28th of December, 20.15
It is dark, and Hypnosis out of work, or else he is not doing his job right. Look at the ceiling, it has vanished in the dark. There is the sound of breathing from the other half of the bed, suppressed.The sound of a person being silent, not the sound of relaxed muscles allowing air to pass to help the body ticking over. And the mind is in a knot, not unravelling the days business to dreams and nightmares. It is revelling in vile thoughts making knots where non knots should be. The horror of felt sleeplessness. After some time of this the Alarm sounds. That meanwhile unfamiliar beeping sound. Silence that! Arise and let the old script run; get up, find pants find socks, shirt,go to bathroom, showered the night before! good morning old World. Piddle, comb the fright in the mirror, the hair is up every way. showered The night before, hair is up every way. The cat awakens, turns on it's purr, puts its head,then it's back, against the legs. It wants attention not so much feeding. Feed it anyhow! It pays polite attention The young cat wants out into what is still night to enjoy life, to see what the action is.What is? Whats up? who's who? Who is doing what.And wait.And check all the baggages, the ticket, the wallet. The mind. See that it is time, Down the stairs, out into church alley, and so-see that the neighbour in his new house has left his light on in his basement. There is a man in front of the jewellers, on the main street, in sports clothing. He is standing at the corner. In front of the discount cafe, the manager and his mate are smoking too.
The impeccably dressed bus driver takes his money and the given good morning with it. He gives change, and the bus waits at the stop, until it is time to more. The drivers radio is so clearly to be heard.
"staring at the ceiling, wishing I was somewhere else"
"One of us is lying.."-.-. -..
ABBA wisdom.
Yorma's cafe, the glow-in-the dark reality of railway life, if you like to call it that. A young man with a darker skin colouring, creamed black hair and a moustache, is serving at the main counter. He is of slight build, perhaps of Indian descent. His german is perfect. And he is losing his temper, he is alone and the customer's are approaching from all sides simultaneously. ¿Stress! He snaps at one woman, dared to call from a counter at the other side of the cafe. Everyone waits, is friendly now. He has screwed up, just a bit. And even though the situation is understandable, and everyone sees and understands, the poor man has lost the admiration he might otherwise have earned himself.
It is dark, and Hypnosis out of work, or else he is not doing his job right. Look at the ceiling, it has vanished in the dark. There is the sound of breathing from the other half of the bed, suppressed.The sound of a person being silent, not the sound of relaxed muscles allowing air to pass to help the body ticking over. And the mind is in a knot, not unravelling the days business to dreams and nightmares. It is revelling in vile thoughts making knots where non knots should be. The horror of felt sleeplessness. After some time of this the Alarm sounds. That meanwhile unfamiliar beeping sound. Silence that! Arise and let the old script run; get up, find pants find socks, shirt,go to bathroom, showered the night before! good morning old World. Piddle, comb the fright in the mirror, the hair is up every way. showered The night before, hair is up every way. The cat awakens, turns on it's purr, puts its head,then it's back, against the legs. It wants attention not so much feeding. Feed it anyhow! It pays polite attention The young cat wants out into what is still night to enjoy life, to see what the action is.What is? Whats up? who's who? Who is doing what.And wait.And check all the baggages, the ticket, the wallet. The mind. See that it is time, Down the stairs, out into church alley, and so-see that the neighbour in his new house has left his light on in his basement. There is a man in front of the jewellers, on the main street, in sports clothing. He is standing at the corner. In front of the discount cafe, the manager and his mate are smoking too.
The impeccably dressed bus driver takes his money and the given good morning with it. He gives change, and the bus waits at the stop, until it is time to more. The drivers radio is so clearly to be heard.
"staring at the ceiling, wishing I was somewhere else"
"One of us is lying.."-.-. -..
ABBA wisdom.
Yorma's cafe, the glow-in-the dark reality of railway life, if you like to call it that. A young man with a darker skin colouring, creamed black hair and a moustache, is serving at the main counter. He is of slight build, perhaps of Indian descent. His german is perfect. And he is losing his temper, he is alone and the customer's are approaching from all sides simultaneously. ¿Stress! He snaps at one woman, dared to call from a counter at the other side of the cafe. Everyone waits, is friendly now. He has screwed up, just a bit. And even though the situation is understandable, and everyone sees and understands, the poor man has lost the admiration he might otherwise have earned himself.
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