the final days of europe

i try to remember the faces of all guests at this funeral ... their elaborate ways to conceal the fact the coffin is empty. hey deleuze: i would like to see your fingers before your final becoming. hey barthes: i would like to know what drove your automobile. hey foucault i would like to feel what it was like - the day, the intercourse ... what is it like to be THAT french that death waits behind your window, that it sits at your backseat, that ... no you were not the only one. and now i would like to wake up ... to know the sum of all that happened in the minute i was born. only then i would understand both its beauty and exquisite vanity.

::: sleeping is giving in :::

s. junction

further down the stone curve ... ascent/descent ... yes daniel i envy your invisibility, the ability to gain momentum that cannot be retraced from anywhere. i wish i could resist the mirror its fake reproductive power without being afraid to reshape. i am overwhelmed by the beauty of your solution: beyond fear, beyond desire, beyond anger just the utmost serenity of an endless light.

::: never choose to choose :::

907 songs, 2,6 days, 4,88 GB

... nowhere to run, the countdown has already started. you walk the path hegel walked but do not feel anything. no enlightment at all. no dunkelheit either. all is so artificial, mediated. and then certain light comes out of the sky, the clouds form certain configuration and you know this is the place that seduced your soul. all is sunlit, still with mysterious happiness.

::: point your finger and make a sound :::