains bitterly that there where sounds of washing machines all night.
This explains some nightmares, memories of a long time ago.
And now the son is up, morning clowning.

The day will ramble on, holidays.
Just like these notes

Whendisday croatia

Roman buildings with their great beauty, no plans survived but every sign of planning. How did they do it?

yesterdays experiences yesterday to sleep on, now slept on.

Air conditioned chill, slept better, the family upstairs still asleep.

Croatian dogs barking outside, the man with his building site next door commences work. Sounds of hammering. Building workers, Croatians, at home and building their own buildings. Structures of reinforced concrete floors held up by pillars of the same material. The space between the pillars filled with brickwork. Half concreted houses.

They are very fond of concrete as a building material here, the stone quarries are deserted.




It is cloudy today, the bright glaring blue sky of yesterday to be seen between the grey clouds, the covering of grey cloud that changes to haze as it nears the horizon.

A steady hum of traffic from the town, carefully kept small gardens behind the buildings, and also those less well kept. Red soil, typical for the area. And now the braying of some donkey, a long way off.

And people will build, they will make housing as a container for their dreams and desires, they will work and improve their huts against all common sense, beyond their needs, beyond their comfort.

And others will be granted small boxes, space defined for their bodily needs, prisons for their minds, ready made excursion areas, all organised. Space allotted, they have committed no crime, but the only way to live is in regulated made to fit boxes and to allow another to do what he wills with the given time of life. And the reward for granting this, well you know, is disregard disdain disgust discrimination. What do you expect after your soul has been sold and the remains you are left with do not even have the strength to resist or the ability to make a meaningful protest?

But return to your box at night, lay out your working clothes, maybe leave the house for a drink. Maybe do not bother even leaving the allotment before the own time is ended.

Hounds of Croatia, sound of holiday.

Croatian dogs bark make a background sound, dog conversation over great distances, covering the whole neighbourhood outside of pula. The hiss of traffic and the hiss in the right ear, on the right hand side of the head. It is the sound of tyres on hot tar, there is only occasionally the sound of an engine to be heard. It is Tuesday, five to eight, and the boy racers are still asleep, or at work.
 And, now, there is the sound of the first one, high revving sport mufflered engine, proclaiming the potency of its owner.
Son and wife are still asleep, it is too early yet for them to be up and making plans for the beach. They are both sleeping silently to themselves now.
The sun is blistering down continuously, going from pleasant to unbearable and back again every day. Rain had been predicted, but that just does not seem credible now, with the risen sun dissipating the haze left over from the dawn dew.

And there is some croaky bird outside too, a finch? Cocks crow in the distance, as they had done in the dead of night at three in the morning.

Heat is dearly beloved by so many, lightly dressed people, overweight office hounds. How to make a living and how to get on, come here, live in the make believe that their humble existence back home allows them to act like lords here, when all is just a matter of exchange rates and politics. The people are not a friendly people by nature, they are rough with each other, and abusive to their guests when they can be.
There homes and privacy are an amusement park for the common people of another country.
Unless they take care, they will have none left.
Like a many facetted diamond, it is just a lump of carbon formed by temperature and high pressure, given a form by having its surface polished.