The lead head, not a head that is being directed, but a head filled with the metal. It is buzzing away to itself, forcing the eyes to shut, the neck to creak. The lump of brain is just seemingly overweight. The clock on the wall says that it is ten to seven, things outside are still quiet. The builders at the neighbours house have not started their work yet.
Yesterdays visit to Landau did not work out, all was as expected. There was no miraculous relief from the tinnitus upon climbing up to the museum, the whole thing was just a fluke. That is a relief, any other result would have opened doors to esoteric ways of thinking. Such ways of thought are generally just not true.
The bells ring for seven, the noise of workmen going about their business will start shortly. For now there are just the cries from the birds of prey to be heard as they go about their business circling the church tower of Saint Martin's church.
The head is still filled with lead, and the counterweights on the eyelids do not work. A doll with straw in its head would feel more.
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